Page 22 of Falling for Them (Cinderella’s Daddies #1)

Twenty

Ella

The next morning, Saturday, doesn’t bring any improvement to my situation.

I wake up at nine a.m., which is far too early for me, given my usual work hours.

But I can’t go back to sleep, probably because I’m nervous.

Mr. Tyler asked me to call him. Sebastian told me I should.

Even as I cried last night, the one bright point that I clung to was the knowledge that I would get to hear Mr. Tyler’s warm, stern voice today.

Should I be referring to him as Kingston? It seems like it should be weird to call him Mr. Tyler after he’s literally had parts of his body inside of my body, but I can’t really imagine calling him by his first name. He commands that kind of respect from me.

Or I can call him Daddy , which also works for me, for some reason.

I wish I knew what that reason was, but maybe it’s best not to question it.

Sitting up in bed, I grab my phone from the nightstand. I could text him this early. I should probably call. He wanted me to call.

If I text instead, will he punish me again?

Feeling naughty at the thought, I slide open the screen and see a message from my phone and internet company.

IMPORTANT NOTICE REGARDING YOUR ACCOUNT: DUE TO NONPAYMENT, ALL SERVICES ARE SUSPENDED.

Oh, shit.

With the excitement of everything going on, I never got the money together for the bill. Most of what I earn goes to paying off my debts, and what little extra I had to tide me over in situations like this…I spent on the other dress’s deposit, and Tommy took the rest.

My heart falls.

This is just another fucking reminder of why I don’t belong with someone like Mr. Tyler or Sebastian.

It doesn’t matter what Natasha says—she could probably pull off a relationship with men like them and do just fine.

But me? I don’t belong in their world, and every time I turn around, something reminds me of that fact.

Not enough .

Unlike last night, after Tommy called me, I don’t cry.

I’m too tired and angry for bullshit tears.

They don’t solve anything, and you know what?

I don’t need a fucking phone. Without one, I can get by just fine.

And I won’t be distracted by hot men who turn my head and take me to false heights only to drop me on my ass after the novelty of the new toy wears off.

Near the end, my dad told me to never say “fuck my life,” because life is precious and it can be so, so short.

But right now, staring at my stupid fucking phone which has hijacked everything important to me because I can’t pay the damn bill? All I can think is, fuck my life .

Kingston

As I’m getting out of my car on Monday morning, my phone rings. I grab it quickly, hoping it’s Ella. I don’t know why I keep fucking hoping. I left that message with Melinda at Maids in Heaven on Friday.

Sure enough, it isn’t Ella. Sebastian’s name lights my phone screen. I swipe to answer.

“Have you heard from Ella yet?” he asks.

“No, I’d call you if I had.”

“Dammit. Look, I saw her on Friday.”

“You what ?” I say it so loudly, one of the security guards in the lower floor of the building gives a start. I wave at her and lower my voice as I say to Sebastian, “You saw her? Where?”

“I thought she might work in a bar or pub in the Bellefleur District, so I’ve been going to different pubs and bars.”

“Where does she work? We’ll go there tonight.”

“She’s skittish, King. I think she requires a lighter touch.”

Lighter touch. Fucking hell. I think she requires a good spanking to remind her of who her daddies are.

“She’s been hurt,” Sebastian says.

A flare of jealousy moves through me. “You talked to her.”

“Yeah. We went to the karaoke bar—”

“You didn’t even fucking tell me you saw her. What the hell, Bash?”

“Okay, you’re right. I’m sorry. She said she was going to call you, so I thought she did.”

My grip tightens on my phone—I want to squeeze the device into dust. “She didn’t call me.”

“I should’ve checked in with you.”

“Yeah, you should’ve.”

Rule one is enthusiastic consent. Rule two is single women only. Rule three is we’re honest and open with each other and, if something turns into a relationship, with the woman we’re dating.

I can imagine him running a hand through his hair in frustration as he says, “Look, I mean it. I should’ve talked to you. Things have been a little crazy and I didn’t think.”

“Crazy how?” I ask—now I’m concerned instead of irritated. I know how Sebastian struggles, how worried he is about slipping back into alcohol abuse.

“I sang with Ella at the karaoke bar. People noticed.”

“And…?”

“And social media won’t shut up about it. Trina won’t shut up about it.”

I wince on his behalf. He’s loyal to Trina because she believed in him from the very beginning, when he was just a punk college student singing in clubs. But I’ve never liked her much.

“Look, if she hasn’t called you yet, maybe she’s working up the nerve,” he says. “I think we should give her some time.”

I don’t want to give her time. I want to give her a good spanking until she promises not to leave like that ever again. And then I want to hold her in my arms and reassure us all that she’s safe.

But Sebastian’s the “thoughtful” guy between the two of us. Despite his love for pushing women to their limits, he’s the most in tune with their emotions. If he thinks Ella might need time, then I’ll try to honor that.

“Fine.” I try not to growl the words. “I’ll give her time.”

We hang up and I get into the elevator to ride up to my office. Fuck. Maybe Ella’s just not interested. Maybe we came on too strong.

Maybe this was never meant to be a relationship.

But something about her has called to me from the start. I can’t shake it.

My phone rings again, this time as I’m stepping into my office. I flick on the lights and stride to my desk as I answer the call.

“Kingston?” a woman’s voice says.

Oh, fuck me. I should’ve looked at the Caller ID. “Rayanne,” I say. “What a surprise.”

She gives a light laugh. “I’m surprised you answered.”

Bypassing that entirely, I say, “Is everything all right?”

“Oh, yes.” She laughs again. She always does that when she’s nervous, ever since I met her in college. “I just wanted to call and catch up. Have you heard from Joel lately?”

“Not since he left for Tahoe a few days ago. I think he’s back in town, though.

He should be coming to the office today.

” I frown at the cityscape outside my office windows.

San Esteban is too bright, the winter sun glinting off of car windshields and reflecting off the buildings.

Horns blare in a traffic jam below. “Do you want me to give him a message or something?”

“No, no, it’s fine. He’ll text me at some point.” She clears her throat. “How’s business?”

“It’s good. Solid.”

“Slow and steady, that was always your motto,” she says.

“It’s worked for me.”

Rayanne always hated that I wasn’t more ambitious. She wanted me to grab every opportunity, even the opportunities that seemed sketchy, or morally gray.

“I guess it has worked for you,” she says softly.

She sounds weird.

“Is…everything all right with you?” I ask.

“Oh, yeah. Totally.”

“Douglas is okay?” I hate her husband—not because he married my ex-wife, but because he’s the kind of slimy, money-grubbing businessman I always vowed I wouldn’t turn into. He’s in the pharmaceutical business and some of the drugs his company manufactures are reportedly highly addictive.

“Yeah, he’s great,” Rayanne says. “Well, I was just calling to catch up. I’m glad you’re doing well, Kingston.”

“You too, Rayanne.” I don’t wish her ill, anyway. Just because she and her husband make my skin crawl doesn’t mean she deserves to be unhappy. “Take care.”

“You too.”

The call ends and I sigh, staring out over the city, wondering what the fuck that was about.

Ella

It’s been a long freaking day. The hours while I cleaned the luxury apartments seemed double what they actually were, especially with two guys I didn’t recognize who stared at me for a long moment in the hall.

It made me paranoid, even though they looked nothing like the guys who showed up at the pub to bother me.

Then after that disconcerting shift, the pub has been slow.

“Is today over yet?” I ask Natasha.

She glances at the clock on the computer we use to put in food and drink orders. “Nope. We have thirty minutes to go. Why don’t you head out? It’s so slow, I could take your…what, two tables left?”

I look out over the dining room. “Just one left now. But I’m not leaving early. I need to get paid. You can go, though.”

“Yeah,” she says. “I think I will. Only if you’re sure?”

“I’m sure.”

Natasha says goodbye and takes off. In an hour, the next server will be here to take on the late crowd. I can’t wait to get out of here, but like I told Natasha, I need the money, so it doesn’t matter how much my feet hurt or how bored I am, I’m staying until the end of my shift.

Finally, the end arrives. I take care of my closing duties.

“Burger to go?” Kevin asks from the kitchen, where he’s cooking tonight because he’s bored.

“Yeah, thanks,” I say.

He makes it and wraps it up for me. I tell him thanks and head outside—and I nearly run into Joel.

I can only stare stupidly up at my ex-boyfriend. It’s just, my worlds have collided. I never expected to see him here at Bartleby’s, much less in the Bellefleur District.

“Hey,” he says.

“Um, hey. What are you doing here?” I can’t keep the surprise from my voice.

He doesn’t even look like he fits in, wearing his designer jeans and a windbreaker that probably costs an entire month’s worth of my rent.

“I was hoping to run into you,” he says. “I thought you mentioned this place before.”

His lip curls as he looks over the dingy brick building. The S at the end of Bartleby’s is hanging off of the sign above the door.

I don’t need this stuck-up asshole standing here, judging my workplace.

“Did you need something?” I ask.

“I really want to talk to you,” he says, moving his focus from the building to my face. His sneer disappears, and a hopeful expression takes its place.

“About what?”

“Everything,” he says. “Please? I’ll take you somewhere for a late dinner…”

Food. I have the burger Kevin made in its little foil package, but I had a burger last night and the night before…the lack of variety in my free meals is starting to make me feel bloated.

“Um, okay,” I say slowly. “There’s an all night-diner the next block over.”

Because I’m not getting in a car and driving somewhere with this guy, no way. Whatever he wants to talk about, I want to be able to make a quick exit.

We don’t speak on the way to the diner. Joel looks all around him, like a freaking tourist at the zoo or some shit.

“Is this your first time in Bellefleur?” I ask as we reach the diner.

He gives me a wry smile. “Is it that obvious?”

I nod and say, “Yep,” for added emphasis.

The interior of the diner is warm and well-lit, and it smells like coffee and pastries. There are a few tables here—the place is doing better business on a Monday night than Bartleby’s is doing.

Joel and I grab menus from the stand next to the door and seat ourselves. A tall man with a mustache hurries over and says, “Can I get you started with drinks?”

“An espresso for me,” Joel says.

“Herbal tea?” I ask.

“I’ll bring you a selection,” the server says.

“Thanks.”

He leaves us alone and Joel leans forward across the table, ignoring his menu.

“Ella, I want you back.”

It’s a good thing my tea hasn’t arrived yet, because if I had anything in my mouth, I would be spitting it out in shock. “What?”

“I made a mistake,” he says.

“How, precisely?” I ask.

“How?”

“How did you make a mistake? What do you think you did wrong?” Because I know what he did wrong, but I’m curious as hell as to what he thinks about it.

“Um…I shouldn’t have seen other women while we were together.”

He stops there. Like he’s run out of ideas.

“Yeah, this isn’t going to work,” I say.

“Why?” He blinks at me with his bright blue eyes.

I thought I was tired at the end of my shift at Bartleby’s, but that exhaustion is nothing compared to what I’m feeling now, even though I’m sitting down and my feet aren’t screaming in pain.

“It just won’t work, Joel. We’re in different places, we want different things.”

“Are you in love with my dad or something?” he asks. “Because he hasn’t had an actual girlfriend since…forever. He just sleeps around. You were another notch in the bedpost.”

“Like you can talk about that,” I say, my own sense of indignation rising. “We weren’t even broken up and you were sleeping around.”

“And you can talk about it?” Joel slams down his menu.

The server, who was approaching with our drinks, does an abrupt about-face.

Joel continues, “ You’re the slutty one.”

It takes me a full five seconds to process what he just said. “I’m the—Joel, you really need to stop talking about this. I’ll just go and we can pretend this conversation never happened.”

“What, because you don’t like the sound of the truth?”

I stand up. “I don’t have to listen to this.”

“You are a slut,” he says, his voice loud. He doesn’t care who else in this diner hears his poison words. “You fucked me. You fucked my fucking dad , Ella. And his friend. How many other guys have you fucked since I met you?”

“It’s none of your business if I’ve fucked every adult in San Esteban, Joel.”

“It is if you gave me some disease.”

I can’t believe this. He was the one screwing around behind my back, not the other way around. He was the one who made me feel like I was crazy just for wanting to talk . He was the one who lied about where he was at least once, and probably a lot more than that.

“Lose my number, asshole.” I spin on my heel and leave the diner.

I can’t fucking believe that guy.