Page 18 of Falling for Them (Cinderella’s Daddies #1)

Seventeen

Ella

Oh, shit.

I know what this looks like to my ex. I’m in my panties, holding last night’s dress, barefoot, and in the presence of his dad and his dad’s best friend, who are both naked.

It looks like I’ve just fucked Joel’s dad and Sebastian.

And in this case, things are exactly as they appear.

My heart thuds a rhythm of panic and shame. What kind of woman sleeps with her ex’s father?

For the longest moment, everyone stares at each other. I can’t move, until finally I remember my tits are bare, and I pull the dress against my body, trying to hide myself.

Joel snorts. “It’s nothing I haven’t seen before. What in the hell is going on?”

Nobody answers.

Joel points at Mr. Tyler, and then Sebastian. “You guys are sleeping with my girlfriend ?”

“She’s not your girlfriend anymore, you fucking cheater,” Sebastian says in a cheerful voice.

My face is on fire. I’ve never felt so naked, so exposed.

Everything Mr. Tyler, Sebastian, and I just did, every magical moment we shared, every absolutely perfect feeling, transforms into feelings of regret. I don’t do the things I’ve just done. Fantasize about them? Sure, all the time. But actually do them?

No. What just happened in Mr. Tyler’s bedroom—that kind of decadent, lascivious lovemaking is for the rich, the bored, the beautiful.

It sure as hell isn’t for me.

I push past Joel, who is too shocked to stop me, and dart into the penthouse elevator.

“Ella!” Mr. Tyler shouts. “Wait.”

“Thank you,” I whisper, just as the door closes.

I’m still naked, holding my dress. Get the damned thing on, Ella. The fabric tangles around my hands every time I try to find a way to put it on. It wasn’t this hard when I was at Mrs. Dali’s apartment.

Loud gasping sounds fill the elevator and it takes me a long moment to realize they’re coming from me .

I can’t suck in enough air. Pressing a hand to my chest, I force in a long breath, and then I blow it out slowly.

Worst-case, I end up in the parking garage in my underwear.

At midnight, there probably won’t be anyone around to see me, anyway. It’ll be fine.

Another breath, and then one more, and my pounding heart settles somewhat.

I can handle this. I’ve handled so much. A walk of shame from a billionaire’s penthouse is nothing to me.

I find the biggest opening on the gown and slip it on, then do up the zipper as best I can. My reflection in the gleaming elevator walls shows a woman with sex hair and smudged mascara.

Yeah, Mr. Tyler and Sebastian fucked my brains out.

Sometime later, when the end isn’t so raw and painful, I’ll pull the memory of this night from the recesses of my mind and really consider it. Relive it. Over and over and over.

The bedroom scene from tonight is going to be the one positive thing I can come back to when things get shitty.

I can remember the night I wore a beautiful dress and went to the Tyler Gala and danced with billionaires and then went home with them for the most incredible sex I ever had or ever will have.

And my helpful mind will gloss over the messy aftermath. Because nobody wants to think about that.

It’s only when I reach the parking garage that I realize I left my shoes behind.

Great, I’m going to be walking home barefoot. I wonder which will hurt worse—my feet or my heart.

My heart. Definitely my heart.

Kingston

My son looks like he wants to throw a punch. I wouldn’t mind letting him, because I feel like absolute shit for not immediately racing down the stairs to see if I could catch Ella before the elevator spits her out.

Looking disgusted, Sebastian throws up his hands and marches back to the bedroom. He’s muttering to himself, probably getting dressed.

I face Joel.

“So you had her, too, huh?” he says, a weird smile on his face. “Decent pussy, am I right?”

I rock back on my heels. Those ugly words coming from Joel’s mouth are worse than a sucker punch. I don’t know how to respond at first, I’m so shocked.

I shouldn’t be. He really is his mother’s son.

Finally, I’m able to speak. “If I ever hear you talk about her that way again,” I say, my voice so low it’s almost a whisper, “I’ll take you off the payroll and remove your access to every company perk imaginable.”

“The fuck?” he says.

“Stop acting like a little shit, and be a man. Ella is a wonderful person.”

“Yeah, she was my girlfriend. And you fucked her. You and Sebastian, both. I mean, wow. Mom said you were weirdly kinky, but that just…I don’t know what to say, Dad.”

“Then maybe you should shut your goddamn mouth,” Sebastian says from the bedroom doorway while he buttons up his shirt.

Joel snorts. “Sure, whatever.”

I pinch the bridge of my nose, feeling a massive headache coming on. “Did you need something?”

He holds up a heavy glass statue, a weird pyramid shape with a ball balancing on top. “Yeah. I was just bringing this stupid award they gave you at the gala. You left before the speeches, and everyone was wondering why. Well, mystery solved.”

“Thanks for bringing it by.” I take the statue from him. I want to break it over his head, but I’ve never hit my son, and I don’t plan on starting tonight.

Tempting as the thought of hitting him is, every time he opens that fucking mouth.

He jabs the elevator button, then has to wait for it to come back up. “You know, it makes sense now, how you were always talking about her. Watching her.”

I clench my jaw. I’m not going to react.

“She sure seemed in a hurry to get the fuck out of here,” he says. “Don’t you think she’s a little young for you?”

He’s not wrong. Ella does seem younger than most of the women I pursue.

“How old is she?” I ask before I can stop myself.

The elevator arrives and Joel steps inside. As the doors are closing, he says, “I don’t know. Twenty-four or twenty-five, I think.”

And then he’s gone.

I want to roar out my anger. Sebastian looks like he wants to hit something.

“How did something so perfect get so fucked up?” he asks.

“I don’t know.”

Lying on the floor at the edge of the wide hallway are Ella’s shoes. “Fuck,” I say, “she’s out there barefoot?”

“Call her,” Sebastian says.

“I don’t have her number.”

“Well, get it from your asshole son.”

I have to go back to the bedroom and hunt for my phone in my discarded tuxedo jacket. I text Joel. Send me Ella’s number .

Can’t , he texts back. Just deleted her contact info .

Fuck. He probably didn’t before, but he’s deleting it now, I bet. I hold the phone up to show Bash, who followed me in here.

Clicking off the text messages, I mutter, “We’ll have to get her number some other way.”

He swears and starts getting dressed. “I’m going out to look for her.”

“Hey,” I say. “She wanted to leave even before Joel arrived. And she has a huge head start—she’s probably already in a car on her way home. Maybe we should let her be for tonight.”

“Something got into her head,” he says.

“We’ll see her at the office. I will, anyway.”

Nodding, he says, “I’ll come in, too. We’ll both talk to her then.”

Sebastian

I wake up in my own bed, painfully aware that a certain baby girl is not in my arms. Last night was fucking amazing, and it kills me that it ended on such a sour note.

It was like performing a perfect set, and then ending on “I’m a Little Teacup” or some shit like that.

My phone buzzes on my dresser across the room. Something about it makes me think it’s been going off for a few minutes now. Someone’s eager to get in touch with me.

Fuck, is it King with news of Ella? Or could it be Ella, somehow? I jump out of bed and grab the phone, only for my hopes to crash into my gut.

If I ignore my agent’s call again, she’ll just keep calling all day. I don’t have the strength to ignore her. I swipe to answer. “Hey, Trina.”

“Bastian, baby,” she coos. “How are you?”

“I’m good. You?”

“I’m great . Just saw the write-up of the gala in the San Esteban Herald.”

I wait. I can picture her sitting outside her favorite cafe in Los Angeles, her signature plum lipstick staining the straw of whatever cleansing juice she happens to be drinking these days.

“Oh, fine,” she says with a laugh. “You always were a tough nut to crack. I’m calling because you look absolutely amazing in the photos. You need to make a comeback, Bastian. It’s time. They’re remixing the shit out of your tracks. Sexy and kinky lyrics are in.”

“Trina,” I say slowly. “I’ve been thinking.”

“Yeah?” Her voice sounds so eager, I almost feel like an asshole for what I’m about to say.

“I’ve been thinking of quitting for good.”

She gasps. “Don’t do that to me, Bastian. It was fine to lie low for a few years, but you’re ready for a return.”

“If I decide to come back,” I say, “you’ll be the first to know. Bye, Trina.”

Before she can try to stop me, I end the call and toss my phone to the rumpled bedsheets. I sink down to the edge of the bed, holding my head in my hands.

She makes it sound so easy. Make a comeback. Right. She’s one of the very, very few people who know how bad it got. The drinking was out of control. Thankfully, drugs were never a part of it for me. But the booze…it was everywhere, always flowing. Beer, wine, champagne, liquor. Ever-present.

The funny thing was, I never realized I had a problem. I didn’t even like drinking all that much, and I thought I just did it to be social with others who were drinking.

It wasn’t until my last show that I realized not only did I have a problem, but I was even more of an asshole than I’d ever thought possible.

I don’t remember the night in question, which is even more of a sign that I have a problem.

So no, there won’t be a comeback.

But that doesn’t mean I’ve turned my back on music. That would be fucking impossible.

Still in my boxers, I walk over to my guitar’s stand and pick up the instrument. Some adjustments of the pegs, and then everything’s in tune. I strum a few chords and look absently out my penthouse window.

Sweet as strawberries

Love’s instant kiss

Daddy will buy you a collar

Daddy will buy you a ring

I promise, little songbird

Daddy will make you sing

Trina calls again, interrupting my melody, this song I’ve never sung before, never thought before. I haven’t allowed myself to compose anything since I stopped performing.

I should answer, especially after everything I put Trina through six years ago.

Nearly seven years, now. Trina was my rock.

And yeah, of course she was monetarily motivated.

As her most popular client, not only did I bring in the cash, but I brought in other profitable clients in need of a good agent.

It’s been a symbiotic, professional relationship, and it’s shitty of me to ignore her now.

But every time I talk to her, I remember what I did, and I feel shame.

What if Ella feels as if King and I forced her? The thought makes me physically ill.

After setting down the guitar, I get my phone again, swipe past my missed call notification from Trina, and open up the site for Sexual Abuse Prevention of San Esteban.

With a few taps on the phone screen, I’ve made a decent donation to the organization.

It doesn’t exactly curb my guilty feelings, but at least once I do this, I feel there’s some sort of productive outlet, rather than just me stewing in regret and guilt.

I’ve heard people say that brooding musicians are sexy.

Nah, I’d much rather make amends with my shitty past and be happy.

After making the donation, I do a search for local Alcoholics Anonymous meetings. There’s one happening in about an hour across town, and I can make it if I hurry.

Ella

The Maids in Heaven office is neat and orderly, much like the business owner, Melinda Nokim, herself.

“Ella,” she says, standing to greet me with a smile and a warm handshake. “Good to see you. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

I grin back. There’s something so warm and comfortable about Melinda—she really invites ease and confidence. “I’d like to change my work location, if possible,” I say.

“You’re at the Tyler building now, right?” she says, wrinkling her forehead in puzzlement.

“Yep.”

“Are you sure?” Melinda asks. “Everyone who’s worked there says the Tyler building is the best gig. I can find you another slot, but it won’t be the same.”

“Yeah,” I say. “I’m sure.”

She gets up from behind her desk and sits in the chair next to mine.

Her deep brown eyes are searching. “If someone hurt you there, or made you uncomfortable, Ella, I need to know. Reporting it to law enforcement is up to you, but I can’t send someone else in there without knowing for certain that it’s safe. ”

“It’s safe,” I say. “I promise.”

I mean, Joel’s an ass, but physically, he didn’t do anything I didn’t want him to do.

“All right,” she says, sighing and returning to the other side of her desk.

She fixes her gaze on her computer screen.

With a few clicks of her computer mouse, she nods and mutters to herself.

“There’s another building in Dorado Heights.

It’s a luxury apartment complex, and all you’ll be cleaning is the public areas—hallways, basically, as well as a lower level restroom for waiting guests.

To be honest, Ella, it sounds like it will very quickly bore you. ”

“I don’t mind being bored,” I say quickly. “And there will be other maids working, too, right?”

“Yes. You’ll be with Brent and Gail.”

“Thank you,” I say. “This sounds perfect, really.”

Nodding, she says, “If you say so. I’ll text you the shift dates and times, but it will mostly line up with your current schedule. That way it won’t ruin your shifts at the pub, right?”

“Right, thank you.” I get up to leave.

“Ella,” she says softly, “you’ll tell me if anything is wrong, won’t you?”

“Of course,” I chirp. “Everything is fine, though.”

The lie doesn’t sit well as I leave her office and walk back out into the chilly late-January day.

Because nothing is fine, and I’m not sure that it will ever be fine again.

I experienced a lavish taste of heaven before being slammed right back into hell.