He glanced down at his drink, looking sad. “I would like to. But my job is just a job. A means to an end.”

Now I felt awful, like I’d been bragging about my life. “As to your earlier comment, I’m not an heiress anymore. My parents cut me off.”

That got his attention back on me. “What? Why on earth would they do that?”

He looked appropriately shocked, which always made me feel better. When you grew up in Wonderland, and you kept trying to tell people that the painted red roses were actually white and no one believed you and/or cared, it was such a relief to have someone respond, “Yeah, of course they’re white roses!” It made me not feel so alone.

“They had other plans for me and none of them included me becoming a teacher. They kicked me out when I told them that was what I’d chosen. Do you think I’d need to be your live-in maid if I still had money?”

I had meant it as a joke, but he just shook his head. “You’re not my maid. We’re roommates.”

Right. As if I needed a reminder. I could practically hear Frederica’s voice whispering roommaid.

He added, “I think what you did was really brave. You’re an admirable person, do you know that?”

Flustered by his words and his gaze, I tried to shrug them off while forcing myself to try and breathe normally. “We’re not here to talk about me. We’re here for you and to help you navigate these shark-infested waters. And I’m your personal Jacques Cousteau.”

He shot me a wry smile. “I appreciate the assist. Networking with potential clients is really important at my company. My boss repeatedly reminds us that it’s the most important thing we can do besides being good with numbers and investments. And all my other responsibilities.” He sounded so very tired that I wanted to soothe him and make things better. It strengthened my resolve to be a good friend to him.

I looked around the room and realized that I didn’t recognize most of the people here. My mother would be cackling over her cauldron to see how the major movers and shakers of society hadn’t shown up for Bitsie’s fundraiser. If this was the level of event that Tyler was being invited to, and he needed to network with wealthy people, we had to get him into a better caliber of party. That meant making a name for him, starting here. Because everyone in this room knew someone higher up in the food chain and all it would take was a whisper in the right ear.

Walter and Patty Loveless were walking by our table and I stood up to get their attention. “Mr. and Mrs. Loveless! How nice to see you!”

“Oh, Madison. How are you, dear? And please call us Walter and Patty,” she reminded me. They were an elderly couple who had dedicated their twilight years to donating as much of their large fortune as they could to charity, to the dismay of their children and grandchildren.

She hugged me gently, and I shook hands with Walter.

“May I introduce you to Tyler Roth?”

Tyler stood up and shook hands with both of them. “It is nice to meet you.”

“Oh, any friend of Madison’s is a friend of ours.” Patty batted her eyelashes at him. Good grief, no one was immune to his handsomeness. “The two of you make a beautiful couple.”

I flushed. “Oh, we’re not—”

“Thank you,” Tyler cut me off. And even though I knew he didn’t mean anything by it, like, AT ALL, it was still thrilling and my flush deepened. I hoped nobody noticed. I raised my eyebrows at him and he shrugged, as if to say, It’s easier than trying to explain.

“Madison, did you attend the Vermeer exhibit last month?” Walter asked me.

“I did.” I totally hadn’t.

“What did you think?”

“Oh, Vermeer is such a master. His attention to light and detail is just . . .” I let my voice trail off deliberately and as I’d expected, Walter jumped in to pick up the slack.

“Yes, I know exactly what you mean!”

“What is your favorite Vermeer work?” I asked before he could press me to expound on what else I thought about Vermeer’s art.

Walter leaned in and said conspiratorially, “I’m afraid I’m rather pedestrian with my tastes and I just love Girl with a Pearl Earring. Even if it is his most popular piece.”

“Who can blame you for choosing that one? It’s popular for a reason,” I said. “Will the two of you be going to the abstract expressionist exhibit?”

“We will!” Patty beamed.

“Have you heard whether they’re going to include any work by Mark Rothko?”

“I haven’t, but we’ll keep an eye out and let you know,” she replied.

“Excellent. It was so good to catch up with you, but I see someone that I must introduce Tyler to. If you’ll please excuse us.”

Tyler told them it was good to meet them and let me lead him over toward the bar. Once we’d gotten far enough away, he said, “You’re so good at this. Mark Rothko?”

“My parents have two of his paintings. Some stuff you just absorb. I can take you out and show you what I mean. You do some cultural stuff and then you’ll have a good baseline to work from. Museum exhibits, opera performances, that kind of thing. Back there with Walter and Patty, I had almost no idea what I was talking about. But rich people practically invented fear of missing out. So they pretend they went to things even if they didn’t. I mean, I don’t even know if those two actually went to the exhibit. The secret is to have some knowledge to operate from and then get them talking about themselves. Which makes them like you more because you’re letting them do all the talking.”

He let out a little laugh. “You’re amazing. Go on, sensei.”

Feeling heady from his approval, I looked around the room and found my target. “Now the next part is getting your name in circulation. I’m about to make every society mother with an eligible daughter fall in love with you.”

His eyes danced with delight. “And just how do you plan on doing that?”

“By starting a rumor that you’re an extremely successful and wealthy businessman looking to meet someone.”

“But I’m not—”

I held up my hand, not letting him finish while my brain tried to figure out how he was going to end that sentence. Not successful? Not wealthy? Not looking for a relationship? None of them mattered. “Don’t tell me. I need plausible deniability here. The actual facts are irrelevant. It helps our cause that you are easily the hottest guy here.”

His smile was instant, flirtatious, and overwhelming. “Did you just say I was the hottest guy here?”

I rolled my eyes so hard I nearly gave myself a migraine. He knew how he looked. “Take the compliment and say thank you.”

“Thank you.”

A woman in a red dress came into view and I set my sights on her. She was perfect. “What is your job title?”

“I’m a mid-senior manager of investments and funds management.”

That sounded impressive and would act like a particularly potent type of catnip. Fortunately, not everyone here was a complete snob like my parents—most didn’t care whether his money was old or new just so long as it was green. They would be impressed, like I was, that he’d been so successful at such a young age. And hadn’t had to rely on nepotism.