Page 13 of Falling for Them (Cinderella’s Daddies #1)

Twelve

Ella

It’s Saturday—the day of the Tyler Gala.

Tommy didn’t show up at my apartment last night, thank goodness, and I actually got a decent night’s sleep.

At least, I slept after spending a delicious hour with my vibrator, and thinking about not my boyfriend, but his dad. I have a lady boner for Mr. Tyler, that’s all there is to it.

I can’t believe how dirty and depraved I feel…and yet so alive. Last night, alone in my bed, my mind kept returning to the way he’d come to my rescue last night. His hands on me, the way he was so gentle yet so stern after I cut my hand on that broken glass.

A flush of pleasure bursts through me even now as I carry dirty dishes from a table to the dishwashing station at the back of the pub.

Was it embarrassing to faint because of blood in front of Mr. Tyler? You betcha. But afterward, he hadn’t made me feel weak or embarrassed at all. He made me feel…treasured.

My shift at the pub is supposed to end at nine, but when I tell Natasha I have a chance to go to the Tyler Gala, she volunteers to stay late for me.

“Girl, I’d quit this job entirely for an opportunity like that.” She’s wearing her black braids in a high ponytail, and when she shakes her head, her hair dances. “You can leave early. I got you, okay?”

My smile for her is genuine. Everything feels brighter, happier, clearer. “Thank you!”

I float along, taking orders from guests, delivering their food and drinks, accepting payment. My mind isn’t on the work, but that’s okay. The job is physically taxing, but it usually doesn’t require a lot of thought, and I’m free to fantasize about the gala.

When eight o’clock rolls around, Natasha taps my shoulder. “Hey, shouldn’t you be going?”

“I still have to close out the bill on twenty-two,” I say, lifting my chin toward a table of people lingering over the dregs of their brew.

“I will drag you out of here if you don’t go,” she says with a laugh, her pale green eyes sparkling. “I’ll take care of twenty-two. Go, get ready! Live the life we all dream of, okay?”

“Okay, okay,” I say. And then, surprising us both, I pull her into a tight hug. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome,” she says, looking pleased.

I thought I didn’t have any friends—I thought Joel was the only person filling the role. But now I see I have a friend in Mrs. Dali, and maybe a new friendship with Natasha.

Grinning to myself, I head home. I don’t know if Mrs. Dali was able to make the final adjustments on the dress. When I tried it on yesterday morning, it needed a few more alterations to the front so I don’t flash my tits all over the place.

I bet Mrs. Dali was able to do it, though. The woman is incredible. She must be some kind of fashion wizard.

Who would’ve thought this gala could actually happen?

Certainly not me.

At first, I thought Joel was being cruel by leaving the ticket for me on my cleaning cart. Or thoughtless. But maybe Joel left the ticket for me just in case. Maybe he had some hope—however unfounded—that I would find a dress in the end.

Maybe he’s not completely irredeemable.

When I reach my apartment building, I hurry up to Mrs. Dali’s apartment on the second floor. She’s waiting in her doorway, bouncing on the balls of her feet, her eyes wide and excited, looking even bigger than usual behind her glasses.

“It’s all ready for you, Ella. You have to try it on!”

I can’t help my giggle of excitement, and even as it leaves my lips, I wonder when the last time was that I giggled like this.

Was it before Dad died? It’s been almost a year.

The thought sobers me immediately, but Mrs. Dali yanks me farther into her apartment and all of my somber thoughts disappear. Because, wow.

There it is. The dress.

It’s hanging up in front of the hallway, and on the easy chair next to it is a pair of shoes and a tiny clutch. They match the dress exactly.

“How did you pull this off?” I ask, hurrying forward to run a finger tentatively along the edge of the clutch. It’s a simple design, a drawstring bag, but it somehow still looks elegant.

“Waste not, want not. I used fabric from those flowing pieces we lopped off of the back of the dress,” she says.

“From there, it was a simple matter of finding the perfect ribbon for the string, which I had in abundance in one of my sewing kits. And, well, your shoes were a little more difficult. I had to ask around. I checked your size when you slept here on Thursday night. Only one of my friends is your exact size, and we weren’t sure she would have a pair that could work, but we really got lucky. ”

“You did all of this…for me,” I whisper. “Thank you.”

“Oh, you do so much for me, dear, I just wanted to do something in return. Now, it’s time to get ready. Fuss later, fuss later. You don’t want to be late to the gala!”

She helps me with my hair and make-up, but we keep it simple because neither of us has the skill to go crazy-glamorous. It doesn’t matter, though, not to me. I’m going to look amazing in this dress.

Once my hair and make-up are done, I retreat to the bathroom by myself and slip the dress on. It’s definitely a no-bra affair, but Mrs. Dali worked a miracle with the front, and I’m fairly secure the girls will be snug and covered throughout the evening.

I barely recognize the woman in the mirror. Usually when I see myself, I see a tired woman, someone who looks twenty years older than she really is. Someone who has had her hopes and dreams ruined. Those hopes and dreams haven’t been smashed outright, but chipped away a tiny bit every single day.

But now, looking at myself, I see someone who has the energy and the hope necessary to go out and enjoy herself for once.

Tonight is for me.

I can’t fucking wait.

I leave Mrs. Dali’s bathroom.

Tears fill Mrs. Dali’s eyes and she claps her hands to her mouth. “You look so beautiful, Ella. My word, I had no idea it would turn out quite like this.” She gives a little laugh and reaches beneath her glasses to dab her eyes with a handkerchief. “I must say, I feel a bit like a fairy godmother.”

“That’s because you are one,” I exclaim. “Thank you, thank you so much.”

“You are very welcome, my dear. Now go on. Do you have your ticket?”

“Oh, I nearly forgot.” I transfer the ticket, my wallet, and my phone from my giant, ugly handbag and into the tiny drawstring clutch.

“Okay, now go,” Mrs. Dali says. “And have the best damned time! Tell me all about it tomorrow.”

“I will,” I promise.

The cold January evening is a slap of reality against my skin. Of course, neither Mrs. Dali nor I thought about a coat of any kind. We wouldn’t have had the time or resources to take care of it if we had, though.

I take the bus to the Tyler Analytics building, and I get some strange looks from the other passengers. Yes, I am way overdressed for the bus. But paying for a car ride isn’t a possibility these days—I don’t even have one of those apps on my phone.

Feeling absolutely buoyant with hope, I text Joel. Hey, guess what! I have a dress for the gala!

No response.

I frown at the screen, hoping for those little dots to signal he’s writing back, but nothing happens.

No problem. I still have the ticket. I’ll surprise him at the gala itself.

Kingston

The gala is in full swing, and I’ve talked to about a hundred people already.

Most are making inane comments about the decor.

The company we hired has really done an amazing job, filling the place with orchids and subtle twinkle lights that manage to blend with the other decorations without looking tacky.

I’m in the middle of a conversation with an Irish investor when I spot my son deep in his own conversation with a young woman’s breasts. As soon as I can get away from the investor, I stride over to Joel and politely yank him away from the woman.

“What’s that about?” he asks, annoyed.

“Where’s your date?” I ask.

He shrugs. “Where’s yours?”

“I didn’t bring anyone,” I say. “Did you? What about the maid?”

“Are you serious? I’m not bringing her. In a moment of weakness I asked her, but can you believe she didn’t even get a dress for this?”

I want to hang my head in shame. I can’t believe I raised this kid. “Well, did you at least talk to her about whatever was going wrong, after I asked you to?”

“What? No, hell no,” he says. “She has issues, she can deal.”

“You’re supposed to be there for her. If she’s your girlfriend, that’s what you do.”

He shakes his head. “She’s not my girlfriend and she’s not my responsibility, and neither is her baggage.”

My son is an asshole. I fucked up, and it might be too late to fix things, to help him become the man he could be, rather than the overprivileged fuckboy his mother raised.

Joel hurries off, no doubt eager to get away from me and what he must guess is a lecture. I’ll catch him later and let him hear everything he needs to hear.

In the meantime, I need to do the bare minimum amount of socializing, then get the hell out of this place.

Grant Ramanathan, one of my top analysts, drags me over to two men and a woman.

“You have to meet these three,” he says under his breath.

As soon as I’m in front of them, he says, “Hey, you three. This is Kingston Tyler, the man behind this whole operation. Kingston, this is Jaxon Marsel, Ryder Callihan, and Olivia Santiago. Jaxon and Ryder own Ironwood Security.”

We shake hands. The three of them are all attractive.

Jaxon and Ryder look to be in their early thirties, and Olivia in her twenties.

From the way the two men stand with her, their postures alert and protective, I get the impression that they care deeply about her.

An engagement ring shines on her fourth finger, and I wonder which of them she’s engaged to.

Of course, the three could be in a relationship together.

We chat for a few minutes about their business. The men are interested in having my company crunch some numbers for them, and the woman wants to know who the caterer is for this event, and whether I might be interested in attending a charity event she’s putting on in the fall.

This is exactly the kind of networking the gala is good for, although tonight it’s exhausting. I just want another normal night, a night where I sit in my office and watch Ella, because I am apparently nothing more than a fucking creepy old man.

While I’m still talking with what I am sure is a happy throuple, a vision in a shimmering blue dress appears at the far end of the ballroom. Ella.

From the corner of my eye, Jaxon and Ryder exchange a look.

“I think he’s in love,” Olivia says on a quiet sigh.

I ignore their speculation and put my attention where it ought to be: Ella.

Her dress is unique, not like any of the other gowns here. Yet she still looks as if she fits in, somehow. Perhaps that’s because the simplicity of the design allows her natural beauty to show through.

I’ve never seen her in anything except her maid uniform.

While I’ve always known that dark blue sack wasn’t doing her form any favors, seeing her in this gown, with the plunging neckline revealing so much of her gorgeous skin?

Fuck. My cock is hardening right here, right now. I have to get myself under control.

It’s weird, because Joel said he didn’t bring her. Apparently he didn’t—she brought herself. But how? Tickets go for thousands of dollars. I doubt she saved up her maid’s wages for an event like this one.

I don’t know if anyone else notices her. To me, it feels as if all the air has been sucked out of the ballroom, as well as all the light except the glow that surrounds this beautiful woman of my dreams.

Where’s Bash? Doesn’t matter. He’ll find her eventually. Right now, I need to get to her.

What I’ll do with her when I reach her, I have no idea. I’m not thinking clearly, just acting on pure, sinful instinct.