Page 14 of Falling for Them (Cinderella’s Daddies #1)

Thirteen

Ella

I’m later than I want to be. It’s going to be hard to find Joel in this huge crowd.

The ballroom is packed. People are dancing, all of them glittering and beautiful. No one else is wearing a vintage dress, and I’m pretty sure there are enough diamonds in this room to buy an island or send a rich asshole into space in a penis rocket.

Maybe I should go. I feel like such an imposter. I’ll probably embarrass Joel, because I’m wearing this gorgeous-yet-second-hand dress.

But I came all this way. Mrs. Dali worked for hours on this dress, even with her bad arthritis. So I can’t leave now—if for no other reason, I owe it to her to stay.

As I move through the crowd of people decked in finery and caterers walking around with trays laden with champagne flutes, two men catch my eye.

Mr. Tyler is one of them, and he’s heading my way.

Approaching him from the side is Sebastian.

He’s just as handsome as Mr. Tyler, with his dark brown hair in a distinguished cut, his sparkling hazel eyes, and a beard that looks like it would be both soft and rough against my skin.

I can imagine them both touching me, holding me down, making me scream with pleasure.

Blinking, I tear my gaze away from them both. This is not the time for the sordid fantasies that have kept me distracted for the past two weeks. My boyfriend gave me a ticket to this event—the right thing to do is find him, not follow filthy dreams.

Someone opens the service door off to the side, one that leads to the kitchens. Finally, I see Joel; he’s in that hallway. I hurry toward him.

Mr. Tyler shouts my name. I lose a brief second to wave at him, pretending his low, resounding call was a simple greeting and not something more.

I swing open the service door and it almost smacks into Joel’s ass…an ass that is currently gripped in two hands tipped with sparkly purple nail polish.

It takes me a full ten seconds to realize what I’m looking at, while the two hands on his ass grip and massage him.

He’s cheating on me. He invited me to this gala, and now he’s cheating on me, right here. It’s not out in the open, because we’re in the service corridor, but still, anyone could walk in and see him…her…us.

The anger that fills me is more for myself than anyone else. I should’ve known he would do something like this, because of course he would.

It was stupid to think that someone like him would want something real with someone like me.

I was a fool. All those niggling thoughts that it was time to break up with him, that we weren’t right for each other. Even Sebastian’s suggestion that Joel couldn’t deserve me. I should’ve listened.

Clearing my throat, I tap on Joel’s shoulder. “Care to introduce me to your friend?”

“What?” He spins around and his eyes go wide in surprise. He even has the nerve to look me up and down, undress me with his eyes while another woman’s lipstick stains his mouth. “Ella, hey. Wait. Ella ?”

“Yes, dumbass,” I say.

He gapes at me for a few more seconds. “Wow, you look—”

“Who’s this?” the woman asks. She doesn’t use a mean tone of voice; she just sounds curious. She probably has no clue that Joel is already seeing someone. Or that he was seeing someone.

“I’m his girlfriend,” I say.

She winces. “I’m so sorry—I had no idea. He gave me the impression he was unattached.” To Joel, she says, “See ya, asshole.”

As she walks away, Joel scowls at me. “What the fuck, Ella?”

“You invited me to the gala,” I say. “Or don’t you remember?”

“Oh, right. I didn’t think you were coming.”

“We talked about it,” I said. “Then you left the ticket on my cart.”

“I didn’t leave you a ticket,” he says, looking puzzled. A grin tugs up the corner of his stupid mouth. “But I’m glad you found one, anyway. You look fuckable.”

“I just saw you kissing another woman, and I have the distinct feeling she isn’t the only woman you’ve kissed—or done more with—while you said you and I were together. And exclusive.”

He shrugs. “Nah, probably not.”

“I guess it’s over, then, isn’t it?” I hate that it hurts me to say it. I shouldn’t care. I don’t love Joel, never have. I never even pretended to love him. But I’d at least liked him.

And it doesn’t seem like he ever liked me.

“Yeah. Sorry, babe,” he says, looking me up and down, taking in my makeup, my hair, my dress and shoes.

“You look a hell of a lot better than you usually do. You clean up nice. But to be perfectly honest, I can’t be seen with you.

Even when you’re all fancied up. I mean, you tried, and you look good. But it’s not enough.”

Not enough . Story of my freaking life. Not enough money to pay my dad’s hospital bills. Not enough money to pay for school. Not enough hours in the day. Not enough charisma to get a better paying job.

Before I can respond, Joel’s already walking through the service door, back into the ballroom. There, he will no doubt mingle with more sparkling, beautiful women. There, he will find someone more at his level. Not a lowly maid.

I lean against the wall in the service hallway. Nobody’s around—the only caterers left are out there in the ballroom, carrying around trays with flutes of champagne.

So I let myself cry. I’m a little sad, and a lot angry.

I’m not enough. He’s too fucking right.

I’m not enough to be with someone like him.

And what hurts the most is what it means for those ridiculous, perverted fantasies I’ve been getting off to. All those imaginings where his dad, and sometimes his dad’s friend, fuck me until I’m screaming myself hoarse.

They wouldn’t do that, not with me, not with someone who isn’t enough.

The service door swings open yet again because I have the worst luck in the universe.

I quickly dab my face with the backs of my hands and spin away so I don’t have to make eye contact with whichever server might’ve come this way.

But a deep voice says my name. “Ella.”

I know that voice. Equal parts dread and anticipation fill me as I whirl around. “Mr. Tyler.”

Kingston

She’s crying. My beautiful little girl is crying.

“What’s wrong?” I growl.

“Nothing. I just…I made a mistake is all,” she says.

I saw Joel come out of here less than a minute ago. I can imagine what the mistake is that Ella made. Its first name is Joel and its last name is the same as mine.

Shit. I knew I should’ve talked to him about her. I should’ve made him listen to a dozen lectures about how to be a good man to a woman, how to treat her right. Ella deserves so much better.

I look her up and down to make sure that the hurt my son inflicted was only emotional.

“Did he hurt you physically?” I ask, although I see no marks.

“What? No, of course not.”

There’s no of course about it, not when I’ve raised a little punk who has callous disregard for the feelings of others. Still, now that I’m looking her over, I can’t help but say, “You look stunning tonight.”

Her cheeks flush. She says, “Thank you,” but she shakes her head slightly.

“You don’t believe me,” I say.

“It doesn’t really matter either way.”

“Oh, yes it does.”

Her brown eyes snap up to meet mine, and she bites her lip before saying, “Okay, Mr. Tyler.”

So fucking sexy, the way she says it. Does she know what she’s doing to me? I want to take her mouth with mine, thrust my tongue inside and taste her sweetness. I want to nip that plump lower lip of hers and make her moan.

“Come here,” I say, opening my arms. “You look like you could use a hug.”

Despite the fact we haven’t spoken much, despite the fact that she has no reason to trust me, she comes willingly into my embrace.

I settle my arms around her, feeling my instincts jump into gear.

I want to hold her always, and I want to protect her.

I want to make her smile and watch that dimple pop in her cheek.

“Will you dance with me?” I ask.

She inhales and pulls back. “Dance? With you?”

“Of course. Why not?”

“Because I don’t fit in with any of these people. I’m wearing a hand-me-down dress and I was your son’s cheap secret, the maid he was fucking on the side—”

“Language, Ella,” I say.

Her brown eyes go wide. “Sorry, Mr. Tyler.”

My cock springs to life—well, to be honest, it’s been half-hopeful since Ella hugged me back, and I’ve been struggling to keep things under control.

But her breathy “Sorry, Mr. Tyler” has upset the natural order of the universe and if I had my way, she’d be up against the wall with her gorgeous hand-me-down dress hiked up and my tongue in her pussy.

As it is, I say, “No problem, Ella. But as you’ve used some naughty words, it’s only fair that you dance with me.”

There’s no real logic to my punishment, but that doesn’t seem to faze her. She simply puts her hand in mine, winks, and says, “Whatever you say, Mr. Tyler.”

I think this beautiful creature was made for me.

“You should know,” I say, “that your dress is beautiful, and you look ravishing in it. You do fit in with the people here.”

Her shrug is one that tells me she doesn’t agree, but doesn’t want to argue with me.

I can work on that, over time.

Once I lead her from the service hallway and into the ballroom, she falters.

“I don’t even know how to dance a proper dance,” she says.

“We can just sway,” I say, keeping my hand on her lower back, staking my claim. “No special steps necessary. And if you want, I can teach you other dances, too.”

“Maybe not tonight,” she whispers.

“Another night, then,” I say.

Those beautiful brown eyes of hers meet mine and she smiles softly, like she doesn’t believe me.

She has no fucking idea. Now that I’ve got her in my arms, the only thing getting her out of them will be a safe word.

A caterer wanders past, tray of champagne flutes held aloft. I swipe two and hand one to Ella. I clink our glasses together and say, “To a magical night.”

She grins shyly at me before taking a sip.

We hold our flutes and sip from them while we sway back and forth on the dance floor.

Some of my business associates give us curious looks, but they can wonder about Ella all they want.

She’s mine, and I’m not ashamed of her. I’m not ashamed of her dress or her youth or her lack of diamonds or flashy jewelry.

I’m the luckiest man in this entire building, with Ella in my arms.

After a minute, she says, “You know, Mr. Tyler, if this is your idea of punishment, it’s really quite nice.”

“If this isn’t harsh enough for you, I could spank you instead,” I say casually.

Her breath hitches, and I can’t miss the way she squirms slightly in my arms.

“Does that idea excite you?” I ask.

She shakes her head, but she’s not looking at me.

“Eye contact, please,” I say.

She meets my gaze, her expression shy and a little embarrassed.

“Now,” I say, “tell me, because I’d really love to know—does the idea of a spanking excite you?”

Her grin is playful but uncertain. “Maybe.”

“Then maybe we should get out of here and—”

“May I cut in?” a familiar voice says from over my shoulder.

Sebastian. I want to rip his fucking head from his shoulders.