Page 7 of Falling for Them (Cinderella’s Daddies #1)

Seven

Ella

My headphones dig into my ears as I sit at my keyboard and pick out a melody.

I wish I could ditch the headphones entirely, but even if I were to keep the keyboard on a low volume, the walls in this building are as thin as paper.

The sound of my playing would very likely disturb my neighbors.

And while I know I have some less-than-admirable qualities, like lusting after my boyfriend’s father, I’m not rude to my neighbors.

The melody I’m working on is simple, which bothers me. There’s not a single thing wrong with a simple melody, but this one needs something else, something darker, like a minor chord, or…no, a diminished chord.

I try it again, layering in the accompanying chords.

It isn’t perfect yet, but it’s getting closer, twisting into something darker. It’s outside of my comfort zone, and it might be the best music I’ve written yet.

I came home late from cleaning and although I want nothing more than to curl up and sleep, it’s been too damn long since I played with music.

And after that strange interlude in Mr. Tyler’s office, well…I’m feeling inspired.

He offered me a drink. He watched me while we talked, his face hard, his eyes full of heat. I couldn’t have imagined that, right?

The sensory memory of his arms banding around my legs gets me wet.

And then his friend had walked in, that knowing smile on his lips.

It looked to me like he really thought he’d interrupted something, and that he was expecting…

more. Like his interruption wouldn’t prevent Mr. Tyler from spinning me around, flipping up my dress to expose my ass, and taking me right there.

In front of his friend.

And his friend is gorgeous, too. Light brown hair, hazel eyes, well-trimmed beard. He’s older than me, probably the same age as Mr. Tyler. I shouldn’t want men who are probably twice my age, but there’s something so authoritative about them.

I shake off the insane thought. That’s the kind of scene from a porno, not from real life.

But wow, sign me up to act in a movie like that, if Mr. Tyler and his friend are costars.

Tempting as it is to stop what I’m doing and run to my bedroom to use my vibrator while enacting and reenacting that fantasy in my head, I push it aside and focus on the music. It feels good to create, even when I’m exhausted. In fact, this kind of creative work gives me a different kind of energy.

I feel more alive now than I have in months.

My hands fly over the keyboard as I make adjustments to my music, trying out alternate chords, changing some to arpeggios.

Damn, it’s sounding so much better than it did.

My old music professor’s face appears in my mind, and she nods in approval at the way this song is taking shape.

She’d hate that it sounds so commercial, but from a craft standpoint, she wouldn’t have any complaints.

I deeply miss the San Esteban School of the Arts. I was learning a lot there, before Dad got sick.

Someone pounds on my door. I check that my headphones are plugged in correctly—it sure would suck for the neighbors if I’d made a mistake with the connection and all this while, I’d been torturing them with the same measures played over and over again with minor tweaks each time.

Everything’s good with the connection. I yank off my headphones and stand up, rushing to the door.

“Who is it?” I say through the wood.

“It’s Tommy. Let me in, Ella. Please.”

His voice sounds odd. Not like he’s been drinking, but like he’s in pain.

I pull the chain lock free and unlatch the wobbly deadbolt. When I open the door, Tommy practically falls inside, leaning against me. I hold him up, just barely.

His face is purple and red, bruises blossoming all around his eyes and mouth.

“Tommy, what the fuck happened to you?” I say.

He manages a pained smile. “You should see…the other guy…guys.”

“Who did this?” I demand. “We should call the police.”

“Don’t call the cops.”

“Then tell me who did it.”

“Some old friends of mine.”

“No friends would do this,” I say, leading him to the couch, where he falls, rather than sits, down.

Friends , my ass. He was probably gambling again. We don’t talk about it, but there’s a reason we’re so fucking far in debt we can’t breathe. And it’s not just Dad’s hospital bills.

“Stay put,” I say, “I’ll get my first aid kit.”

“Don’t worry, I’m not running any marathons right now.”

He should be looked over by a doctor. A hospital trip would be better than my living room, but we both steer clear of the hospital since Dad…well, we hate that place.

I get him patched up and make him an ice pack with a dishtowel and ice.

“I don’t know where to tell you to put this,” I say, hovering in front of him. “I guess on your whole face?”

He gives a weak laugh at that. “Yeah, I guess so. Thanks, Ella. Do you mind if I stay here tonight?”

“Of course you can,” I say.

He starts to head toward my bedroom, but I say, “Not there. You’ll have to make do with the couch. I’ll bring you a blanket.”

Because even though he’s hurt, I’m tired of being a doormat. And I have an actual job I need to work at tomorrow. He can sleep all day if he wants to.

Although Tommy looks like he wants to argue about stealing my bed for the night, he must be truly beaten down, because he just says, “Yeah, of course. Thanks, sis.”

Ella

I wake up at noon, hunger pinching my stomach. I don’t have a shift at the pub today. Sucks, because I could wolf down an entire dinner plate of fries right now.

A text is waiting on my phone, from my boss at Maids in Heaven.

Ella, can you come in early today? 1.5x pay. The San Esteban Motel needs an extra housekeeper. You’re probably still asleep after your late shift at Tyler Analytics, and this shift starts at 1 .

Extra pay? I’m in. I quickly text back that I’ll be there. This is lucky, although it means I’m going to be dead on my feet by the end of my shift at Tyler Analytics.

Still, I’d rather start rebuilding my emergency cash stash, and putting extra toward paying off debts.

When I leave my bedroom, I can see the apartment is empty. Tommy already left. Huh. I was pretty sure he’d still be sleeping.

I make my way past the rumpled couch and to the kitchen to fix some toast with peanut butter.

Crap, Tommy ate the last piece of bread. I mutter curses under my breath. Now I have to go to the store, and I really don’t have time for this today.

I rush through my shower, slap on some mascara and lip balm, and hurry out of the apartment to the corner store. Again I’m lucky—there’s older bread on sale. I grab two loaves, planning to freeze one, and bring them to the cash register.

The woman at the counter rings me up and gives me the total.

I open my wallet to reach for some cash. It’s empty.

“I’m sorry,” I say to the cashier. “I thought I had cash, but I don’t.”

“Don’t you have a credit card?” she asks.

I shake my head. Nobody will give me credit, not with my current standing, after Dad’s hospital bills.

“I’m sorry,” I say.

I leave the bread at the counter and leave the store, blinking back tears.

Once I’m out on the sidewalk, I take a great, heaving breath and wipe my hands over my eyes. Pulling my phone from my bag, I bring up Tommy’s number and jab angrily at the screen.

“Hey, sis, what’s up?”

“Where’s my money, Tommy?”

He’s quiet.

“Tommy, tell me you still have it.”

A distinctive beeping sound fills the background on his end of the call, along with cheers as someone experiences the kind of good luck Tommy never seems to get. He’s at the underground gambling hall.

“I was going to double it for you,” he says. “It wasn’t much. But don’t worry, I’ll get it back.”

I hang up on him, too angry to speak.

I will never see that fifteen dollars again. And it might not be a lot to some people, but it was a lot to me.

Worse, the person who took it from me was one of the last people in this world I thought I could trust.

Kingston

Joel’s working tonight, and so is Ella. I want to snap my fingers and call her in here again, have her finish dusting the lower shelves so she has to bend over in front of me.

I’m a sick bastard.

I wonder how well she follows orders in the bedroom. Is she quick to comply, or does she do a little bratting? I have a corruption fetish, and Sebastian prefers brats. Finding a baby girl who will suit both of those kinks can be difficult.

Half the fun has been trying to find a baby girl for both of our kinks. But it’s gotten boring, and even though we’ve met a few who come close, our personalities weren’t compatible for anything long-term.

The sound of the vacuum reaches my ears.

My dick jerks to attention.

The fuck? Now a vacuum can make me horny?

I take a deep breath, willing myself to calm down as Ella steps into view. I thought about closing my blinds, shutting myself off from temptation, but instead I’m sitting here in my dark office, hoping to catch a glimpse of this gorgeous woman.

There’s something different in the slope of her shoulders, though. A tension there, that I didn’t see yesterday.

Did Bash and I scare her off? Fuck, that’s the last thing I want.

Did my asshole son do something to upset her?

Maybe this is just my imagination, running away with me. Maybe a filthy, dark part of me wants Joel to break up with her because then she’ll be free.

She could be mine.

I watch her a bit more, the lights off in my office except for the desk lamp. Can she feel my gaze, hot on her body?

If she can, she gives no indication of it. She isn’t smiling, she isn’t stealing glances at me.

Something’s wrong.

When she passes close enough to notice me, I wave at her, gesturing her into my office.

She shuts off the vacuum cleaner, looking utterly defeated. Whatever’s going on with her, I don’t like it.

“Hello, Mr. Tyler,” she says as she enters the room.

“Is everything okay?” I can’t keep the protective growl from my voice.

She gives a little start. “Yes, of course. Everything’s in order. I’ll be in to finish dusting your bookcase before the end of my shift.”

I don’t know how to talk to her. I don’t know how to coax the truth from her lips, how to gain her trust.

If she were mine, I would wring it from her along with her pleasure. I would uncover all of her filthiest desires, as well as her tender, aching hurts. I’d soothe every part of her, give her relief.

But she isn’t mine.

Sighing in defeat, I say, “Remember what I said, Ella. You work in my building, and that means you’re under my protection. You can come to me with any trouble or problem. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Mr. Tyler. Thank you.”

She sounds like she doesn’t believe me. It’s as if my words and reassurances are empty promises. I don’t make empty promises. Fuck. How can I convince her of my sincerity?

I can’t. She has absolutely no reason to trust me or believe my words.

I wish Sebastian were here. He’s the one with the smooth tongue, the voice that can make women drop their panties. Me, I’m the brute who lashes them with my tongue once they’re naked.

“I should return to my vacuuming,” she says.

“Sure,” I say. “Of course.”

Be mine. Let me kiss it better, baby girl .

As soon as she’s gone, I pick up my desk phone and hit the button for Joel’s office. “You’re seeing the maid, right?”

“Yes, Dad,” he says with a sigh. “It’s not against policy. I checked with HR, and—”

“That’s not it. Did you break up with her? Have a fight?”

“Did I—what? What are you talking about? She’s just a maid.”

“She’s sad. Talk to her.”

“The fuck?”

I can picture him staring at his phone. I have never, not once, gotten involved in any of his relationships.

“Do it,” I say.

He huffs an aggrieved sigh. “Yeah, okay.”