Page 6 of Midnight Kisses (Spicy Fat Cinderella Retelling)

MILES

The next hour in my calendar was blocked out to chat with Paul, head of Business Partnerships, who wanted to pitch a new client acquisition strategy—but I told my assistant Sadie to fob him off. What was the point in being the boss if you couldn’t take a lazy afternoon kip when the mood struck?

Except, reclined on the couch in my office, I didn’t actually sleep.

Obviously. I couldn’t sleep at nighttime, let alone midday.

Instead, I spent the reclaimed hour doing the same thing I’d been doing this morning while shovelling cereal into my face, and last night as I lay in bed half-watching a football game I’d already seen.

Attempting to cyber stalk my bathroom goddess.

Unlike Sadie and the majority of the marketing department at Elysian Wine Exports, I wasn’t deeply attached to social media.

Sadie liked to call me digitally prehistoric because she thought it would annoy me.

It didn’t—what annoyed me was having the woman from New Year’s Eve haunting my thoughts like this.

Home alone in the small hours of New Year’s Day, I’d thought if I knocked one out reliving the memory of her coming on my face, that would be that and I could put the memory of her behind me.

It hadn’t worked out that way.

For three weeks I’d thought about her constantly. No matter how hard I tried, the mystery of her was a fixation. Which grated.

The only reliable path to happiness was to avoid giving a fuck about anyone but yourself.

And instead of living by my own values, I’d spent multiple nights staring at the ceiling wondering who the woman was, what her story was, and how she went from modelling to removing stains (or not removing, in my case) in a fancy bathroom.

A knock sounded at the door.

“Go away.”

The door opened and closed, with Sadie on the wrong side of it.

“You look like shit,” my assistant said cheerfully. “Do you want me to cancel the rest of your afternoon and make you a sleepy tea?”

“God no. The last one tasted like pickled beets.”

“Not the beets one, I found a new brand. This one tastes like laying in a meadow. You can practically smell the wildflowers as you look up at your lover who’s telling you he has the skin of a killer, Bella.”

That was the problem with Sadie. She wasn’t intimidated by me, which gave her zero qualms about voicing the incomprehensible shit that crowded her mind.

“How do I find someone on social media, Sadie?”

“You search their name and add filters like location or education. Is this a work thing?”

“If I say yes, will you help me with it?”

She shook her head. “If you say no, I’ll help you with it. I’m bored, I’ve done all the fun tasks on my to do list.”

“You’re supposed to do all the tasks,” I muttered, though there was very little point. Sadie would do whatever she wanted, and although I’d never tell her this, she was an excellent assistant. If she thought something could wait, it could.

Adding further fuel to Sadie’s refusal to genuflect was the fact my mother liked her. As far as Sadie was concerned, this gave her immunity to do whatever she wanted. Which, at Elysian, was more or less true.

A few years ago at a company Christmas lunch, my mother got an awful glint in her eye and I knew she was envisioning Sadie and I together romantically.

I vehemently rejected this idea, but my mother was stubborn and had argued the point right up until I took the piece of steak Sadie wanted, and her loud threats to castrate me finally chased the idea out of my mother’s eyes.

It wasn’t an empty threat, either—Sadie had grown up on a sheep station and often bragged of grim skills like this.

After that, my mother recalibrated her assessment of our dynamic to that of siblings, which was closer to the truth but still fell short. I thought of us more as homeowner and poltergeist.

“I don’t have her name,” I told Sadie. “I met her at the New Year’s party.”

“You’re fucked then,” she said cheerfully, shoving my feet until I made room for her on the sofa. “What search terms have you been using?”

Hot blonde, Sky Tower bathroom woman, sexy model, nice tits.

“Descriptions,” I said evasively.

Sadie’s expression was scornful. “You can’t find a missed connection with synonyms for boobs, Miles.”

Instead of telling her she was right, because I would rather die, I shrugged and knocked back a glass of water.

“Do you know the names of any of her family or friends? Often when people lock down their profiles, their friends post photos of them anyway. Parents and grandparents comment the most out the gate shit on photos. If you gave me an hour I could probably crack most people’s security questions this way.

Yours would be so easy. Mother’s maiden name, Hubbard. First pet, a rock named Toby?—”

“I had a dog, too.”

She levelled a look. “We both know you preferred the rock. Less emotional investment.”

The dog had been fucking needy.

Like I said, the secret to happiness was caring only about yourself. I felt so strongly about this, if it wasn’t in direct contradiction with the core principle, I’d give seminars.

“Go away, Sadie.”

“No, let’s track down your dream girl. I’ve never seen you so interested in someone. It must have been a very memorable meeting.”

Neither memorable nor meeting were the right words for what had happened with the goddess in the bathroom, but I let it slide. Sadie already knew everything about my habits, my childhood, and my family. I didn’t need her knowing what made me come like a geyser when I masturbated, too.

“Was she there as part of a company table, or did she buy a solo ticket?”

I hesitated before admitting, “She was working the event.”

My assistant groaned. “ Miles . Come on, my guy. The bar is on the floor with you. Why can’t you be happy with the social climbers and WASPS your mother throws at you?

Why do you have to hit on staff while they’re working?

I should spray you with the spritz bottle like I do Buck when he barks at the courier. ”

“Trust me, I didn’t start it—” I stopped, unsure I could honestly say that. “Maybe I did. But make no mistake, she was an enthusiastic participant.”

A fucking delicious one too.

“I’m amazed she didn’t get fired for flirting with a guest in the middle of the party.”

“We were in the bathroom.”

I let Sadie think that was because I’d politely excused us, instead of wandering into the bathroom and cracking on with the first woman I found there.

Why the hell would someone hide a hottie like her in the bathroom, anyway?

You were supposed to put the sexy people on the door to greet people, or give them champagne so they could parade around the room and be admired.

I knew fuck all about organising events but I’d been to enough of them to know that. Everyone knew that.

Sadie was shaking her head. “I have no idea what women see in you.”

“I’m rich and good-looking.”

She rolled her eyes. “That’s not the slam dunk you think it is. If you were this much of an a-hole and broke and ugly, you’d never get laid. You’d have to actually cultivate a personality. Like me.”

“Sadie, talking to you is like scratching an itch with a cheese grater.”

She snarled and I briefly considered taking it back because I needed her help finding my mystery girl. But an apology was unnecessary, firstly because insults never had any effect on Sadie, they only made her stronger, and secondly because she tugged my phone out of my hands.

“What was the event company called?” she asked.

“How would I know? You bought the table.”

Sadie pursed her lips for a moment, thinking, before snapping her fingers. “Momentum Events.”

She unlocked my phone—she was right, she’d have no trouble stealing my identity and robbing me blind, should the temptation one day overcome her—and was neck deep in my social media before I could protest. Crossing to the bar cart and fridge stocked with some of Aotearoa, New Zealand’s best wines, I fetched her a can of the cold brew coffee she liked.

She accepted this without thanks, huffing at something on the phone.

“What?”

“I didn’t know looking like a Calvin Klein model was a requirement for passing out puff pastry.”

I shrugged. I’d prefer we only hire hotties at Elysian too, but that crypt keeper in Human Resources, Suzanne Callaghan, would have my balls if I suggested it.

Sadie let out a whoop of triumph and spun the phone around to show me the screen. “Is she in this photo?”

I squinted at the group selfie of a bunch of people in company branded t-shirts. Disappointment sunk my shoulders. “No.”

“Damn. Maybe you’re out of luck. Maybe next time you’ll have to get a woman’s name before you suck face with her in the bathroom.”

“I tried .”

“Try harder, slutbag.”

Sadie and I spent another twenty minutes combing the images posted online by the event company, but my girl—rather the girl—wasn’t in any of them.

And calling her a girl was probably another thing Sadie would call ‘ out the gate’ .

My mystery woman was older than Sadie, definitely.

Not older than me, although her skin glowed like she was fucking immortal, which was unhelpful in determining her age.

At a guess, I’d say she was in her late twenties, early thirties?

She carried herself like she had known both disappointment and joy, but believed her future held more of the latter.

Wise asses like me knew things only got worse with time, and we wore that knowledge on our faces.

Sadie grumbled and stopped scrolling so she could type something into my phone.

“Sadie,” I warned.

“I’m just drafting, cool your jets. I’ll show you before I send anything.”

I held out my hand.

With a roll of her eyes, she handed it over. On the screen was the chat window she’d opened with the event company, which was a good idea. Into the window I typed:

Who was the woman you had working as a bathroom attendant at the Purkiss Media New Year’s Eve party?

As an afterthought, I tapped out a second message.

This is Miles Lawrence.

Like I’d said to Sadie, between my face, name, and bank account, I always got what I wanted.

“They already know who you are, dingus.” Sadie had been reading over my shoulder. “It comes up as a message from your name. How did you become the CEO of a million dollar export company?”

“Nepotism.”

“Literally,” she agreed.

“And because I don’t take shit from my employees. Back to work, slacker.”

Sadie went back to her desk and I reluctantly called Paul so he could bore me shitless about his acquisition strategy for twenty minutes.

All his ideas had already been had, and better executed too.

Sadie could do a better job than Paul, if she wanted.

I emailed her asking her to work with HR to create a Strategic Business Advisor role reporting directly to me.

Perhaps Paul would improve when faced with a bit of competition.

If not, his future lay outside Elysian. Sadie had the role in the system and the vacancy drafted within the hour—and considering Suzanne in HR usually took a whole day to reply to one email, this was impressive.

It was deep into the afternoon when my phone dinged with a response from the event company.

It showed as a read message even before I saw it, which confused me until I looked through the glass wall of my office and saw Sadie waving at me from behind her monitor.

She must have been logged into my social media account on her desktop.

I really did need to change my passwords.

If this is in regards to the skincare products that were in the bathroom, these were not sanctioned by Momentum Events or associated with us in any way.

We’ve received multiple messages about these and I am assuring our valued guests that this matter will be resolved when I return to New Zealand on the 1st of February. Until then: ngā mihi, Ginger.

“Well fuck you too, Ginger,” I muttered.

I was going to reply with a push for a better answer, but a message from Sadie dropped over my screen containing further intel on my situation. It wasn’t in my best interest to chastise her for spending her workday this way, so I didn’t.

I did some research and Momentum is contracted for all the events at the Sky Tower. You should just go to another one and see if your girl is working. Buy yourself a ticket, or buy some tickets for Elysian. I’ll come, I’m dying to see this woman for myself.

I had only just started my reply when Sadie’s next message came through.

There’s a masquerade cocktail party at the Sky Tower this Saturday. It’s a fundraiser for a local animal shelter. I’ve got the purchase window open. General Admission tickets are sold out, but there are VIP packages still available, which are sold in blocks of six tickets.

All the reasons this would be a bad idea were running through my head when Sadie messaged again.

I have your personal credit card details already entered. If you can’t find four friends, just invite people from work and I’ll send the invoice to accounts. Come on, Miles. Pull the trigger. Live, laugh, love.

After that another message came in, and another and another, all in quick succession.

DO IT.

Do.

It.

Doitdoitdoitdoitdoit.

Fine.

Making this an Elysian outing wasn’t an option because then my mother would want to come, but Sadie was right, I didn’t have five friends at this late notice. Matthew was my usual wingman, but he was out of town this month and I had a funny feeling that Blondie would hate him.

Invite any of your friends. I’ll cover their expenses.

There was no need to give Sadie my card, she had it. She probably had all of them. Remembering the look on Blondie’s face as she ran out of that bathroom, I would need a good wingperson. As a woman, Sadie would be a more impactful character endorsement than Matty—I was nothing if not a strategist.

My email dinged and the invoice and tickets arrived in my inbox from Sadie.This was good, this was progress. I only had to get through a few more sleepless nights and I’d see my mystery girl again.

Time couldn’t move fast enough.