The Cinderella Fantasy

by Sara Jane Stone

  “Never even left the gala. Just found a closed-off room at the venue.” Finn leaned back in his chair and ran his hands through his hair. “Marie is gorgeous. At the time, that’s all I knew about her. First name. Her family moved here when she was sixteen, but she went to boarding school. And she fucks like a dream.”

  “Did she give you her number last year?” Jared asked.

  Finn nodded. “I lost it. Got distracted by work and never called. But she wasn’t pissed when she showed up tonight. She seemed genuinely happy to see me. So we sat down to pizza and talked about the deal.”

  “Did she tell you what it would take to make our offer more appealing?” he asked.

  “She claims that her dad wants to take the highest offer. He wants all the money up front. He’s not interested in payouts over time. He plans to invest in his kids, she said.”

  “How the hell did you end up in bed with her again?” Jared reached for his beer.

  “She offered.” Finn shrugged. “I had the information we needed. My apartment is a short walk away. So we headed there for a nightcap. Clothes started coming off. Everything was good until it went south. So far south Key West looks like the fucking North Pole.”

  “Don’t tell me we’re losing this deal over bad sex,” Jared said.

  Finn looked him straight in the eye and laughed. “I delivered. And man, it was wild. That’s the problem. She filmed it on her phone. I didn’t realize until it was too late. She filmed the entire thing.” His laughter and smiled faded. “When she shows her father a video of me bending her over the table in my entry—do you think he’s going to play nice and negotiate?”

  “He’ll take Peak’s offer.”

  “Yeah,” Finn said bitterly. “And give his daughter the cash she needs to launch her new clothing line. She told me afterward. She talked her dad into selling. She doesn’t want to inherit a sugar company. She wants to design clothes, but she needs capital to start the business. She’s already drained her trust fund. So she decided to hit us up for the money. By way of her dad.”

  “This wasn’t your fault,” Jared said. “You didn’t know.”

  “I read the situation wrong. Not the sex.” Finn waved one hand through the air. “I’m not apologizing for having mind-blowing, consensual sex—”

  “I’m not asking you to,” Jared said.

  “Although you better believe I’m going to be more careful from here on out. This town is too damn small,” Finn continued. He leaned forward and rested his forearms on the marble. “Putting the deal together, that’s what I do. You run the companies, but I make the deals happen. I had this one and I blew it. Do you think her father is going to sell the company he built from nothing to us now?”

  “I’ll talk to DeVilla tomorrow.” Jared set aside the now empty ravioli container. “I’ll make it right.”

  “Don’t offer them a cent more. Our initial offer was solid. Plus, we’re keeping their team in place.”

  “Let me handle it,” Jared said firmly.

  Finn opened his mouth to protest and then closed it again. He gave a curt nod and then reached for his drink. “So you left Lucy with the princesses. You know she’s going to dissect your date.”

  “You’re the one who sent the nine one one texts because you accidentally made a sex tape that could cost us millions,” Jared pointed out.

  His friend’s face fell. Finn didn’t apologize. Hell, he rarely screwed up. And when he did, he missed a morning staff meeting or forgot to let Coulter know he had plans to golf with a client. But this—screwing DeVilla’s daughter on camera—was a new level of fucking up. Finn wasn’t going to shake this off. Not tonight. Probably not anytime soon.

  “I’m not worried about Lucy,” Jared added. “I have her underwear.”

  Finn cocked his head. “That’s supposed to make me feel better?”

  Jared nodded.

  “Underwear, huh?” Finn let out a laugh. “Not exactly a glass slipper. But it’s a start.”

  Chapter 18

  “Princesses do not carry cell phones,” Nicole hissed as they marched through the visitor’s lot, heading for the medical center’s revolving doors. “Not in the car, not at a birthday party, and especially not at a hospital.”

  “Who are you?” Emma cast a sideways glance at their mutual friend in the Mulan outfit. “Doctor Seuss?”

  “I’m putting it away.” Lucy slipped her cell into the blue, beaded bag looped around her wrist. The fabric matched her dress. But today she’d traded Cinderella’s restrictive ball gown for Princess Elsa’s famous blue dress. Elsa’s sister, Anna, marched between her and Mulan. All three of them had rushed home from a successful morning consult to put on their wigs and gowns.

  “Jared hasn’t called yet,” Lucy announced, swinging the long, blond braid of her wig over her shoulder. “He said we would get together for dinner tonight, but it’s two in the afternoon and he hasn’t . . . What if he changed his mind? What if it was just one night?”

  “Stop right there,” Nicole demanded.

  “I’m sorry,” Lucy said.

  “And don’t apologize,” Nicole said. “We’ve all been there. At least in our heads.”

  “Nicole’s right,” Emma said. “Jared’s probably just busy dealing with whatever crisis Finn dropped on him last night.”

  “Right,” Lucy said. “He’s busy.”

  The trio of princesses walked through the revolving door one-by-one and smiled at surprised onlookers in the lobby. Lucy waved but didn’t stop. Up ahead of her, Mulan was on a mission to find the children’s ward.

  “A rich, handsome billionaire like Jared,” Emma said as they turned left at the reception desk and followed the signs marked Children’s Intensive Care. “He doesn’t create a fake dating profile for one evening of sex—”

  “Children,” Nicole hissed.

  “Calm down,” Emma shot back. “We’re not to their wing yet.” Then she turned to Lucy. “Have you thought about calling him?”

  Lucy nodded, and the long braid over her shoulder shifted and threatened to pull her wig off her head. She reached up to adjust it before they entered the brightly colored hall up ahead. “I sent a text this morning. I kept it light and playful, asking ‘Philip’ if he’d put out last night’s fire. He wrote back ‘under control princess.’ ”

  Nicole paused with her hands on the swinging door leading to their destination. “So he’s not ignoring you.”

  Lucy pursed her lips together. “No, but I expected more. The se—”

  “Children,” Nicole hissed again.

  “The ‘ice storm’ last night was amazing,” Lucy said in a sugarcoated voice.

  “Call him and tell him that. Don’t wait for him to set up plans,” Nicole demanded. “But call after we cheer up the sick little people. Your love life with your billionaire can wait.”

  Lucy followed her friends into the hallways lined with bucolic murals. A head wrapped in a scarf poked around one doorway. The little girl’s eyes widened, and she gasped before ducking back inside. She returned to the hallway dragging her I.V. a second later.

  “Hello there, little princess,” Lucy said with a welcoming smile. “What’s your name?”

  “Cara,” the child whispered.

  “Hi, Cara.” Lucy lowered down until she was at eye level with the girl who looked to be about five years old.

  “Don’t tell your sister,” Cara whispered. “But you’re my favorite. I dressed up like you for Halloween last year. I didn’t even need a wig. Before I got sick, I had long hair like yours. And I had the same dress.”

  Cara rattled on and on. The beaded bag looped around Lucy’s wrist vibrated, and she quickly hid it in the folds of her dress, not wishing to break the illusion. Jared—please, please let that be from him—could wait. Right now, making Cara smile was all that mattered.

  “Some days I wish we could drive around to all the hospitals and make kids smile.” Lucy settled into the back seat of the car, carefully tucking her dress in a
round her. “No more worrying about parents’ expectations for their daughter’s perfect party. Just kids who need a pick-me-up.”

  “Me too.” Nicole put the car in reverse and steered out of the parking space. “But then we’d become starving princesses. These visits are pro bono remember? The parties pay the bills.”

  “But if one of us marries a billionaire . . . ” Emma gave her a pointed look in the rearview mirror.

  “He still hasn’t called. I think planning the wedding and how we’ll spend his money is a little premature,” Lucy said dryly.

  “Have you checked your email?” Emma asked, turning in the front passenger seat to look back at her. “Voicemail?”

  “A message from a potential client, and another from my dentist reminding me I’m due for a cleaning. I checked in the bathroom halfway through the visit.” The phone had been dancing in her bag throughout the visit. A buzz here. Another there. She withdrew it from the bag and glanced at the screen. Her eyes widened. “Jared didn’t call, but Philip Ryder sent me a Fated for Love message. I just received the alert.”

  “Open it!” Emma demanded.

  Lucy’s fingers tapped on the cell phone screen. “I’m trying. The stupid app wants my password again.” An “invalid password” message flashed on the screen. She held out the phone to her princess sister Anna in the front seat. “Here. You do it. You started this.”

  Emma snatched the phone and started pecking at the screen.

  Lucy’s fingers toyed with the end of the wig’s long braid. Just because she was excited to read the message . . .

  “Oh no,” she whispered. “I want Philip. Not Jared.”

  “Same person,” Nicole said sagely. “You want the fun, playful suitor.”

  “True.” Lucy looked to Emma. “Did you get in yet?”

  “Here. You read it.” Princess Anna handed the phone over the center console and into the Toyota’s cramped backseat. “He sent another picture too.”

  See you tonight, princess.

  Your,

  Workaholic Suitor

  Her brow furrowed, but she clicked on the attached image. She recognized the setting. A high-back, brown leather chair filled the back of the shot, but a glass-top desk dominated the picture. She’d seen this one before—at the Mitchell Fund’s Florida headquarters. Every other office held a generic wooden desk, including Finn’s, but Jared had selected a sleek, modern look for his workspace.

  Compared to his home study, this image lacked clutter, handcuffs, and his abs. Instead, Mr. Ab Selfie had selected a messenger to hold a sign. A stuffed, white unicorn with a rainbow mane and silver horn sat on the desk. Given its size, roughly the same as a Labrador puppy, there wasn’t much room for anything else. The paper hanging from his neck like a bib read:

  You’re invited to dinner.

  8pm.

  Here.

  Lucy pressed her fingers to her lips. But a giggle slipped out, followed by another.

  “What did he say?” Emma demanded, contorting her torso until she was leaning over the center console. “Tell us or we’re stopping at The Taco Bar and drinking margaritas until you break.”

  “We can’t,” Nicole protested. “We’re in costume. Anna, Elsa, and Mulan can’t walk into a bar.”

  “We’ll go to the back and drink with Minny,” Emma said.

  Lucy lowered both hands to her lap. “We’re going home.” She stole another glance at the playful picture.

  This is what I was looking for. This is what I’ve been trying to find on all of those disaster dates.

  She wanted a man who could make her laugh. She hadn’t realized, or she would have written a dramatically different online dating profile.

  Looking for a man who makes me smile after a long day. A man who likes sex on the beach more than long walks . . .

  Grinning, Lucy met Emma’s impatient gaze. “We’re going home so I can prepare.” Another giggle slipped out. “Tonight, I have a date with a unicorn.”

  Chapter 19

  “Mr. Mitchell.” The receptionist’s voice boomed through the outdated office intercom system. The receiver sat on Jared’s desk, but he didn’t touch the box. The Mitchell Fund’s New York City office used a phone-based system that made a helluva lot more sense than the one Coulter had installed in West Palm.

  “Your eight o’clock appointment is here,” Coulter continued. “She’s on the elevator.”

  “Thanks.” Jared reached down beside his desk and picked up the stuffed unicorn he’d purchased that morning. He’d driven to Boca to find the damn thing. But if the picture made Lucy smile—and brought her to his desk—it was worth it.

  “You can go home now, Coulter,” he added.

  “Sir, Finn hinted that Mr. DeVilla might stop by tonight,” Coulter said. “I’ve cleared my schedule. If you need me to stay—”

  “Go home and study,” Jared said. “I doubt Mr. DeVilla will come by this late.”

  Mr. DeVilla was probably out to dinner with the team from Peak. Jared had talked to the sugar company’s owner on his way to pick up the unicorn. He’d listened to fifteen minutes about how Finn had taken advantage of the owner’s little girl. Jared had issued a sane “let grown-ups be grown-ups” response. But he’d also made it clear that he wouldn’t change his offer based on a sex tape. If Mr. DeVilla wanted to talk more, he could make an appointment, and they would talk business—not Finn’s sex life. Then Jared had ended the call.

  “Thank you, Mr. Mitchell. If you need—”

  “Go home, Coulter.” Jared said as the door to his office opened.

  Lucy walked in, and Jared forgot about his receptionist. She’d changed out of whatever costume she’d worn to work today. Her long hair fell over her shoulders, hiding the straps of her sleeveless sundress from view. But he could see the rest of the bright pink and neon green wrap dress. He’d spent enough time in south Florida to recognize a Lily Pulitzer creation.

  “I wasn’t sure what to wear for a dinner date with a unicorn.”

  “You have time to change. We—” He reached out and ran his hand over the stuffed animal’s rainbow-colored mane—“didn’t know what you would like to eat, so I haven’t placed an order yet.”

  “Change?” She offered a wide-eyed look of innocent surprise, but the grin on her full lips promised trouble. Her right hand reached for the fuchsia bow at her waist. “But you haven’t seen the rest of my outfit yet,” she continued.

  She gave the bow a sharp tug, and it unraveled, dragging his self-control with it.

  “Lucy,” he growled unable to look away from her hands. She pulled the strip of fabric through a loop. “I asked you to dinner to . . . ”

  The front of the dress fell open, revealing a sparkling, purple bra.

  “To talk,” he added. Her breasts glittered under the harsh overhead office light as if covered in fairy dust. He followed the sparkling path over her taut abdomen to the slip of matching purple lace masquerading as panties.

  “I couldn’t stand the thought of wearing boring underwear two nights in a row.” She shrugged off the dress. The designer creation pooled at her feet like the forgotten pieces of a neon rainbow.

  He forced himself to look at her face. “Lucy, I didn’t ask you here to see your underwear. This is my office.”

  “Your receptionist was running for the door when I came in. He had his cell pressed to his ear and was demanding the person on the other end meet him to study. I don’t think he’s coming back.” She spoke slowly as if she was afraid he wouldn’t understand her. Or hell, maybe she was worried he’d lose focus.

  He followed her long, bare legs as she walked around his desk.

  She’s right.

  “It’s after eight,” she continued, reaching out to pat the stuffed quadruped with the silver horn. “And this isn’t New York City. Your staff went home, or to the beach.”

  She reached his side of the desk and rested her lace-covered backside against the glass.

  “Lucy,” he tried again. But h
er name sounded like a plea not a warning. He needed to explain that in another minute, he would reach for her. He had to tell her that he wanted to touch her, kiss her, make love to her . . . but dammit, he wanted to talk about this first.

  “Jared.” She slipped in front of him. The front of her legs brushed his knees. “When Philip messaged me today—”

  “I am Philip,” he protested, knowing the words would have sounded more convincing if he hadn’t delivered them to her breasts.

  “When I read the message, I realized what I want out of a relationship.” She leaned forward and placed her hands on his thighs. “Right now, I’m going to go for it.” She ran her hands up his legs, gently guiding his thighs apart and creating space for her sparkling body to sink down to a kneeling position.

  Her feet and calves disappeared beneath his desk. She leaned forward, shifting her hands higher and higher. But she abandoned his legs before her fingers brushed his balls through his clothes.

  “I’m doing this for me.” Her fingers undid his belt and unbuttoned his pants. Then she lowered his zipper, and he silently wished he’d gone commando today. “Are we clear?” she added.

  “Yes.” He leaned his head back as she reached inside his boxers. Her hand wrapped around his cock, and he closed his eyes. “For the record, I fucking love it when you’re selfish.”

  She ran her hand up his cock. Her touch was light and teasing, but hell, if he didn’t feel close to the edge.

  “You’ll indulge me?” she asked sweetly.

  “For now.” He sucked in a breath as her lips slid down his length to meet her hand. “But after you’ve had your fun, I want dinner.”

  “Hmm.”

  The sound vibrated against his eager dick, and his hips rose up, begging her to take him deeper. She gave him exactly what he wanted. Her tongue worked with her mouth and her hand—if she kept this up, he’d come before he’d opened his eyes and fully appreciated this miracle.

  He tilted his chin to his chest and looked down. Lucy Linden . . . sweet, young Lucy . . . the girl who should be off-limits but wasn’t—she knelt beneath his desk, driving him off a damn cliff. His fingers dug into the arms of the chair. He’d been serviced like this before. Years ago, when he was just out of school and making more money than he knew what to do with, before he’d learned to separate work and pleasure.