Chapter 2
Finn owes me a ride on his new bike for stepping in and saving his sister.
Jared opened the passenger door to his Jaguar. Sure, he could afford an Italian motorcycle. But striking a deal to borrow his friend’s ride was more entertaining than handing over his credit card. Plus, he owned a garage full of sports cars he rarely drove, including his new Jag.
The F-type was a stunner from hood to bumper. But the car was nothing compared with the woman who was riding shotgun. Lucy had traded her signature blue costume for a white sleeveless dress that highlighted her toned legs. And the strappy sandals on her feet didn’t look anything like her fake glass slippers.
His gaze traveled north again. He’d bumped into Finn’s little sister here and there since she’d moved home to the Palm Beaches. But this was the first time he’d seen her sculpted calves.
Okay, maybe he owed Finn for the chance to save little Lucy Linden.
Once they were buckled in, he reversed out of the parking space and turned onto the four-lane street that separated his restaurant from the Intracoastal Waterway. The Jag’s engine purred as he sped through one green light after another. He hit a red, slowed to a stop, and stole another glance at his passenger.
She’s not so little anymore. Not like the kid trying to tag along with her big brother.
Lucy was a tall, slim knockout with one helluva rack. He had to have been blind not to notice. He had an eye for details, honed at Harvard Business school and later tested in New York City where he’d launched his first business—and hired Lucy’s brother to help him run it and open a secondary office in the sunshine state.
Back then Finn’s sister had just accepted her dream job in Orlando. Fast-forward six years, and Lucy still looked as if she’d walked out of the pages of a fairy tale. But Jared knew for a fact his storybook alter ego would be shelved in the non-fiction section. His rise from scholarship-kid to business mogul might be the stuff of financial fairy tales, but it was a true story with a happy-ever-after spelled out in dollar signs.
“Want to tell me why you abandoned your date?” he asked as they sped past a drawbridge leading from the mainland to the island.
“I would rather wear a mouse costume on a hundred degree day than spend another minute listening to that man.”
“What was wrong with him?” He turned onto her street and pulled up in front of a modest two-story cottage perched on a postage stamp of neatly trimmed grass. Remodeled Mediterranean-style mini mansions flanked the small house she shared with her girlfriends. If she’d accepted her brother’s financial help after her break-up, she’d have a luxury condo across the bridge, probably with a view of the ocean. But she’d insisted on staying with her girlfriends.
She shook her head as she reached for the car door. “He wasn’t who I thought he was.”
“You’ve been out with him before?” He knew he should have left the interrogation to her fellow princesses. But the odds were, her brother would hear about Lucy’s runaway to the kitchen act—probably from Minny—and show up on Jared’s doorstep with a six-pack and a ton of questions. And Finn would expect answers.
Jared couldn’t blame his friend for stepping into the role of overprotective big brother. Finn had watched Barrett, the pompous doctor, break Lucy’s heart two months ago.
“No,” she said. “First date. But we’d emailed after I found his profile.”
Isn’t it a little soon for online dating?
But her fairy godmother could turn him into a freaking pumpkin before he tossed that question out there. If he did, he suspected that she’d slam the car door and walk away in a huff. And he wasn’t ready to part with Lucy. She’d burst into the bustling restaurant kitchen and uprooted his plan for the night. Bringing Lucy home and listening to her problems promised to be more interesting than sharing a meal with a bottle of top shelf tequila and crazed kitchen staff.
He put the Jaguar in park and cut the engine. Then he climbed out and followed her up the sidewalk.
“Jared, I’m fine. It was just a bad date.” She paused to withdraw her keys. “You don’t need to walk me to my door.”
“Maybe I’m hoping for a reward drink.”
“Then you’ll be disappointed.” She climbed the stucco steps to the porch and slid her key into the lock.
“No beer fridge in the princess palace?” he drawled.
She smiled as the door swung open. “Only water and juice boxes right now.”
“Mixed berry?” He followed her into the entrance hall. A small living room stood to the left. On the right, French doors led to a dining-room-turned-office space.
“Apple.”
I should have brought the tequila. He glanced back at the door. He could thank her for the offer and leave now that he’d seen her safely inside. Or . . .
He turned back to the runaway princess. “I like apple.”
“One box. You can stay for one.” She dropped her keys and purse on a long, narrow, glass-topped side table. Then she headed for the kitchen in the back. He followed her down the corridor her big brother had labeled, “an ode to the big mouse.” The walls were lined with framed pictures of the three princesses from their time in Orlando. And Lucy was beaming in every shot.
In the kitchen, he pulled out a worn, brown leather barstool—they’d come with the rental property and escaped the pink theme that filled the other rooms. He’d never seen one of the princess’s bedrooms, but he’d witnessed what they’d done to the former dining room. Their office space looked as if they’d hired a five-year-old girl to play decorator.
She set an organic apple juice box on the granite island in front of him. He reached for the plastic straw.
“Fill me in,” he said. “Tell me what happened tonight.”
She sighed. “Please, Jared, just drink your juice. You don’t need to hear about my latest disaster.”
“That bad?”
She nodded.
The corners of his mouth twitched as he waited for her to elaborate. Most people offered him spreadsheets and PowerPoint presentations when he demanded an update. “If you don’t tell me, Finn will ride over and ask you himself. At least you only need to give me enough to keep him off your back.”
“Is that why you’re here?” she mused.
Not exactly.
Last month, Finn’s involvement in his sister’s love life was limited to telling anyone who would listen—usually Jared—what he would do to the man who broke Lucy’s heart if he ever got the chance. But if Finn had set up rules for where Lucy took her dates—places they co-owned—then Lucy’s big brother wasn’t just standing on the sidelines casting out idle threats. He’d assumed a more active role.
“The details of my personal life aren’t my brother’s business,” she continued as she filled a tall glass with water from the tap.
“On second thought, I’ll sit here, sip my juice, and enjoy the show while he demands details. Probably more entertaining than watching Minny and his team execute another flawless service.” He took a long drink from his straw. And heard the telltale sign that he’d polished off the kid-size box. “But I might need a six pack of these things.”
“Fine. You win.” She walked around the edge of the island and headed for the stool beside his. “I met Hugh—my date—through an app. He seemed like a nice guy. But I knew it was time to run for it when he professed his love for my thigh gap.”
“What the—”
“It’s the space between—”
“Jesus, I know the term,” he cut in. He turned, angling his body to face hers. She’d set her water glass on the island but hadn’t claimed the stool. “What the hell was your date doing checking out your thighs?”
Maybe later he’d blame it on too much juice, but he couldn’t help it. The word “thighs” filled the kitchen, and he stole a glance at her legs. One look and he could answer his own damn question. Her date had likely seen her long, tanned limbs, and his imagination had kicked into gear. He’d probably pictur
ed running his hands over her smooth skin.
Fuck me.
He looked away as she explained about her date’s rules and his assumption about the women who made a living as a princess. His hand tightened around the empty box, and the paper crumbled. His interest in her limbs faded with each word out of her mouth, surpassed by his desire to kick Thigh Gap Dude’s ass.
“I don’t think I’ll tell Finn about your date checking out your legs,” he said. “Might be better to let him think the guy laughed at your job.”
“We never even talked about my career,” she said.
“A white lie. If you tell Finn what you told me, your brother might hunt the jerk down and do something that would get him arrested. We’re buried in work right now. I can’t have my business partner landing his ass in a jail cell.”
And hell will freeze over before I sit down and talk about your legs over a beer with my best friend.
She nodded, her gaze still focused on the counter. “Your motives are entirely selfish.”
“I’m looking out for my company. You’d do the same. You’re a good businesswoman—” He glanced down at her sandal-clad feet. “With or without the glass slippers.”
“Thank you.” She pulled out the stool and sat down. With her elbow perched on the granite counter, she rested her cheek against her palm. Her blue eyes studied him. And he was close enough to see the anger fade.
“Online dating is exhausting enough without adding my brother to the mix,” she added.
“Then stop,” he said firmly. “There’s no rush. Take some time.”
“And hope the right guy magically bumps into me? Even if that did happen, how would I know this mystery man is looking for a serious relationship?”
He had a sixth sense for when to back out of a debate. He’d lose this one. No question. He’d never tried online dating and didn’t know much about it. He should toss out a You’re right, Lucy, throw his juice box in the trash, and head for the exit.
“How do you know the guys you’re meeting online want more than a hook-up?” he challenged.
She lifted her head and let out a long sigh. “I spent a lot of time writing my profile. It states very clearly that I want someone looking for marriage and eventually kids.”
“And guys still respond?” he mused. “Because that sounds like a lot of weight for a first date.”
“Yes, they do. But I’m starting to wonder if they’ve taken the time to actually read my profile. I thought tonight’s disaster had done his homework. It turns out he was just trying to get that first date.” She shook her head. “Hugh was smart enough to say what he thought I wanted to hear over email, but he didn’t realize I would walk away when he sent his evil twin to the restaurant.”
Or Thigh-Gap Dude didn’t give a damn because you’re hot.
“How much homework do you do before meeting a guy for the first time?” he asked.
“I Google him. And I study his profile. Hugh had great pictures of himself with other girls.”
“Wait, this guy shares pictures of his ex-girlfriends?” he asked with a heavy dose of What-the-hell in his tone.
“No. Shots of his friends who happen to be girls. I looked at the ones Hugh posted and thought maybe I could become friends with those girls.”
“You haven’t even met the guy and you’re trying to figure out if you’ll like his friends?” Jared glanced out the window. He felt as if he’d walked into an alternate universe grounded in strange dating rules. But no, same bright summer evening sky.
“I avoid guys who don’t share shots of themselves with women. And the ones who post mirror selfies of their abs.”
“Too-self absorbed?”
“They don’t pass the creep test.”
Jared stared at her. He went out with women without knowing their last name, what kind of pictures they posted online, or their hopes and dreams for the future. Hell, he’d slept with some of them. “Do you run background checks?” he asked.
“No.” She ran her finger over the edge of her water glass. “I’m not interested in their credit scores. And I’m not planning to hire them.”
“Are you sure about that? Because it sounds like you do more homework for a first date than my HR group does for a potential employee.”
She met his gaze, but she didn’t smile. Not even a hint of amusement in her blue eyes. “I don’t want to waste my time. But a first date isn’t a job interview. It’s an opportunity to find that spark, that connection that draws one person to another and leaves you wanting to know more. What a man does for a living, his job history, none of that matters if I feel that hint of magic. A pull that I can’t ignore.”
He could feign understanding in a heartbeat. He’d learned to pretend at the negotiating table. But what the hell was she talking about? The no selfies rule, the creep test—all of that made sense. But then a guy had to walk into a blind date and deliver magic?
“Lucy, I believe in high standards. But expecting fireworks on the first date? You’re setting yourself up for disappointment.”
She laughed. The sound was a loud, low rumble that seemed at odds with her delicate features. “Dating is one big disappointment parade. I think tonight proves that.” Then her humor faded and she looked up. Her blue eyes held his gaze. “But I keep hoping.”
A jaded princess hoping for magic. He should have turned down the juice and headed back to his Tequila-for-one dinner plan. Toss in a little work when he got home and his night would have been complete. But no, he’d wanted to help. And now he didn’t know what to say. Lucy was searching for a fairy tale even when she knew the failure rate worked against her.
“You have more than enough to keep my brother from rushing over here.” She stood and carried her water glass she’d barely touched to the sink.
“I’ll keep him in check,” he promised. It didn’t sound like enough. He wanted to leave Lucy with something more. But he stood and chucked his crushed, empty juice box to the trash. He’d done his good deed, rescuing Finn’s sister and bringing her home. She would work out the rest on her own.
And lose her faith in love-at-first sight, or whatever else she thought would spark over a shared bowl of guacamole. One day, reality would crush her hopes and dreams. He would step in and help her brother pick up the pieces, but that’s where he drew the line. He couldn’t get involved.
I sure as hell can’t deliver magic.
Chapter 3
How did he make drinking a juice box look sexy?
Lucy grabbed her water and headed for the office. The house felt strangely silent with her friends still out. Inside the familiar pale-pink walls, she sank onto a loveseat. While the walls and the framed pictures from past parties screamed “girly,” the loveseat placed opposite two balloon-back chairs spoke to the Victorian Era.
I should have served his drink in here, she thought. He wouldn’t have stayed so long or asked so many questions.
Of course, she’d blabbered on and on about the woes of meeting strangers through apps and websites. All to a man who probably snapped his fingers and women fought for the chance to share a drink, a meal, even a night with a young, sexy, and ridiculously wealthy man.
“Not probably. Definitely,” she muttered to the empty room. She’d witnessed women rush across crowded bars as if they were ninja warriors on a dating mission, all to meet her brother. And Finn’s net worth didn’t come close to Jared’s billionaire status. Her brother also lacked his business partner’s charm.
Turning to the window, she spotted her friend’s white Honda Civic rolling over the narrow driveway to the parking area in the rear of the rental house. Justin Timberlake’s ode to dance blasted from the car.
So much for peace and quiet, she thought as car doors slammed.
“We brought ice cream!” Emma’s voice boomed through the house. Footsteps followed. The Belle look-a-like with her wavy, brown hair and big brown eyes appeared in the doorway, holding a plastic grocery store bag. “Chocolate peanut butter, vanilla, mint
chip.”
“And they’re all for you,” Nicole proclaimed. If the tall woman with mocha skin had an online dating profile, she’d give her Japanese mother credit for her ability to play Mulan in Orlando, where she’d first met Emma and Lucy. And she’d acknowledge her African-American father for her six-month stint on a cruise ship playing Tiana. But Lucy would argue that the way her friend’s face lit up when she chatted with a child was Nicole’s biggest asset regardless of her costume.
“Well, I did miss the main course at dinner tonight.” Lucy reached for the bag and withdrew the mint chocolate chip carton. “How was the shopping?”
Nicole shook her head. Her straight, black hair—cut to match Mulan’s blunt bob—brushed her shoulders. “First, I want to hear about why you ended another date in the kitchen.”
“Another disaster,” Lucy said with a sigh.
“We want details,” Emma said. “Was he hideous?”
“Only when he opened his mouth,” Lucy admitted. “By the time I finished the chips, I knew he just wanted to score. And he thought I would be stupid enough not to notice the flashing warning signs that he was a villain, not a prince.”
“At least Jared was there to drive you home,” Emma said. “Nice of him.”
“Hmmm.” Lucy focused on digging for mint-chip chunks in her ice cream. She didn’t want to think about how Jared’s gaze had drifted south when she’d mentioned Hugh’s “thigh-gap” comment. Or how she’d felt disgust when her dinner date started talking about her legs, but an undeniable stab of awareness when Jared looked at her. She lifted the spoon to her mouth. She certainly did not want to reflect on how she’d caught a glimpse of Jared’s lips wrapped around that straw and wondered how his mouth would feel on her.
I was turned-on watching a billionaire drink a juice box.
Her imagination had clicked over to fantasyland the minute he’d climbed out of his sports car and followed her into the house. And this particular part of her dream world had nothing to do with ball gowns and parties. There was something about the way Jared moved, commanding the space and demanding attention. He felt larger than life even when he was sitting at her kitchen counter.
The Cinderella Fantasy Page 2