My Husband Called Me A Useless Cow—He Didn’t Know I Was The Billionaire Buying His Company
Part 2
The Grand Hotel on Fifth Avenue stood like a fortress of old-world money.
A line of limousines snaked around the block, depositing tech moguls and foreign dignitaries onto the red velvet carpet.
Greg’s leased BMW looked utterly out of place among the Bentleys, but the valet took the keys with trained indifference.
He stepped out in his rented tuxedo and quickly adjusted a black domino mask over his sweating face.
He rushed around to the passenger side and yanked the door open.
Come on, and keep your head down.
I emerged wearing the shapeless navy blue ruffled dress he had bought.
I had pinned my hair back in a messy bun and wore a cheap silver mask that obscured my bare face.
I looked frumpy and entirely out of place among the glittering crowd.
I looked exactly like the heavy anchor Greg believed me to be.
You don’t speak unless spoken to, he whispered while steering me toward the gold revolving doors.
If someone asks what you do, you simply say you are a homemaker.
Don’t try to sound smart.
I bowed my head subserviently.
I understand, Greg.
We stepped into the grand ballroom.
Crystal chandeliers the size of small cars hung from the gold-leaf ceiling.
Waiters in crisp white gloves moved like ghosts while offering flutes of vintage champagne.
Greg scanned the masked crowd frantically.
I need to find the CEO or Brian to show them you are here.
I need to use the lady’s room, Greg.
I clutched my stomach in mock distress.
The car ride made me feel nauseous.
He rolled his eyes so hard I could see it through his mask.
God, you are fragile.
Fine, go, but be quick so I can stash you at an empty table.
He turned toward the bar to scan for Brenda’s gold mask.
I slipped away toward the lady’s lounge.
It was entirely empty except for an attendant standing in the corner.
Good evening, Ms. Banks, the attendant said while flipping the sign to occupied.
Your private suite is fully prepared.
I bypassed the stalls and walked through a concealed service door into a VIP dressing area.
The hideous navy blue sack dress unzipped in seconds and hit the floor.
I unstrapped the thick padding I wore around my waist and discarded it completely.
Underneath, my body was toned and strong.
I stepped into a custom black velvet gown commissioned from Paris specifically for this night.
It fit like a second skin, revealing a daring neckline and an hourglass silhouette.
The attendant worked quickly to pin my hair up into an intricate style that added three inches to my height.
She applied bold smoky eye makeup and painted my lips a dangerous crimson.
She fastened a three-million-dollar diamond choker around my neck.
Finally, she handed me a filigree gold mask encrusted with black diamonds.
It covered the upper half of my face but left my predatory eyes perfectly visible.
I stared at my reflection in the vanity mirror.
Megan the useless housewife was officially dead.
The billionaire shark of Wall Street had arrived.
I exited through the private service corridor leading directly to the mezzanine balcony overlooking the dance floor.
I watched from above as Greg practically shoved people aside to approach the staircase.
He was desperate to charm the CEO who held his career in the palm of her hand.
How would my arrogant husband react when his ‘useless’ wife stepped into the spotlight as the billionaire holding his entire future in her hands?
