Shadow Billionaire (2 page)

Had she'd been
allowed to decide for herself, as soon as Sasha finished with
school, she would've signed on for an internship, and thought about
going on to complete her graduate degree, her mother seemed
horrified at the rattling thought. Sasha grumpily recalled her
mother's reaction, when she'd suggested a six month tour out at sea
to refine her research skills.

“Heavens,
Sasha, isn't the degree enough for you? Give it a rest, sweetheart.
Now you're done with school you can get around to settling
down.”

The prospect of
marrying and having children at her age made Sasha more than a
little nervous. Her peers from Berkeley with less overbearing
parents swanned off to study abroad or travel the world, whilst she
was stuck in Beverly Hills, ducking the media, and being forced
into a new bridal shop every month. Honestly, she wondered if time
travel was involved, she'd been zapped back a century or two, and
now lived in the dark-ages. Especially in light of her parents
wanting to ship her off to some ageing sap to use as a
broodmare.

At least she'd
be able to rest easy in the knowledge the media weren't allowed in
tonight.

One thing Sasha
hated more than arguing with her mother, would be the paparazzi,
they followed her around relentlessly, seeming obsessed with her:
where she went, what she did, when she ate. Her father's security
had once caught them digging through her garbage, ‘for Christ's
sake.’

Still, they
wouldn't be around tonight, being explicitly banned from the
function, and the thick ring of protection around the estate would
ensure things stayed that way.

“Oh, darling,
you look wonderful!” Sasha was pulled from her thoughts at the
tittering, and applause of all the women in her room. Use to zoning
out as she was primped and perked, no longer noticing.

The face she
met in the mirror typical of what they did to her for functions
like the one going down tonight: Dark, smoky eyes, contoured cheeks
- to help her face appear thinner, her mother commented - and full,
burgundy lips. She had to admit she didn't look half bad. The lips
were an alluring touch, and complement the fiery glint in her
hair.

Her hair piled
in soft ringlets atop her head, a few pieces artfully framing her
face and enhancing her eyes, while allowing her shoulders and neck
to stay bare. With a grin, Sasha gave one of the young maids, who'd
put the finishing touches on her hair, a thumbs up, which caused
the girl to beam.

“Oh, stop that
Sasha, you're not a child.” At her mother's reprimand, the young
woman hid the gesture behind her back feeling guilty for
demonstrating her appreciation for the work they’d done on her.
Eleanor gave her a final once over before beginning to usher the
ten or so women from the room. “We'll give you about half an hour
to powder, and freshen yourself.” She called back to her daughter.
“I'm going to get dressed. Don't go downstairs Sasha. Do I make
myself clear?”

“Crystal,
mother.” Sasha replied, stifling the desire to poke her tongue out,
mustering up a winning smile instead until the door clicked shut
behind the last person to depart. No sooner than she was alone,
Sasha gave into temptation, and stuck her tongue out in a gesture,
every bit as childish as her mother had suggested earlier. She
wrapped her silk robe about her, and began to pace about the large
expanse of her room.

Despite the
fact Sasha was in her mid-twenties, she still remained under the
control of her parents to the point of allowing her mother to
eternally talk her out of getting a place of her own.

“Why would you
need that darling? We can take care of you at home. And when you
get married, your husband will take care of you. Living alone is
dangerous.”

Of course it
was.

To Eleanor
Trenton, merely having wealth puts you in a world of danger. People
were always after you. Everyone wanted to kidnap and ransom you. As
of late, her mother had used the increasing exploits of a high-end
jewel thief who'd been growing in infamy in the area to compound
her thinking. The shadow something-or other.

“Living alone
is dangerous.” Sasha mocked softly under her breath. “Living here
is dangerous too. I'm in danger of losing my freaking mind.” As far
as Sasha was concerned, if the thief wanted her diamonds, he could
have them.

Hell, he could
take her too, while he's at it.

Amble across
the room to open the balcony doors, inviting the smell of the sweet
summer air to caress her face as she took a few calming deep
breaths.

Maybe tonight
wouldn't be so bad.

Sure, everyone
would be wearing masks, but her mother had a point when she said it
would make finding someone based on magnetism rather than physical
attraction easier. At the same time, however, Sasha wasn't too keen
on marrying someone too much older than her age...Nor,
significantly younger than her.

For a moment,
she allowed herself to entertain the thought of meeting her perfect
man among the moneyed throng. He'd be tall, dark, he'd sweep her
off her feet into a whirlwind romance. He wouldn't care that she
wasn't a size four, how much money she had, or who her parents
were. He wouldn't belittle her interest in marine biology, he'd
encourage her to pursue her dreams, and support her as they built a
life together.

She supposed
fining a man like that wouldn't be so bad.

As she
re-entered the room, resigned to accept her fate Sasha flopped down
on a deep wine chaise lounge next to her bed. Turned on the wide
screen television mounted over her dresser, and errantly flip
through the channels.

“-Then you take
three-fourths a cup of sugar and whisk it into the egg
mixture-”

“-And DOWN goes
Diaz with an illegal hit to the throat! Man that looked nasty,
ladies and gentleman-”

“-We're
standing outside the gates of the Trenton estate where it’s
suggested the guest list reads like the Who’s, Who of the most
aristocratic eligible bachelors across the globe. Could it be
Eleanor Trenton trying to find a husband for her charming but
unmarried daughter Sasha Trenton? At the moment, this reporter is
unable to get the scoop on that. Wait, I can see something it
appears the elite guest are arriving in droves for this huge
function.” Sasha paused at the mention of her name by the buxom
blonde reporter, standing on their street, a good 100 meters from
their front gate.

It was clear
the ten or so bulky security-team members in front of her weren't
letting her get any closer.

“Are the rumors
true that the mysterious Sasha Trenton will be showing her face at
tonight's event? Sir-” She turned into one of the security men
pushing her microphone into his face. He seemed taken aback at her
aggressiveness.

He’s blushing
Sasha thought as she watched the color of the man’s neck, and the
side of his face deepen. He opened his mouth, then snapped it close
again. He certainly looked uncomfortable.

Welcome to my
world buddy, Sasha smiled her sympathy going out to the poor man.
These reporters were like vultures searching for scraps, picking at
any old carcass. In the hope to find a tasty morsel of gossip or
scandal, with any luck both.

With the
microphone still stuck under the poor man’s nose the reporter
pressed on.

“Can you tell
us what the occasion, and who is on that exclusive guest list? As
you can see folks all the cars are sporting privacy windows.” The
man raised his brow and gazed at her as if she had just lost her
mind. To answer such a question would mean the end of his career.
Evident in the look of scorn he bestowed on her before he gently
removed the hand with the microphone from his face, turning his
head away.

Undeterred and
wanting to get something for her viewers to chew over. The reporter
changed her tactics; putting a question to him he could answer.

“Have the
Trenton’s prepared for the possibility of crime during the party
tonight?”

Growling, the
man, turned to the camera. Sasha recognized him as Jared, the head
of estate security; he snatched the microphone from the woman
reporter’s hand. “If you're talking about anyone making waves
tonight, we're more than ready. There are over two hundred men on
duty.”

“What about the
Shadow Dancer?” She asked her gazed strained on him.

Sasha's
interest immediately piqued. Wasn’t he the thief her mother had
been talking about? She leaned toward the television, a sudden
fascination born from the dialogue.

“If that low
life shows his face tonight, we'll be ready for him. No way he's
getting in or out without my knowing.” Jared’s face now sporting a
snarl. Pleased with Jared’s reaction to her question the reporter
milked it for all it's worth, baiting Jared with…

“The Shadow
Dancer has made it into several exclusive events and made off with
millions, all without discovery. What's different here tonight,
sir?”

Jared's face
reddened in anger as he shoved the microphone back toward the
reporter before turning to step back to his post without a
word.

Sasha switched
off the television. She supposed there was more buzzing about this
thief than she'd realized, and wondered if he really intended to
make an attempt to rob her family tonight.

How...
exciting.

The loud groan
from her stomach reminded Sasha of the hunger pain that twisted
through her middle. Which had been forgotten, by the news report,
but now seemed almost unbearable. With a conspiratorial glance at
her dress, Sasha made a face. The smell of freshly baked goodies
wafting up from the kitchen, tantalizing her senses, drove her
insane.

Sasha gaze
landed on the clock.

Perhaps if she
moved with purpose, and speed, she'd be able to grab a quick snack.
Dart in and out if she popped down to the kitchen now and be back
before anyone noticed.

When food was
involved, Sasha was rarely indecisive. With a last look back at the
gown, she slipped catlike, from the room.

* * *

“Gabriel!
Gabriel, where are you?”

In the middle
of lifting a seventy-five pound bag of flour onto the top shelf of
the pantry, the man in question was currently stretched in
exertion. After a twenty second battle in which balance was
crucial. He’d finally managed to tip the last bag onto the shelf
and breathed a sigh of relief, mopping the sweat from his brow.

“Are you done
in here?” The fat face of Henri, the cook, poked into the large
pantry, Gabriel frowned. The man was one of the hardest taskmasters
in the estate. Gabriel not one to shirk hard work had trepidations,
when he was assigned to the duty of working with the French slave
driver. All the same, here he was on the night of one of the
biggest events of the year, forced to do the donkey work.

“Yeah, I'm
done.” He cracked his back, as if to impress on the cook the toll
of the physical labor he himself never touched. “What else you got
for me?' Gabriel asked, inside, dropping his head to his chest.
Outward displaying a toothy grin.

“There's a ton
of food in the kitchen waiting to be laid out by the butlers. I
need you to make sure we have everything requested. Do you know
your way around a checklist?” The last sentence spoken, mocking in
tone, making Gabriel bite his tongue against a quick retort.
Henri's tone in line with the rumors around the house he'd forgo
higher education to find himself. By going to Israel to tend the
land and pick fruits in the Kibbutz. The fact he wasn't college
educated was one the more learned members of staff never seemed to
let him forget.

“I think I can
manage.” Gabriel returned, his voice sounded dry to his own ears as
he took the four-page document, and blunted pencil handed him. As
Henri waddled off back towards the kitchen, Gabriel headed in the
opposite direction, to a temperature-controlled room off the great
hall, where they kept the prepared food.

On his approach
to the walk-in pantry, his thoughts turn to his grandmother. He
hoped he didn’t come across her while he worked, hating to see the
disapproval on her face. She'd be down soon, in order to check on
the progress for the night's event. Gabriel didn’t want her to
catch sight of him doing grunt work, it always upset her, when she
saw her only grandson failing to break the cycle, her family has
been in throughout generations.

She didn’t want
this life of servitude for Gabriel. Too late for her, she had known
nothing else, and anything different seemed alien to her. Her
thinking had cost her, her marriage, and the life of her only
child.

Rita Nevarez
has never approved of Gabriel’s decision to work for the Trenton’s
when he had returned from the Kibbutz, especially when he didn't
have to. Numerous times, she'd encouraged him to get out and seek
new opportunities elsewhere. Not that his grandmother had any
disillusions about how much the Trenton’s had done for them. On the
contrary, she was entrenched in this family, her loyalty blind
built around tradition.

However, Rita
with the guidance of her husband believed she needed to be the last
of her line to serve the Trenton family. She'd hope for new
beginnings with her daughter, now she was dead. Rita wanted to pass
the torch of hope, and a new way to Gabriel. Who seemed hell bent
on throwing it back in her face.

Gabriel knew
his grandmother's feelings stemmed from his family history of
working for the Trenton’s long before Malcolm Trenton's time. In
fact, the Trenton current patriarch and his grandmother had grown
up together; it was small wonder that she was so attached.
Gabriel's grandfather, on the other hand, held no such love for the
Trenton family.

He had married
Rita, while she was going through her housekeepers training, and
thought he could get her to leave a life of service and join him in
his jewelry making business. Not realizing the depth of her
commitment and loyalty to the Trenton’s until it was too late. His
wife had tried to get him to give up his business, and work with
her in the Trenton household. He had flat out refused, and would
have left had she not been pregnant with their beautiful daughter.
Then later to help raise their grandson.