Glass Ceilings: A Modern Steamy Cinderella Fairy Tale (Fairly Twisted Tales Book 1)

by Lux Miller

  The sharp crack of knuckles across my face hits before I can think to duck or turn away. I bring my own hand up to the screaming flesh and glare at Trevor. He’s fuming right now as he snarls, “How dare you speak to my daughter that way. What she does in her personal time is her business, not yours. Besides, you don’t have a whole lot of room to talk considering your indiscretions ended up on tape.”

  I narrow my eyes at him and growl under my breath, then retort, “Hers will too. Give her time. At least my indiscretions wouldn’t make me the laughing stock of New York. The last guy Lacey deep-throated was like sixty. I bet his dick was wrinkled and everything.”

  Lacey gasps and stomps her foot on the sidewalk. “Daddy! Make him stop!”

  Trevor steps closer to me, his foul breath singing my nostrils. “Boy, I tried to be nice about this, but your mouth never did you any favors. I told you once that you aren’t going to that party. You’re not going to trash-talk my daughters and hinder their chances of getting into Ashley Rogers’ social circle. I do regret that it’s come to this, though…”

  I swallow nervously at the sinister tone in Trevor’s voice. He pushes past me, and just when I think I’ve gotten off mostly Scot-free, he twists my arm behind me and pushes me back into the alleyway. He shoves me up against the side of the brick building that houses the Edison Ballroom and presses his large body against mine.

  I struggle against him, but it’s no use. Lacey and Layla giggle as they stand at the narrow entrance to the alleyway to prevent anyone from seeing what’s about to go down. And I know exactly what’s about to go down.

  Trevor leans his mouth to my ear and whispers, “Be glad I’m not wearing a belt, boy. If I was, your ass would be mine. As it stands, I’m still going to give you a whooping you won’t ever forget. Maybe you’ll learn how to respect women someday, but apparently today ain’t that day.”

  Muttering into the bricks, I wince as I prepare for the onslaught than I know is coming. “Maybe when you’re finally out of my life, I will.”

  I see bright bursts of light flutter in and out of my vision as Trevor slams his hand into the back of my head, and my face collides with the bricks. The sharp taste of something metallic tells me that blood is coming from somewhere, but I’m too dazed to bother to try to find out from where.

  By the time Trevor is finished “teaching me a lesson,” I’m on my knees on the asphalt. My suit pants are laying on the ground beside me, which doesn’t much matter anyway. They’ve been ripped at the knees into cutoffs and are completely unwearable. Thank the stars I wore boxer-briefs tonight instead of tighty-whities or everything would be on display at the moment.

  My suit jacket is gone, and the white shirt I’d worn underneath is now hanging open with half of its buttons missing. There’s blood still trickling from somewhere on my face and road rash on both knees from where Trevor forced me to them to “apologize” to my good-for-nothing stepsister for hurting her feelings. It isn’t my fault if the truth hurts.

  I sit up groaning and hold my head in my hands as the world lurches and my stomach threatens to spill its contents everywhere. I lean myself against the brick wall gingerly and take inventory of the damages. The blood is coming from my nose, but it doesn’t seem to be broken. Thank the stars for small miracles.

  My clothes are shredded, so there’s no way I’m going to Ashley Rogers’ ball. Truth be told, I’m probably not going anywhere since I don’t feel like getting arrested for indecent exposure. I groan and stumble my way further into the alley. I sigh and cast my eyes upwards as I find a hole in the wall hidden on the other end of the alley.

  Questions are going to get asked, but if I don’t find a way to make myself appear decent before sunrise, I’m going to have far more problems than missing a silly Halloween ball. Inhaling a deep breath, I pull the door open and slide inside, biting down on my lip in preparation for a tongue lashing regarding my homeless appearance.

  Instead, a man with a lilting accent greets me, “Ciao, young sir. I have been expecting you.”

  Startled, I freeze in place, my face snapping up to meet the owner of the voice. He’s not a particularly big man, but he’s intimidating all the same. Great, out of the frying pan and into the fire. Instead of dealing with my bitchy stepsisters and asshole of a stepfather, I’ve stumbled into a mafia stronghold. The man approaches me without hesitation and though his line of sight is even with my chin, I know better than to try to get smart.

  I give him a quick nod and cast my eyes to the floor, struggling to find my voice. “I, uh, yeah, yes sir. I apologize for my grim appearance—”

  He cuts me with a sharp voice, “What you look like now is no matter, lad. I have access to the finest attire than money can buy. You tell me what you’d like to wear, and I will make it happen. But time is short, so I suggest you choose quickly, but wisely.”

  I spit out the first words that pop into my mouth. “Can you make me look like a prince?”

  The man grins, showing more than one gold tooth as he claps his hands. Several men jump up from their perches on barstools and disappear to a back room. Within minutes, they’ve reappeared holding what appears to be the pieces to an acceptable prince’s costume. The Italian man claps his hands and the minions descend on me, pulling off what’s left of my previous costume, bandaging my wounds, and twisting my body into the new one.

  It’s horribly extravagant, but it’s obvious that the pieces were made with taste in mind. The pants fit snugly, more like an old-timey pair of breeches would fit. I don’t know what kind of fabric they’re made of, but they’re incredibly soft and fit me like a glove. The shirt is some kind of shiny material, and I’m tempted to believe it’s silk. The outfit is complemented with a brocade overcoat, a sash that I swear is made from spun gold, and a crown/mask combo that successfully disguises my identity while hiding the bruises from Trevor’s beating.

  He directs me to a mirror, and I gasp in surprise when I see myself. I turn to thank him, but he holds a hand up and explains, “I have my reasons for wanting to help you. I can assure you that Trevor Lord will not dare make a move against you while you’re under the watchful eye of my security team. Nobody will know your identity, but I can only assure their services until midnight. When the clock strikes twelve, you will no longer be under my protection, and I would advise that you make yourself scarce before then.”

  I nod dumbly, then ask the question that’s been pressing on my mind for the last ten minutes. “Why are you helping me?”

  The man steeples his fingers as he returns to his chair that sits beside the bar. His lips twist into a sneering smirk that sends shivers down my spine. “My reasons are mine, and mine alone. Let’s just call me your Fairy Godfather…”

  FIVE

  Ashley

  The warmth that hangs heavily in the air inside the Edison Ballroom is welcoming compared to the biting wind that’s been whipping through New York all evening. I’m greeted by two men dressed as white knights. One offers to take my navy blue peacoat and the other hands me a glass of champagne. I nods graciously to each, then knock back the dainty flute of champagne in one gulp.

  Despite the horrified gasps at my crass display of boldness, I smile at the room like all the world’s an oyster, and it’s mine for the taking. The truth is, I couldn’t give less fucks about this stupid party, but my father’s parties have two things in common - freely flowing alcohol without worry of having an ID checked and fairly attractive men.

  I know my father expects me to dance with my potential suitors. Too bad he never bothers to specify where or how. He may think I’m going to waltz into the heart of a well-mannered, independently wealthy socialite. The truth is, I’m more likely to trip and fall into bed with the hottest guy here.

  I don’t make it a habit of getting caught, so what my father doesn’t know won’t hurt him. It’s not like he could be bothered to be here tonight, anyway. Besides, if my father expects me to act like a painfully prim and proper princess, perhaps he should se
t a better example. I’m young, pretty, and rich and he sees more action than I do.

  I make a grand gesture with my hand and fake my way through a proper curtsy. When the murmurs have died down, I make my way to the back wall of the gaudy Edison Ballroom. For such a gorgeous venue, whatever planner my father has hired for tonight’s shindig is one of two things - a blind charity case who will ever make it as a designer or one of my father’s newest conquests. Based on the fact that nearly everything inside the building is a the same atrocious shade of green, my guess is on the latter.

  Which also likely explains why the too-eager designer hasn’t bee-bopped her way over to me to schmooze. She’s more than likely taking her payment up the ass while my father unloads a lot more than this week’s stress. I shudder at the thought and turn my back to the wall, sweeping my eyes across the crowded ballroom as I look for a certain feathered fiend that I can’t get off my mind.

  My heart races as I scan the crowd of revelers who are definitely enjoying this party way more than I am. That’s usually the case. Though a Rogers party almost always makes the newspapers and becomes the talk of the town for at least a week, I’ve never managed to find a man worth a second date. Hell, I’m usually doing good to find a man worth a second look.

  I sigh heavily with a good dose of exaggeration as I realize that the mystery man boldly dressed as a peacock is nowhere to be found. There’s plenty of knights, kings, and warriors roaming the ballroom trying to charm the ladies, but despite the royal theme… there’s not a single charming prince to be found.

  What little bit of hope I was clinging to quickly fades as I see one of my worst nightmares sauntering over to me. Trevor Lord is one of the most painfully droll men I’ve ever met. He thinks he’s God’s gift to women, and he prances around like us mere mortals should be thankful to breathe the same air as him.

  But there’s something nasty about the man that I can’t quite put my finger on. Aside from the fact that he had the audacity to proposition me once when I was sixteen. I have a feeling his offer had a lot to do with the fact that my father refused to give him a raise. He was livid for several weeks after my father won the coveted American Gardener Association Golden Leaf Award last year. My father gave him zero credit for the beautiful work, but that’s part of the job description. My father pays good money to claim exquisite work as his own.

  I think Trevor thought deflowering my father’s precious princess would be the ultimate revenge. His plan had two glaring issues though - I’d never stoop that low and Tommy Branson beat him to my virginity five years ago. I turned him down with disgust in my voice. Even if he wasn’t my father’s employee, and even if I’m considered a bit of a tramp, I do have standards. Trevor doesn’t even begin to pass muster. For one, he’s old enough to be my father. For two, as much as I may hate the social status my father pushes onto me, I could never see myself in the bed of a man who toils his life away on someone else’s payroll. The nail in Trevor’s coffin is the fact that he’s simply a vile man who turns my stomach.

  One that is eyeing me with a gleam in his eye as he herds two young women in my direction like they’re lost cattle who can’t find their way to pasture. As he gets within spitting distance, I consider it. What’s my father going to do? Ground me? He can afford for me to be a little unladylike. Besides, Trevor isn’t my father’s favorite employee anyway.

  I push myself off the wall, hoping to make a quick escape, but Trevor shoves one of his garishly dressed daughters into my path. I nearly trip over her. She squeaks with surprise as she nearly tumbles face first into the floor. From what I hear, Layla or Lacey… whatever her name is… can’t afford to lose any teeth since that’s how she makes a living. It’s a shame too, because the girl’d be pretty if her face wasn’t caked in ten layers of makeup straight out of the nineteen eighties. All young people want to enjoy their bodies and sow their wild oats while we can, but trying to climb the social ladder on your knees is a rough way to try to get to the top.

  She apologizes profusely, but I hardly hear her. I’m trying to find the emergency exits, so I don’t have to listen to the drivel I know is bound to come out of either her or her sister’s mouth. Trevor has been trying to push his pampered daughters into my lap for years, since we were all young. I didn’t like them when I was ten, and I don’t like them now.

  I know I’m vain and overly concerned with my appearance, but at least I have a brain in my head and can think for myself. I’m pretty sure these two just regurgitate whatever balderdash their father puts in their heads. They’re positively vapid.

  While every socialite child is accustomed to discussing business to some degree, listening to the two of them rehash the morning’s numbers from Wall Street is tedious and prove how single- and simple-minded the girls are. I’ve never, nor will I ever, care one bit for the stock exchange. My father doesn’t even care.

  His company’s shares aren’t publicly traded. The only people besides him who ever own stocks in his company are my brothers and me. He may be furious with my brothers, and my brothers may be equally standoffish toward him, but we all recognize the important of keeping the stake in our company private.

  I groan as one of them drones on and on about numbers, and I’m certain my eyes are glazing over. Out of the corner of my eyes, I see another waiter walking by with a tray full of cocktails. I’m not usually a heavy drinker, and I prefer to stick with champagne, but right now, I just want to numb everything. I don’t care how awful it tastes.

  I nod blankly at the girl, my vision blurring. I toss back the second drink and blink my eyes, trying to focus on her overdone mouth. I’m trying to figure out if she’s had lip injections since the last time she cornered me, or if she finally realized it’s the twenty-first century and she bought some decent lipstick. Whichever it is, the color is all wrong for her and it makes her look washed out. I have no clue what she’s talking about this point. All I see are her lips moving, but I don’t heard a word she’s saying, which is probably for the best. The last thing I heard her talking about was something about index rations and the benefits of overpaying income taxes.

  I heave a sigh of relief when a young man with a slight lisp cuts into our conversation and asks me to dance. I hate dancing, and I don’t see this going anywhere positive for the boy, but if it gets me away from the Lord sisters, then sign me up. I’ll do a freaking Argentine Tango with the boy if it means I get a reprieve from this horrid conversation.

  I hold my hand up in the girl’s face and sigh, “It would be rude of me to not accept a dance with this lovely gentleman.. Mr…?”

  The boy blushes and stutters for a moment, but manages to spill out a name. Whether or not it’s really his is irrelevant. I won’t need to remember , because I have no intention of ever needing to say it again after this night. I probably won’t even need to remember it beyond the dance I’m embarking on, but every once in a while, people can surprise you.

  The people crammed onto the dance floor part as the young boy pulls me onto the dance floor. This kid can’t be more than maybe eighteen, if he’s lucky. He does have balls asking me to dance though, and I think his courage is starting to waver as hundreds of curious faces stare him down.

  As he fumbles to grab my hand, I chuckle softly and grab his, pulling my arm around my body and planting his hand against my ass. “Relax,” I coo at him as his face snaps up to stare at me incredulously. “Your friends are idiots for daring you to dance with me, so why don’t we use this opportunity to make them look foolish, too. Besides, you did me a solid favor back there when you rescued me from that droll conversation.”

  The boy smiles sheepishly and nods as he inches his hand slowly up my back. I shake my head at him with a giggle. “Oh no, we’re going to make this worth your while. They’re all staring at you with their mouths wide open, so give them something to talk about.”

  The boy tenses as I reach behind myself and grab his hand, shoving it down so that he’s cupping my ass in his hand. I grin when
I see the tiny beads of sweat pop out on his forehead. “Come on, at least make it believable… People are staring at you. If you don’t start acting like you think you have a chance, one of the desperate guys prowling around the edge of the dance floor is going to move in on your big opportunity...”

  The boy nods and crosses into my personal bubble, tripping on his feet and nearly knocking me down. He opens his mouth to apologize and I shake my head. “I have two left feet too, so if you can manage to have two right feet, we might can make this look convincing. Just relax and follow the music…”

  The boy stumbles his way through the song and seems relieved when he bows before me and disappears into the crowd. I feel a tap on my shoulder and start to turn around to let whoever it is know that I’m not interested and will be taking a break when a commotion at the entrance catches my attention.

  I shove my way through the crowd, ignoring the yelps of surprise and grumbles that follow me as I push through the people standing around slack-jawed. As I skid to a halt at the front of the gathered crowd, my mouth falls open as I behold the sight that has just walked inside.