His Christmas Cinderella

by Christy Jeffries

  Despite the chill in the air, she was still fanning herself as they drove toward the campus—in the opposite direction Jordan was heading. Camilla’s advisor was running late, which gave her more time to calm her nerves and collect her thoughts. This meeting was only to review how she was doing on her Integrated Project. It wasn’t as though Camilla was presenting her work or being graded on anything yet.

  Just like with any other teacher, though, Camilla still wanted to be at her best. To have her head in the game and absorb as much information as she could.

  The problem was, all she could think about was that parting kiss, which had been just as light as the first, and whether there would be more where that came from when she saw him again at lunch.

  * * *

  Jordan glanced at his cell phone for the eighth time, trying to keep his eyes from glazing over as his distributor in the Missoula office discussed the innovations being made to the refrigeration trucking industry. Normally, when it came to Taylor Beef, Jordan insisted on knowing every aspect of the daily operations that affected his business. But he’d already read the reports beforehand and spoken with the truck manufacturers. He’d also toured the Billings facility just last week. Everything the distributor was saying was already well-ingrained in Jordan’s head. He’d already met with the department heads and rushed through the presentations so that he’d be ready to leave the second Camilla said she was done.

  When the text finally came, Jordan thanked the people sitting in the conference room for their time and their commitment to Taylor Beef and told the plant director not to bother walking him out.

  His driver was already holding the back seat door open when Jordan stepped outside. “Your assistant sent me the address for your lunch reservation, sir. The other driver has already picked up Miss Sanchez and they’re on their way.”

  When they arrived at the restaurant in downtown Missoula, Jordan looked up at the red, white and blue star-spangled sign plastered under the roofline.

  “Players?” Jordan mumbled to himself as his head fell against the black leather headrest. This better be a sports bar and not a strip club. Mac had made that mistake once when Jordan had gone on a business trip to New York and one of their junior executive’s social media posts had made headlines back in Bronco. He breathed a sigh of relief when he saw that this place had uniforms that actually covered the employees’ torsos. Still, as he followed the hostess to something called the MVP Lounge, he renewed his vow to never let Mac make his restaurant reservations again.

  “Sorry,” he apologized to Camilla when he found her seated at a high-top table. “I had actually wanted to take you to someplace a little more...” He looked around at all the autographed memorabilia and the twenty big-screen TVs mounted on the walls broadcasting several different sporting events at once. “Intimate.”

  “I actually used to work at a sports bar just like this when I was in college. The tips were always great during playoff season.”

  “How long have you been a server?” he asked, pulling out one of the bar stools that were shaped like a catcher’s mitt. Was he supposed to sit inside this thing and pretend he was a baseball?

  Camilla giggled as he wiggled his butt uncomfortably in the weird-shaped seat. When she finally got control of her laughter, she answered, “On and off, about six years.”

  He did a few calculations in his head. “How old are you?”

  “Twenty-seven. Isn’t this all stuff we should’ve gone over on the first date?”

  He dropped his chin and gave her his most charming smile. “I thought this was our first date.”

  “No, this is our fourth date,” she corrected.

  “You can’t count some community fundraiser as a date.”

  “It’s pretty telling how you refer to the fanciest gala I’ve ever attended as a community fundraiser—as though it was a school jog-a-thon or a church bake sale.” She passed him a drink menu, which he set aside.

  “Whatever you want to call it, that night doesn’t count since we had barely even met.”

  “What about the following night when we had dinner at The Bronco Brick Oven?” she countered. “We even knew each other’s real names by then.”

  “Still not a date.” He held up his fingers to count. “One, it wasn’t planned. Two, I was still trying to convince you to go out with me.”

  Camilla rolled her eyes. “And I suppose dinner with my family didn’t count as a date, either?”

  “It was more of a date for me and Felix than it was for me and you. After all, I got to know him better than you that evening.”

  “Next you’re going to tell me that our three-week agreement doesn’t start until today, either.” She leaned her forearms along the edge of the table as she studied him.

  Jordan’s mouth suddenly went dry, but he wasn’t sure if it was from the way she was challenging him or from the way her V-neck sweater now framed the upper curve of her breasts.

  “The agreement was six dates in three weeks. So if this is date number one, it also has to be week number one.” Jordan tried to look as confident as he could in this ridiculous baseball glove-shaped chair as she playfully narrowed her eyes at him. “Don’t blame me. I don’t make the rules.”

  “Oh, it sounds like you make all the rules, Mr. Taylor. The rest of us have to play by them.” Her words once again targeted his reputation, or his wealth, or any number of things that Jordan was slowly learning people didn’t like about him. She softened the blow by adding, “At least you make the game interesting.”

  A server came to take their order. When Jordan asked if she wanted to split another pitcher of beer, Camilla replied, “I better not. I have to be at work by four.”

  After they ordered their iced tea, appetizers, and build-your-own burgers, he asked, “So, don’t you want to know how old I am?”

  “No, I already know how old you are. I wasn’t the one who mistook you for someone else that first night.”

  “That’s right. You know everything there is to know about me.” When was he ever going to get her to see the real him, though? He hadn’t even been able to be completely honest with her family about his last name, which was an unusual experience for Jordan, who normally was very proud of his family and his work at the company.

  “Well, not everything,” she admitted when their drinks arrived. “What exactly do you do for your dad?”

  “Technically, I do work for my family’s company, which is equally owned by my father and my uncles, by the way. But contrary to popular belief, I actually had to earn my position. My great-grandfather, the original Cornelius, started the precedent that any Taylor who wanted to be in the family business had to start at an entry-level position.”

  “So which entry-level position did you start at?” she asked.

  “All of them.” He saw her sympathetic expression and clarified, “And not because I kept messing up and having to switch departments, either. Obviously, I started in the product development department—which means I shoveled manure for the first year out at Taylor Ranch. Then my Uncle Victor promoted me to herding, which is not quite as glamorous as the old Westerns make it seem. Having a few of my cousins also working out in the pastures with me made for some fun and exciting stories, but I could only be a cowboy for so long before I had to move on to the next stage.”

  “You say had to move on.” Camilla took a drink of her iced tea. “Is that another rule for the Taylor offspring?”

  “Nope. We’re allowed to work wherever we want as long as we start at the bottom. I liked herding, but I liked making business deals more.”

  “So that’s when you started climbing the corporate ladder.”

  “Not exactly. The summer before I graduated college, I worked in the packing facility, which was my least favorite position for obvious reasons. As soon as I felt I had a good handle on how to raise and, unfortunately, get the cattle read
y for distribution, I switched to the communications department. Once I got the hang of that, I moved on to accounting. Then to advertising, human resources, and I even worked with the legal team learning about contracts and negotiations.”

  “Wow.” She blinked several times, her long lashes drawing his attention away from her full lips. “I really wasn’t expecting all of that.”

  “Yeah, well, I guess that’s because it’s not the most interesting thing the social columns can write about me.”

  “Fair enough.” She lowered her perfectly arched eyebrows. “So what exactly do you do now?”

  “I’m vice president of operations. My Uncle Lester created the position for me since I’m one of the few people at Taylor Beef who has experience working in so many departments. My cousins call me the Smoother because whenever a manager or a client has a problem, I can usually get in there and smooth things out.”

  Camilla gave a chuckle. “Yeah, I’m sure that’s not the only thing you’re smooth at.”

  “What can I say?” Jordan shrugged. “It’s a gift and a curse. But more of a gift when it comes to the business aspects of my life. So to answer your question, I still do a little of everything at the company, but now I have to go to a lot more meetings.”

  “Like today with the distributor?” she asked. “How did that go?”

  As he answered, he was surprised he could remember everything he and Franco’s team had discussed about the truck refrigeration and the updated shipping routes since he’d been distracted the entire time thinking about this upcoming lunch. When he finished, he asked, “Tell me about your meeting with your professor.”

  “It was the assistant dean, actually. She’s my academic advisor for my Integrated Project. At first, I was just going to use the business model for my restaurant as my project, since I’d been working on the idea for years. But the more I got involved developing it, the more I realized that I could actually make this restaurant thing happen. So I was showing her what I’d developed so far.”

  He kept her talking about her restaurant and she lit up with enthusiasm as she told him about her vision for the location and the dining room layout and the types of food she wanted to serve. Camilla was so knowledgeable and so animated, quickly alternating between eating and talking with her hands, that he didn’t see how any investor wouldn’t want to throw all their cash at her.

  They finished their lunch and Camilla excused herself to use the restroom. When she returned, she asked, “Are you ready to go? My shift starts in a couple of hours and I still need to stop by my apartment and change into my uniform.”

  “I just need to pay the check,” he said, trying to get the attention of the server.

  “I already took care of it,” Camilla replied.

  “When?”

  “Before you got here.” She pulled the strap of the messenger bag onto her shoulder, then pivoted and headed toward the door.

  Catching up with her by the hostess stand, he cocked his head toward the server, who didn’t run over to stop them from dining and ditching. “You paid the bill before you even knew what I’d want to order?”

  “I guessed that you’d want a burger. The menu advertised the fact that they use Taylor Beef and you seem like a guy who takes quality control very seriously. It would obviously need to be loaded with bacon and cheese and all the toppings since I saw you fill your plate at my parents’ house the other night and pile on as much stuff as you could onto such a small circle. Then I accounted for a side salad since you ate half of mine last week at the Brick Oven. I knew I’d want to try several appetizers, because the quality of the appetizers tells you a lot about a restaurant, so there was no guessing there. And you always drink whatever I’m drinking. So, even before you walked through that door, I knew it was going to be $42.83 before tax and tip.”

  “But why?” He followed her to the waiting car, mentally running through the calculations she’d just ticked off to realize she’d been exactly right.

  “Because I work in the food industry and I’ve made a game out of guessing people’s orders based on less information than I already had about you.” She thanked the driver and slid across the back seat so Jordan could climb inside.

  “No, I mean, why did you pay for the bill in advance?”

  “Oh.” Her lips spread into a self-satisfied smirk, lighting up her beautiful face in a way that made his rib cage tighten. “Because I also knew that you would try to pay for me, just like you paid for the car service and the helicopter, and dinner at the Brick Oven. Oh, and the wine basket for my dad, which was a nice touch, by the way.”

  “Well, I told you at the gala that I’d sent him one after his surgery.” He shrugged, but the tightening in his chest didn’t loosen.

  “You mean back when you thought my father was Jose Balthazar?” Her smirk was now a full grin. He loved the way she wasn’t afraid to tease him.

  Contentment spread through him and he returned her smile. “I figured since you weren’t going to let me forget about my mistake, I might as well follow through on that.”

  “Well, my dad loved it, so well played. Anyway, I didn’t want you always paying for everything and I certainly didn’t want to get into a standoff with you about it when the bill came. So I prepaid before you got the chance to out-negotiate me again. You’re welcome.”

  She was right. He definitely would have insisted on paying for her lunch and she had been wise enough to cut him off before he even had the opportunity.

  “I’m trying to remember the last time a woman bought me a meal,” he finally said as he stared at her in amazement. “Thank you.”

  “It was my pleasure,” she said, and his mind spent the rest of the ride thinking about all the other ways he’d like to bring her pleasure.

  Once inside the helicopter for the return trip to Bronco, Camilla again reached for his hand during takeoff, but most of her attention was on the view from the window. Not only could he not remember the last time someone had paid for his restaurant bill, he also couldn’t remember the last time he’d paid so much attention to the world below the propellers. Had Jordan really gotten so accustomed to luxury air travel that he’d forgotten to look away from his phone or his laptop during the flights? That he’d forgotten what it was like to sit back and simply enjoy the scenery?

  Before they arrived back at the airfield, Jordan already knew that he wasn’t going to be able to wait until after the weekend to see Camilla again. He said as much when he was walking her to her car.

  “What are you doing tomorrow morning?” he asked, hoping he didn’t sound as desperate as he felt.

  “Laundry.”

  “Great.” He opened her car door. “My last stepmother gave me this square tool that folds shirts perfectly. You should see my closet. It’s an ode to organization and color-coded stacks. I’ll bring it over and help you.”

  She sucked her lower lip between her teeth before answering. “Jordan, my studio apartment is probably the same size as your closet.”

  He knew she was baiting him again about the differences in their bank accounts, but he wasn’t going to fall for it. “If this is your way of asking me back to your place so we can compare sizes, I’ll gladly borrow a tape measure from one of the flight mechanics over there.”

  Lifting his eyebrows, he leaned in closer, and she playfully pushed him back. But instead of letting go, she kept her hands on his shoulders. “Don’t you think it’s a little too soon for you to come back to my place?”

  “Nope,” he said honestly, his deltoid muscles flexing impulsively under her touch. “But I would never push for an invite. You can have me over whenever you’re ready.”

  “You know,” she said, her thumbs driving him crazy with featherlight circles against his shirt, “when we negotiated our three-week deal, we never agreed to any of those terms you add in fine print at the end of the contract.”

 
“So this thing between us is a business contract now?” Jordan tilted his head closer, careful not to lean forward too much and dislodge her mesmerizing hands.

  Camilla shrugged one shoulder. “Well, I have a head for business and you have a head for business. So maybe it would keep things from getting too complicated if we set out our expectations ahead of time.”

  He glanced at her palms, which had strayed from his shoulders to his chest and were rising and falling with each steadying breath he took. “In that case, if you’re going to distract me while we negotiate, I think it’s only fair that I get the same advantage.”

  Matching her light pressure, Jordan placed his own hands on either side of her waist. He heard her quick intake of air, but she took a step toward him and asked, “So, we agree that this is date one out of six?”

  “I’ll concede that. For now.” He already knew that he’d want way more than six dates, but he still had time to convince her. “As long as you concede that the contract can always be extended upon mutual agreement.”

  She shook her head lightly, her hair rippling down her back as she smiled indulgently. “We’ll see. Now what exactly constitutes a date? How do we define it?”

  He looked up to the sky briefly before settling his gaze on her. “It should probably involve us spending time together. Alone.”

  “We haven’t been alone today at all. We’ve either been in public or with drivers and pilots.”

  “I mean where we can have semiprivate, one-on-one conversations. And we should probably add that it needs to involve a full meal, since we both enjoy eating.”

  “If we’re seen together in public too much, people are going to start talking.”