Page 4 of Falling for Them (Cinderella’s Daddies #1)

Four

Ella

Joel is barely looking at me, like he already knows my answer will be yes .

Because of course it will be. The annual Tyler Analytics Charity Gala, usually just called the Tyler Gala, is the most exclusive event in San Esteban.

It takes place every January. Guests come from all over the state, and there are usually more than a handful of A-list celebrities.

I didn’t think I was important enough to Joel to warrant an invitation.

“Ella?” he prompts.

“Sure,” I say, stunned. “I’m in. Um, what do I wear?”

“Something nice.” He’s already sitting at his desk again, the computer monitor lighting up his features. “Evening wear, you know. A dress.”

Great. Real helpful. But the thought of dolling myself up, of looking glamorous and walking in on Joel’s arm, out in the open, not hidden away like a secret? It appeals to me, not gonna deny it. Maybe it could even fix what’s wrong with us.

It won’t, but right now, in the moment, I like the thought.

“Yeah,” I say, grinning like an idiot. “It’s a date.”

But still, a date. Sex isn’t the end-all, be-all of a relationship. I can work with Joel on that, and I can work on myself, with being more outspoken about what I want, what I need.

If he’s willing to take me to this gala, and be out with me in the open, then maybe our relationship isn’t doomed.

I don’t have to break up with him. I don’t have to worry about losing my job and being unable to pay the debt I’ve been saddled with.

Maybe…maybe Joel really likes me. That would certainly change my attitude about this relationship.

“Look, really,” he says, waving a hand at me, “I need to work, sorry.”

“Oh! Right.” I’m standing in the middle of his office, in the place where we just fucked, like a statue. “I’ll…just get going then. Talk to you later?”

“Sure thing.” He flashes a smile at me.

“Thank you,” I say, “for inviting me to the gala.”

“Of course.” He doesn’t look up, already intent on the important something-or-other on the screen.

I leave his office and retrieve my cleaning cart.

My heart’s soaring, because I will be going to the Tyler Gala!

Assuming I can get that night off work. Mentally, I go through my schedules for Maids in Heaven and the pub, Bartleby’s.

Normally I would be working here on a Saturday night, when the gala is taking place, but I’m supposed to have that night off, because of course they don’t want random maids wandering around when they’re having a fancy party.

Under other circumstances, I’d be asking my boss at Bartleby’s whether I can pick up an extra shift.

But now I have plans. A real freaking date. With my boyfriend.

I do a little skip as I move my cleaning cart down the hall toward the next office.

A date to the gala is awesome, but seriously, what am I going to wear? A dress, he said. Something nice. Like I have ballgowns stowed in my closet, right next to my spare maid uniform. Ha!

I shake my head at the ridiculousness of the idea, but at the same time, I’m smiling.

Because little Cinderella is going to the motherfucking ball.

Kingston

How sick is it that I know the maid is going into Joel’s office, and they’re probably fucking right now?

How sick is it that I wish I was the one fucking her, instead of my son?

Does she know he left Vice with another woman last night?

It’s not my business. It is not my fucking business.

The lights in my office are low, with only my desk lamp on. I should get out of here. It’s not like I’m doing any real work, anyway. It’s Friday night and I’m only obsessing about that maid and my son.

No, there’s still some work to do, and I’d rather be here than go home to my empty penthouse. I get up to pour a shot of whiskey from the minibar across the room. This section of my office is in complete shadow. It would explain why she doesn’t see me.

The door bumps open and the current woman of my fantasies steps inside, ass first as she pulls in a cart of cleaning supplies after her. She’s humming to herself, and the melody is familiar.

“Is that Jimi Hendrix?” I ask.

She jumps and gives a tiny squeak of a scream, then spins around, her eyes widening as she spots me by the bar. “I’m sorry, I thought your office was empty, Mr. Tyler.”

“No problem,” I say, smiling to show I mean it. And her little squeal was fucking adorable. I wonder if she’d make that sound when getting a spanking. “I’m just finishing up a few last things, having a drink. Feel free to do your work—it won’t bother me in the slightest.”

“Sure. Thanks, Mr. Tyler.”

“But, Jimi Hendrix?” I ask.

“Yeah.” She grins, and I nearly groan. There’s a deep dimple in her left cheek and it’s so girlish and cute, it nearly kills me. She adds, “Little Wing.”

“One of my favorites of his,” I say.

“Mine, too.”

When she reaches to turn on the vacuum cleaner, I say, “Just a second. What’s your name?”

“Ella Marchand.”

“I’m Kingston Tyler,” I say. “It’s nice to meet you, Ella Marchand.”

“It’s nice to meet you, too,” she says. Even though the lighting is dim, I can see the faint blush on her cheeks.

The vacuum hums to life, and she gets back to work.

Even though I wish I could keep talking to her, I shut my mouth like a good CEO and move back to my desk. I try to look at my computer, and not at her.

Ella. She’s gorgeous.

I stare blankly at my monitor, like the sick fuck I am, and think about what it might be like to lift the hem of Ella’s uniform a little higher.

I wonder what kind of panties she’s wearing under it.

Something sexy and grown-up? Or something younger?

The thought of corrupting her, of making her my little girl, hearing her say “daddy” as she looks at me…

it’s too much. My dick’s hard, and I want nothing more than to bend Ella over this desk and make her wail and moan for me.

Fuck, fuck, fuck . She’s dating, or at the very least screwing around with, my son. She’s probably half my age. It’s wrong to think of her this way.

But I can’t fucking stop.

And what’s more, I don’t really want to.

Sebastian

The scene at Kitty Cat Karaoke is dead tonight. This is my one link to the music world. Nobody here recognizes me, nobody bothers me. I pay the cover and sit back and listen to all the singers, good and bad.

Tonight, they were all bad. There was an apathy to their performances. Instead of lifting my mood, it brought me down.

Well, I can’t win every night with the Kitty Cats.

I wonder if their policy of a cover charge or a promise to perform is hurting them. Briefly, I consider buying the place before I remember I don’t want that kind of responsibility. I’ve worked enough for one lifetime, possibly two.

Now it’s time to play, so I have my driver take me to the Tyler Analytics building.

Even though it’s pushing midnight, I know Kingston is still at work.

Something’s going on with him—he just scowled the entire time we were at Vice, even when I pointed out the threesome that we’d seen on the dance floor—they’d moved up to one of the private rooms and I’m pretty sure the two men were fucking their woman on the balcony. Good for them.

Now if only I could find a sweet little thing to fuck with my best friend, all would be in order in the universe once more.

Instead, he’s brooding like a piece of shit. And brooding is supposed to be my job.

I let myself into the Tyler Analytics building and go through security. They let me through without a fuss because they know me by now.

Then I’m in the elevator, traveling up to King’s office. I’m going to go in there, grab that man by his fancy CEO suit, and drag him to Vice. And then we’re going to find a willing woman, take her back to his penthouse, and show her an amazing time.

“Because that is how we do things,” I say to my reflection in the shiny walls of the elevator.

The chime sounds as I reach the top floor, and the door slides open.

And there, vacuuming in the hall, is a maid. And she’s singing while she works.

I stop in my tracks. I can hear her over the sound of the vacuum cleaner, and her voice is lovely. She’s singing an Arctic Monkeys song, and there’s a new resonance to it, coming from her.

She’s facing away from me. I’ve got to get a look at this woman. I could listen to her sing all fucking day.

I have to walk past her to get to Kingston’s office, anyway, so I make my way toward her. She turns as I approach, and the song dies in her throat.

“No, don’t stop on my account,” I say.

“I didn’t realize anyone was out here with me,” she says, blushing.

“You have a beautiful voice.”

“Oh. Well.” She presses the back of her hand to her face, probably trying to cool her blush.

Holy fuck, she’s absolutely perfect. Has Kingston seen her? He must have, at some point. Why hasn’t he told me about her? Maybe he’s not interested. Hmm. I’m too interested in talking to her to follow this line of questions.

“Have you worked here long?” I ask.

“A few weeks. I should probably get back to it.” She gives me a little wave and resumes vacuuming, and I can see I’ve been dismissed.

I like her. And she didn’t even recognize me, so bonus there.

I make my way down the hall and nearly slam into Joel, who’s stepping out of his office.

“Bastian, my man,” he says.

I hate it when people call me Bastian. I grimace at him. “Hey, kiddo.”

He frowns. Yeah, he calls me Bastian , I call him kiddo in retaliation. So I’m a very immature forty-year-old, so fucking what.

“Is your dad around?” I ask.

Joel waves behind him. “He’s in his office. See ya.”

He passes the maid and she watches him from the corner of her eyes as he goes. Interesting. And he doesn’t even say hi to her or acknowledge her in any way, which just seems douchey to me.

I swear, if Kingston and been able to raise that kid, Joel would be a different guy entirely. Maybe he’d still be spoiled, because Tyler Analytics makes enough money to use as toilet paper, but he wouldn’t be an asshole.

As soon as Joel’s out of sight, the maid’s face transforms, very briefly, and I see pain there.

Does she have a crush on Joel? Man, she could do so much better than him.

Shaking my head at the injustice, I move down the hall.

“King,” I bark as I step into his office.

“I am not going to Vice with you tonight,” he says, his frown pronounced.

“Nah,” I say with a grin, “I don’t want that loud, shitty music.”

He laughs. “They were playing your shitty music last night.”

“Exactly.” I lean against the doorway. “I was thinking somewhere quieter. Abdul’s for drinks?”

“Sure.” He stands and grabs his jacket from a hook on the wall.

We leave his office. The little maid is nowhere in sight, and I’m disappointed. I wanted to see King’s reaction to her. She looks like she was made for us, all sweet curves and innocent blushes.

When I go home tonight, I’m going to fantasize about disciplining her.

I bet I could make that little bird sing.