Page 19 of Falling for Them (Cinderella’s Daddies #1)

Eighteen

Kingston

Joel’s off skiing in Tahoe again. He left the day after the gala and he’s been there for nearly a week. He didn’t take my skis this time. Either he’ll rent some, buy his own, or put off any pretense of actually skiing and do what he’s really there for: partying.

Nobody else who works here can just up and leave whenever the fuck they feel like it.

I remember him as a little boy, and my heart clenches in my chest. He never quite took to me like he took to his mother, Rayanne.

She and I had him when we were young, just starting college.

She told me she was on the pill. Much later, while drunk and angry at me, she’d admitted she had never been on the pill.

She’d seen that Tyler Analytics, my dorm room start-up hobby, was going places, and she wanted to be a part of it…

forever. It had been her mother’s idea, actually, and I’d pitied Rayanne during the big confession, rather than being pissed at her.

I wish now, that things had been different. I wish I’d insisted on splitting custody evenly, rather than just taking Joel every other weekend. He and I were almost strangers while he grew up.

And despite my hope that offering him a cushy job here would bring us closer, it turns out, we’re almost strangers now.

Fuck.

The new maid from Maids in Heaven runs the vacuum down the hallway, briskly and efficiently. She does a decent job.

But she isn’t Ella.

I haven’t caught her name yet. I’ll ask eventually, because I try to get to know the people who work in my building, at least enough to say hello in passing.

A text from Sebastian shows up on my phone. Have you called the maid company yet?

I haven’t. It’s too late to do it now. I type back a simple no .

Do it now , he sends back.

Fuck. I’ve been putting it off, hoping that Ella would come back on her own.

She looked spooked as she left my bedroom that night.

And then, when Joel showed up, she was horrified.

I’ve been trying to give her space, give her time.

Rayanne always said I was too domineering, and I’m trying to curb those impulses.

But Bash is right. We’ve given Ella almost a week now.

Then again, maybe letting her go, letting her forget about us, is the best course. If I stop pursuing her, she won’t end up with a gruff man who’s nearly twice her age. Some nice guy will come along. He won’t hurt her; he’ll take care of her and treat her well.

I’ll only hurt her.

Stop fucking around and call the maid company , Bash texts.

I scowl at my phone. Bash knows me too well.

Sighing, I pull up the contact info for Maids in Heaven and place the call.

“Maids in Heaven, this is Melinda Nokim.”

“Melinda, hi,” I say. “This is Kingston over at Tyler Analytics.”

“Kingston, good to hear from you.” There’s a thread of suspicion in her greeting. “How can I help you?”

This is going to sound shady, however I phrase it, so I get right to the point. “I’m hoping to get in touch with one of your employees.”

There’s a long pause at the other end of the line. “That’s an unusual request,” she says.

“She’s an unusual woman.”

“I’m afraid I can’t give you any of her personal information.”

“Can’t, or won’t?” I press.

“Won’t,” she says. “If this is the young woman I think it is, then she asked to be moved from your building for a reason.”

I stare at my phone. The fuck . “She asked to be moved?” I say. “I thought she was just taking a few sick days.”

Melinda gives a wry chuckle. “She’s never taken a sick day in her life, nor a day off, much less a vacation.”

I can’t fucking believe it. Ella wanted to get away from me so badly, she asked her boss to assign her to another building.

“I understand you don’t want to give me her contact info,” I say. “Would you mind taking a message for me?”

“I’m no message service,” Melinda grumbles, “but I’ll do it because you’re my favorite client.”

“I bet you say that to everyone.” I keep my tone light, but inside, I’m seething. Ella asked to be reassigned. I don’t even know what to do with this information.

Melinda chuckles again. “Maybe I do. What’s the message, Kingston? I want to get Thai take-out and watch a movie with my wife tonight.”

“Could you give her my personal phone number?” I list off the digits. “And tell her to call me. No,” I correct myself, “please ask her to call me.”

I can try to boss Ella around until I’m blue in the face, but right now, I think a lighter approach is needed.

Patience isn’t one of my virtues, but I can fake it for a few more days.

Ella

Six days have passed since the Tyler Gala and the most perfect, magical evening of my entire life. That was, without a doubt, the best sex I’ve ever had or ever will have.

The evening sure ended terribly, though. Mrs. Dali told me not to worry about her friend’s shoes, but I feel awful and I’ll be saving up my wages to give to the friend to replace the shoes.

Because what I really needed was to owe someone else money.

I’ve picked up a quick cleaning shift at a hotel in Dorado Heights, and I have to go straight from there to Bartleby’s to open the restaurant with Natasha. When I arrive at the pub in my maid’s dress, Natasha raises her eyebrows.

“It’s okay, I brought a change of clothes,” I say.

She laughs and motions for me to twirl, so I do.

“Nah, it’s cute,” she says. “If anyone could pull off the sack dress look, it’s you.”

“Thanks?” I say.

“I’m just messing with you,” she says, tugging me into a hug. “How are you doing?”

I shrug. Natasha and I have gotten a little closer over the past week.

I needed someone to confide in, and I definitely didn’t want to give Mrs. Dali a heart attack by sharing too many details of my night with Mr. Tyler and Sebastian.

So I gave Mrs. Dali the abbreviated version and told Natasha everything except the names of the two men involved.

And the fact that one is the father of my ex.

Those details are too wild, too sordid, to be shared.

Natasha’s green eyes take a long, careful look at my face. “You’re not okay. But that’s okay. Have you thought of reaching out to either of them?”

“Nope. No way.” I carry my bag toward the employee restroom past Kevin’s office.

Rather than refilling the salt and pepper shakers and ketchup containers like she’s supposed to be doing, Natasha follows me. “Tell me why you can’t simply talk to them,” she says.

“Because someone like me does not belong in Dorado Heights,” I say. “I cleaned up well enough, but Joel still looked at me like I was shit on the bottom of his shoe.”

Natasha puts a hand on her hip and points at my chest. “If I had the hots for some fancy pants businessman,” she says slowly, “would you tell me I didn’t belong with him?”

“Oh, hell no,” I say.

“Would you tell me I wasn’t good enough? Would you tell me that even though I looked good for the Bellefleur District, I wasn’t good enough for Dorado Heights?”

“No fucking way, Natasha.”

“Exactly. So who the hell are you to say that same shit to yourself?”

“I—” I have no answer. She makes a very good point, although it’s very different. I can’t tell her that these men are like royalty, and I’m no queen.

I remember Sebastian calling me “princess,” and a thrill of lust flutters through me. I squash it down.

“Dude,” Natasha says, “there are two hot guys who rocked your world. Don’t sell yourself short, and for fuck’s sake, woman, claim your men.”

Kevin pops his head out of the office. “Are you two going to gossip, or get the place ready for guests?”

“Crap, sorry, Kevin,” I say, holding up my bag. “Just going to change real fast.”

He nods and raises his bushy black eyebrows at Natasha. She gives him an apologetic smile and hustles out to the dining room.

Did Kevin hear what Natasha just said to me?

She was practically yelling about two hot guys rocking my world?

Fuck, he probably did. Face flaming, I lock myself in the bathroom and change out of my maid’s uniform and into the black jeans and button-up top I wear here.

My feet are already aching. It’s going to be a long-ass lunch shift.

At least I don’t have to work at Dorado Terrace after this.

It’s the only reason Melinda allowed me to pick up an early shift at the hotel this morning.

She’s worried about me burning out and thinks I look exhausted.

Well, yeah, I’m exhausted. I’ve been exhausted ever since my dad died and I had to figure out how to pay his bills.

As I shove my folded maid uniform into my bag, my phone chimes from the side pocket. I pull it out and see a message from Melinda.

You’re probably done at the hotel. I have a message to pass on from Kingston Tyler. If he’s harassing you, tell me now and you won’t hear another word about him .

I nearly drop my phone. I never imagined Mr. Tyler would try to get in touch with me. I didn’t think for a second that I was important enough for him and Sebastian to even remember after the gala.

With shaking hands, I respond to my boss’s text. He’s not harassing me. I’ll take the message, thank you .

She sends back a string of numbers and adds, He wants you to call him .

Wow. Well, I can’t do it now—I have to work.

But…maybe after? I don’t know.

I could at least get back the shoes I left at his penthouse.

Yeah, that’s just an excuse to see him again.

I want to see him so bad, my freaking lungs hurt. Like I can’t take in a full breath, and I won’t ever be able to again.

Maybe that means he’s bad news, right? I should keep my distance before he and Sebastian wholly, completely wreck me.

I don’t know what I’m doing. After sending a quick thank you text to Melinda, I lean against the bathroom door and press my hands against my eyes. Fuck. I’m just so damn tired, nothing makes sense anymore.

But I’m not going to leave Natasha to get the dining room set up by herself, so I leave the bathroom, stow my belongings in a locker, and get out there to do my job.

The next few hours pass in a blur of orders, dishes, and pint glasses. Despite the message from Mr. Tyler front and center in my mind, I manage to do my job and keep the customers happy.

It’s nearing nine o’clock. At that point, Natasha and I will both clock out and another server will take on the drinking crowd and work until two, while Kevin tends bar.

Someone walks in and takes a seat in my section. The dining room is crowded, so I don’t get a good look at him until I hustle over to his table.

As soon as I see his face, though, my feet slow. I know this man. Intimately. I know the way his well-trimmed beard feels against my inner thighs. I know the way his tongue feels on my clit, the way his dick can move in my pussy.

“Sebastian,” I breathe.

“Princess,” he says, a slow smile growing on his beautiful face. Just as quickly, it disappears. “You’ve been very difficult to find.”

“I—” I don’t know what to say. My heart stops, then starts again, faster than before.

He’s so fucking handsome, it isn’t fair. I’m in my standard Bartleby’s uniform—black jeans, black top. I smell like fried food and the beer that sloshed on my sleeve a few minutes ago when a drunk guest knocked over his glass.

How could Sebastian find me here? How can he be so gorgeous and clean and…and rich ?

The only thing I can think to do is turn around and walk away.

So I do, simply spinning on my heel and aiming for the server’s station at the far end of the room. Once I’m there, safely behind a barricade of a soda fountain, coffee maker, ordering computer, and cash register, I bend over at the waist and put my hands on my knees.

Deep breaths. It’s okay. He’ll go away eventually, right? He can’t sit there forever.

“What is going on?” Natasha asks, bustling behind the server station with a tray of empty glasses. “And that dude is hella hot.”

“That dude is one of the guys from the other night,” I hiss, dragging her into the noisy kitchen where Carl is washing dishes.

The noise Natasha makes is difficult to describe. It’s something between a gasp and a shriek, with a large helping of ohmygawd ohmygawd thrown in.

She sets down the tray of empty pint glasses on Carl’s station, then grabs me by the shoulders. “This is exactly what we were talking about, Ella. You will talk to that man, and you listen to me. You deserve good things. Good, nasty things. Go get that D.”

Carl’s eyes grow wide. I think mine must be wide, too. Natasha spins me around and pushes me through the swinging door, back into the dining room.

I approach Sebastian once more. He’s watching me over the glass of water the busser brought to him.

Instead of asking him what he’d like to order, I blurt out, “How—how did you know to find me here?”

“Well,” he drawls, “I thought about hanging around outside your apartment building, but that was a little too creepy, even for me. Then I remembered seeing you at the karaoke place, and I wondered if you might hang around this area sometimes. I didn’t realize you worked a second job.”

“Yes, well, that’s how the other half lives,” I say. “I doubt you’d understand.”

He doesn’t smile, but something around his eyes makes me think he finds my statement humorous. Then his hazel eyes darken and I see something in there—something like the sorrow and abandonment I’ve been feeling ever since Dad died.

He says, “Princess, you have no idea.”

It’s none of my business. I wouldn’t want him asking about my past, so I’m not going to ask about his. But this tiny glimpse of his old hurts makes me less suspicious of his motives, and I find my shoulders relaxing.

“What do you want?” I ask. “Are you here for a meal, or a drink, or…?”

“Kingston and I want to be with you,” he says, like it’s so fucking simple.

“We can’t,” I say. “It’s just…we can’t do that.”

“Why not?”

Tears fill my eyes, but I blink them away. Stupid tears don’t solve anything. They never have, and they never will. “We just can’t, okay?”

His voice goes soft. “Okay, princess. How about we just hang out tonight? You and me? No pressure, no asking for anything more. In fact, even if you beg for sex, I won’t give it to you tonight.”

I don’t know what to say to that. Surely he can’t really mean that he wants to spend more time with me. And not just for sex?

“We can go to the Kitty Cat again,” he says. “We’ll visit. Maybe you’ll sing for me again.”

Natasha, standing across the room, is pouring soda from the fountain. She looks at me over the machine and mouths, “ Say yes .”

I want to laugh, because she can’t have any idea what Sebastian has asked me, but whatever it is, she wants me to do it.

And I want to do it.

“Okay,” I say. “Karaoke. Let’s do it.”

His fingers close around my wrist, and I get a flash of the night of the gala. Being restrained, held, fucked.

That’s not happening tonight, but I’ll be thinking about it.

Constantly.