Chapter 6

SIX

T he soft glow of Olive's bedroom's ambient lighting caught the shimmering gold fabric of her dress, sending cascades of light dancing across her curves. She smoothed her hands down the sides of the gown, feeling the luxurious texture beneath her fingers.

"Well," she murmured to herself, a hint of her trademark snark creeping into her voice, "if this doesn't scream ‘I'm in charge and fabulous,' I don't know what does."

The dress hugged her figure in all the right places, the plunging neckline adding a touch of allure without being overly revealing. It spoke of confidence, sophistication, and just a hint of daring - perfect for the chairwoman of a high-profile charity event.

Olive leaned closer to the mirror, carefully applying the final touches to her makeup. A swipe of mascara here, a dab of highlighter there. Her blue eyes sparkled with anticipation, framed by long lashes and subtly smoky eyeshadow.

The scent of vanilla wafted through the air, her favorite perfume a comforting presence amidst the nervous excitement bubbling in her chest. Olive spritzed a bit more on her wrists and behind her ears, the familiar fragrance helping to calm her nerves.

She ran her fingers through her honey-blonde hair, styled in loose, glamorous waves that cascaded over her shoulders. The style had taken nearly an hour to perfect, but the effect was worth it. Olive looked every inch the successful, confident woman she'd worked so hard to become.

"All right, Russo," she said to her reflection, squaring her shoulders. "Time to go knock 'em dead."

Olive slipped into her designer heels, adding a few inches to her height and an extra sway to her walk. She grabbed her clutch, double-checking that she had everything she needed - phone, lipstick, event itinerary, and a few breath mints (because you never knew when you might need to charm a potential donor with minty-fresh breath).

As she made her way to the elevator, Olive's mind raced with last-minute details. The "Love for Books" charity event had been months in the planning, and as chairwoman, the success (or failure) of the evening rested squarely on her shoulders. It was a weight she both relished and feared.

The elevator doors opened with a soft ding, and Olive stepped out into the lobby of her upscale apartment building. The doorman, George, beamed at her as she approached.

"Looking lovely this evening, Ms. Russo," he said, tipping his hat. "Big night tonight, right?"

Olive smiled warmly. "Thanks, George. And yes, fingers crossed it all goes smoothly."

"No doubt it will with you in charge," George replied, opening the door for her. "Break a leg, as they say."

The cool evening air hit Olive's skin as she stepped outside, sending a small shiver down her spine. Her car waited at the curb, the driver holding the door open with a respectful nod.

As the car pulled away from the curb, Olive took a deep breath, centering herself. She could do this. She'd organized countless events for her family's charitable foundation, charmed her way through numerous social gatherings, and built a successful vlog empire. This was just another night, another challenge to conquer.

But even as she tried to reassure herself, a nagging voice in the back of her mind whispered doubts. What if something went wrong? What if she made a fool of herself in front of New York's elite? What if-

Olive shook her head, banishing the negative thoughts. "Not tonight, anxiety," she muttered. "Tonight, we shine."

The drive to the venue passed in a blur of twinkling city lights and honking horns. Before she knew it, the car pulled up in front of the grand ballroom where the event was being held.

Olive's breath caught in her throat as she took in the scene. The entrance was decked out in elegant decorations with a red carpet leading up to the doors. Photographers lined the carpet, their cameras flashing as guests arrived.

For a moment, Olive hesitated, her hand on the car door. Then she steeled herself, plastered on her most dazzling smile, and stepped out into the spotlight.

The cameras immediately turned in her direction, a chorus of "Ms. Russo!" and "Olive, over here!" filling the air. Olive paused for a few photos, striking poses she'd perfected over years of social events and vlog appearances.

As she made her way inside, Olive's eyes widened in appreciation. The ballroom looked even more stunning than she'd imagined. Twinkling fairy lights draped from the ceiling, casting a warm, magical glow over the space. Each table boasted a centerpiece crafted from vintage books with delicate flowers sprouting from between the pages.

"Ms. Russo!" A harried-looking young woman in a headset hurried over. "Thank goodness you're here. We have a slight issue with the seating chart - the Hendersons and the Jacksons are both requesting to be moved away from each other."

Olive suppressed a sigh. Of course, there'd be last-minute drama. There always was. "Don't worry, Sarah," she said, patting the assistant's arm reassuringly. "I'll handle it. Why don't you check on the catering staff and make sure they're ready to start serving?"

As Sarah scurried off, Olive squared her shoulders and plastered on her most diplomatic smile. Time to put those people skills to work.

The next hour passed in a whirlwind of activity. Olive smoothed ruffled feathers, directed lost guests, and charmed potential donors with practiced ease. By the time the majority of the guests had arrived, she'd successfully averted three minor crises and secured two major donation pledges.

Pausing for a moment to catch her breath, Olive snagged a glass of champagne from a passing waiter. She took a small sip, savoring the bubbly sensation on her tongue.

"Well, well, well," a familiar voice said from behind her. "If it isn't the woman of the hour."

Olive turned, her face lighting up as she spotted Athena. Athena looked stunning in a chic, fashion-forward ensemble that complemented Olive's gold dress perfectly.

"Thena!" Olive exclaimed, pulling her cousin in for a quick hug. "Thank god you're here. I was starting to worry you'd gotten lost in your closet trying to pick an outfit."

Athena laughed, the sound warm and melodious. "Please, as if I'd miss your big night. Besides, I had to come see if the reality lived up to all your stressed-out ranting."

"And?" Olive prompted, raising an eyebrow.

"And I have to say, cuz, you've outdone yourself," Athena replied, her green eyes twinkling with pride. "This place looks amazing. You should see the way people's jaws are dropping when they walk in."

Olive felt a wave of relief wash over her. "Really? You're not just saying that because you love me and are contractually obligated as my best friend to boost my ego?"

"Oh please," Athena scoffed. "When have I ever held back on telling you the brutal truth? Remember that hideous dress you almost wore to your college graduation?"

Olive winced at the memory. "Fair point. And thanks, Thena. I couldn't have pulled this off without your support."

"That's what I'm here for," Athena said, linking her arm through Olive's. "Now, tell me all the juicy gossip. Any scandals brewing yet?"

As they made their way around the room, Olive filled Athena in on the various dramas and near-disasters of the evening so far. They shared a laugh over the Hendersons' and Jacksons' feud, speculating wildly about what could have caused such animosity between the two families.

"Maybe old Mr. Henderson ran over Mrs. Jackson's prize-winning poodle," Athena suggested, her eyes sparkling with mischief.

Olive snorted, nearly choking on her champagne. "Or perhaps Mrs. Henderson and Mr. Jackson had a torrid affair back in their college days, and now-"

She broke off mid-sentence, her eyes drawn to the entrance of the ballroom. A tall, imposing figure had just walked in, and Olive found herself utterly incapable of forming coherent thoughts.

The man was, quite simply, stunning. He stood at least six and a half feet with broad shoulders that filled out his impeccably tailored suit to perfection. His dark hair was neatly trimmed with just a hint of rakish disorder that made Olive's fingers itch to run through it. But it was his eyes that truly captivated her - a striking hazel that seemed to glow with an inner fire.

As if sensing her gaze, the man turned, his eyes locking with Olive's from across the room. The jolt of electricity that shot through her body nearly made her knees buckle.

"Earth to Olive," Athena's amused voice broke through her daze. "You still in there?"

Olive blinked, tearing her eyes away from the mystery man with considerable effort. "What? Oh, sorry, I just... who is that?"

Athena followed her gaze, a knowing smirk spreading across her face. "Ah, I see what caught your attention. That, my dear cousin, is Chaos Amato. Big shot from Silicon Valley, tech genius, and if the rumors are to be believed, an honest-to-god lion shifter."

"A what now?" Olive sputtered, her eyes widening in disbelief.

"A lion shifter," Athena repeated, her voice low. "You know, like those paranormal romances you're always gushing about on your vlog? Shifters are not as fictional as people think."

Olive's mind reeled. A shifter here at her event? She thought back to her meeting with Gerri Wilder, the matchmaker's cryptic comments suddenly taking on a whole new meaning.

Before she could fully process this earth-shattering revelation, Olive realized with a start that Chaos Amato was making his way through the crowd - straight toward her.

"Oh god," she muttered, smoothing down her dress with suddenly trembling hands. "He's coming over here. How do I look? Is my lipstick smudged? Do I have spinach in my teeth?"

Athena rolled her eyes, giving Olive a gentle shove. "You look gorgeous, as always. Now pull yourself together, woman. Where's that famous Olive Russo charm?"

Taking a deep breath, Olive straightened her spine and pasted on her most dazzling smile. She could do this. She'd faced down boardrooms full of crusty old businessmen and hordes of rabid romance novel fans. One absurdly attractive maybe-shifter was nothing she couldn't handle.

As Chaos approached, Olive couldn't help but notice the way other guests seemed to instinctively move out of his path. He exuded an aura of power and confidence that was almost palpable.

"Good evening," he said as he reached them, his voice a deep, rich baritone that sent shivers down Olive's spine. "I hope I'm not interrupting."

"Not at all," Olive replied, proud of how steady her voice sounded. "Welcome to our ‘Love for Books' charity event. I'm Olive Russo, the chairwoman."

She extended her hand, and Chaos took it in his much larger one. The moment their skin touched, Olive felt a spark of electricity shoot up her arm. From the slight widening of Chaos's eyes, she suspected he'd felt it too.

"Chaos Amato," he introduced himself, his grip firm but not overpowering. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Ms. Russo. I've heard great things about your foundation's work."

"Please, call me Olive," she said, reluctantly withdrawing her hand. "And thank you. We're always excited to welcome new supporters to our cause. Are you a big reader, Mr. Amato?"

A small smile pulled up the corners of his mouth. "Chaos, please. And I try to be, though I'll admit my reading these days tends to lean more toward technical manuals and financial reports than novels."

"Well, we'll have to see if we can broaden your literary horizons," Olive teased, surprising herself with her boldness. "I'm sure we could find a few romance novels that might pique your interest."

Was it her imagination, or did Chaos's eyes darken slightly at her words? "I'd be open to... expanding my tastes," he replied, his voice dropping to a lower register that made Olive's stomach do a series of acrobatic flips.

The sexual tension crackled between them, so thick, Olive could practically taste it. She opened her mouth to respond, her mind scrambling for something witty and flirtatious to say, when a new voice cut through the moment like a bucket of ice water.

"Chaos, darling, there you are!"

A slender, impeccably dressed young woman in her early twenties with long dark hair sidled up to Chaos, linking her arm through his possessively. Her hazel eyes, so similar to Chaos's own, swept over Olive with thinly veiled disdain.

"Tia," Chaos said, his tone tinged with what sounded like resigned irritation. "I'd like you to meet Olive Russo, the chairwoman of this event. Olive, this is my sister, Tia Amato."