Yours Completely: A Cinderella Love Story (Billionaires and Brides #1)

by Krista Lakes

  “Lucia, no french toast for me please. This looks even better than usual.” Charlotte said, as Lucia put the food down in front of her.

  The older woman smiled and wiped her hands on her apron. “Well then, get to eating before it gets cold.”

  I looked at my plate, unsure of what delicious thing I wanted to eat first. The omelets were cheesy and gooey with all sorts of perfectly cooked, fresh vegetables and the french toast was thick and steaming. I went for the french toast first, as there was real maple syrup on the table, and nearly moaned. The outside was the perfect level of crispy while the inside was melt-in-my mouth soft.

  “Lucia,” I groaned. “This is fantastic!”

  She beamed and stood up a little taller. She wore her apron with pride. “Thank you very much, miss. I'm glad you like it.” She wiped her hands on her apron one more time and then went back to the kitchen, turning on the sink and washing dishes while she hummed a happy song.

  The mark of good food, silence, sat comfortably around the three of us as we ate. I couldn't believe how good the food tasted here. I could tell that everything was fresh and of the highest quality. Charlotte finished her meal first.

  “So what are your plans today? If you tell me your schedule, I can make sure there is food available for you,” she said, getting up and putting her plate in the sink.

  Dad pulled out his bag and placed his tablet and one of the maps Charlotte had given us the night before. He had color coded sections and a key on the bottom. “I thought I would take this room,” he said, pointing to a room in canary yellow. He then moved to one in red. “Ava, you can start in this one. Then, we'll switch and double check one another's work.”

  “Thus, turning the room orange,” I replied, quickly stuffing another bite of french toast in my mouth as soon as I finished speaking.

  Charlotte peeked over my shoulder and saw my red colored room. “Ava, could I come watch you this afternoon? There's a picture in that room that I'm curious about.” She paused, biting her lip, as if afraid I might say no. “It's an impressionist piece, but that's all I know about it. I'm hoping you could tell me more, if you have the time.”

  I nodded, trying to swallow my bite of food before talking. “I'd love to teach you, Charlotte. Impressionism is actually one of my specialties.”

  Charlotte grinned from ear to ear, her pretty brown eyes glowing. I could already feel the bonds of friendship forming between the two of us. Anyone who wanted to learn more about my favorite style of art had an instant in with me.

  I reluctantly swallowed the last bite of food on my plate. I wished I hadn't gobbled it all up quite so quickly, but it was just so delicious that I couldn't help it. I glanced over at my dad's plate to see if he had eaten his as quickly as I had, only to discover most of the food was still on his plate. I was a little concerned since this was a man who usually ended up finishing my plates.

  “You okay, Dad?” I asked, snagging a bite of his french toast. It was just as delicious as mine had been. “You've barely eaten.”

  He looked down at his plate in surprise. “I guess I still have some indigestion from last night,” he admitted. Seeing the worry written all over my face, he smiled and put his big hand on mine. “Don't worry. I'll be fine. It's just this tooth.”

  I stood up, picking up my plate. Dad took a bite and then pushed his at me to take away. I frowned. Our dinner hadn't been anything that should have caused indigestion. I did my best to smile, though. He would be fine. He was as strong as a horse. There wasn't anything that ever got him down. When the rest of us were sick with the flu, he was always the one running around making soup because he didn't catch it. He'd be fine.

  “That was delicious,” I said to Lucia, putting our plates in the sink. She looked at Dad's plate and I shrugged. I didn't know quite what to think of it either.

  “You ready to get started, Kiddo?” Dad asked, packing his colored maps and tablet into his shoulder bag. I nodded and grinned. I was more than ready.

  Sunrise Kisses: Chapter 6

  Charlotte walked with us out of the kitchen, leading the way to the main foyer. It was there that Dad and I were going to split up and start on our separate rooms. The foyer made a great middle point for us to base our attack around.

  “Hold on a second kiddo,” Dad said, eying a something along the far wall. “I know this room isn't first on my list, but I have to look at something.”

  I followed his gaze to see a small table pressed up against the far wall and I instantly knew why he wanted to look at it. It looked like an Alexander Roux piece. He had a definite fondness for the 1800's Rococo Revival style cabinetmaker. When Charlotte had given him the room full of Roux pieces, she had unwittingly given him one of his biggest dreams. The man had a Roux calendar on his wall, for heaven's sakes.

  “Go for it,” I said, shaking my head and grinning.

  He nearly ran over to the small table, with me not far behind. Although paintings and art were more my thing, I knew a good piece of furniture when I saw one.

  The table was small and made of rosewood and marble. Intricate designs covered the open spaces, highlighting the beauty of the warm brown wood beneath. My father's hand trailed reverently across the smooth surface of the table, his knowledgeable fingers gleaning information from just the touch.

  “It certainly looks like an Alexander Roux piece,” Dad said reverently. He went to his knees and looked underneath, practically trembling with excitement. “And it looks like it's signed. Let me get my glasses to check...”

  He sat back, patting his pockets for his glasses. I shook my head, knowing that they were in his left breast pocket but that it would take him a good thirty seconds to find them. Instead of waiting, I just went over and looked at it myself.

  “What do you think of the piece?” Charlotte asked. “Mr. Belrose had it appraised before at close to twenty-five thousand dollars.”

  “Well, it would be if it were authentic,” I replied, snapping a picture of the engraved signature with my phone. “But, unless Alexander Roux forgot how to spell his name properly, the signature is false. I hope you didn't pay that much for it.”

  Sticking my hand out from under the desk, I handed the phone to my father and heard him sigh sadly as he looked at it. Despite the table's beauty, the mark spelled Roux as Row.

  “A forgery?” A stern, deep voice echoed around the room, and I bumped my head on the desk. I wiggled free of the table and stood up to catch my first glimpse of the confident owner of a false Roux piece.

  It was him. It was Sebastian Belrose.

  I immediately wished I could duck back under the table and hide.

  Mr. Belrose was descending the stairs, wearing a dark, three-piece suit that fit him like a glove. I remembered he had worn something similar last night, despite the heat. My mouth went dry, not only at the incredibly attractive way he looked, but at the fact that I had just flippantly spoken to billionaire Sebastian Belrose. Again. At least I hadn't tried bodily harm this time.

  He reached the bottom of the stairs and I could see the scar again. It was dark against his stern face. He looked at me, his eyes like gray mist across the ocean and full of just as many secrets and I forgot to breathe.

  Realizing that I was now staring, I quickly looked back and the table, hoping my blush wasn't too obvious.

  “It's still a beautiful table, and it is in Alexander Roux's style. It could be that someone suspected he was the maker and wanted to increase the value of the piece, so they added the signature themselves.” I was rambling now, trying to explain myself. It didn't help that I was now thinking very clearly of how I had tried to tackle him last night. How was I going to explain that to my father? And now I had just told him his table was a fake. I was the best employee ever. “Even with the fake signature, I would still expect it to fetch around ten thousand at auction.”

  When I looked back up, he had silently crossed the large room and was now standing in front of me. It was hard to be this close to such a powerful
man and not shake, especially when I found him even more attractive up close. His frown was tight, as he must have been displeased with my findings.

  “Miss Fairchild, I presume.” His voice was stern and hard as he held out his hand.

  I took it, giving him the firmest, most professional handshake I could muster. Unfortunately, my blush was searing up my chest and lighting my cheeks. I couldn't believe that I had just knocked off fifteen thousand dollars off one of his antiques and then stared at him like a star-struck teenager. It was looking like my second impression wasn't much better than my first.

  “It's a pleasure to meet you, sir,” I managed, feeling tongue-tied and awkward. He had so much class and poise that it left me fumbling for words. I wasn't quite sure what I was supposed to say. I had technically already met him last night, and again this morning.

  He nodded, releasing my hand. My skin tingled from where we had touched, but if he felt anything similar, his face didn't show it. If anything, he seemed more guarded and stern.

  “Carl Fairchild,” my father said, extending his hand. “If your appraiser missed the signature, I do hope you found another before he got too far.”

  Mr. Belrose took his hand. “That's why I hired you. According to the head of the Society of Appraisers, you are the best at what you do. You and your staff come highly recommended.”

  My father's chest puffed out slightly in pride. “Thank you, sir. I'd like to think that we are.” He wrapped a heavy arm over my shoulder. “My daughter here is certainly the best art appraiser I've ever met.”

  Mr. Belrose's blue-gray eyes went to mine again, entangling me in their smoky depths. I couldn't help but wonder what he thought of me. I was just glad that he wasn't bringing up last night. I glanced at my father, but Mr. Belrose gave me just the slightest of head shakes. I nodded. As far as anyone else was concerned, last night didn't happen. I didn't want my father to know, and he didn't want Charlotte to know.

  “It is a pleasure to meet you both,” Mr. Belrose said, breaking off his gaze and looking at my father instead. “If either of you need anything, please let Charlotte know.”

  I wished I wasn't blushing so hard. I wished I had been more polite about dismissing the signature on the piece. I wished I hadn't tried to tackle him, though at least now we had a shared secret. I wished I had been able to brush my teeth after breakfast before standing in front of Mr. Belrose with coffee breath.

  Unfortunately, there wasn't much I could do about any of those things at this point.

  Mr. Belrose evaluated both of us for a moment, his gray eyes taking in every detail and filing it away. My stomach churned, wondering what he must think of the unkempt, flippant girl in front of him. I wanted to melt into the floor. He turned to leave, stopping to speak with Charlotte as he crossed the tiled floor.

  “Miss Page, please remind them about the study,” he said softly to his assistant. It was just loud enough for me to make out the words. I had a feeling that wasn't a mistake. The man didn't seem capable of making a mistake.

  “Don't worry, boss,” she told him with a grin. “Now, get going or you'll be late for your meeting.”

  He nodded and continued his walk to the front door. Without another word, he opened it and stepped outside, leaving me staring after him and trying to figure him out.

  He had this fancy, over-the-top house that he was selling for some reason. No one had said why yet, and since it really wasn't any of my business, I hadn't asked. Yet, the kitchen didn't match and he had a secret study that no one was allowed in. The man was the CEO of a billion dollar company, but he paddle-boarded out on the ocean by himself every morning, and didn't want his assistant to know he had broken a board he could obviously afford.

  He intrigued me. There was something about him that made me want to know more, something about the way he held himself and the self confidence he radiated that made me curious about him. I shook my head. He was a mystery, but one that I knew I should stay away from. He was a billionaire and way out of my league.

  “Interesting fellow, your boss,” my father said after the door closed. I couldn't help but agree.

  “That he is,” Charlotte replied, putting on a fresh smile. “But, you just impressed him.”

  “Impressed him?” I nearly laughed. “I just devalued a possible Alexander Roux.”

  Charlotte chuckled. “And you think he didn't know that? Why do you think it's sitting out here as the first thing you would see? It was a test and you passed with flying colors.”

  I opened my mouth and then closed it. It was a clever tactic, and one that had worked incredibly well. If he wanted to make sure we were going to do the appraisal correctly, putting the false signature was a good way to test our skills. I smiled slightly, suddenly proud that I had passed a test I didn't know I was taking.

  “Well, well. I guess that's why he's the billionaire,” Dad mused. He turned to me. “We better get working, kiddo. There's a lot to do.”

  I looked around at the big house, stopping at the door Mr. Belrose had just left out of. “Yes, we do,” I murmured, but my mind wasn't paying attention to my father anymore. It was thinking of Sebastian Belrose and how I couldn't quite put him together.

  He was a puzzle, but one I wasn't worthy of solving.

  So, I smiled at my father and headed into my room to solve the puzzles that I knew I could solve. Time to appraise some art.

  Sunrise Kisses: Chapter 7

  The room I was starting in was huge, as was everything in the mansion. Three immense paintings dominated the walls surrounded by smaller ones scattered tastefully to complement the larger. It reminded me of an art museum rather than a house, but then I had only ever been in art museums this big, not houses.

  The room had one window, and if I had been the interior decorator, I would have focused my attention on the view rather than the art. While the art was beautiful, the seascape out the window was more dynamic. Sheer curtains floated over the big window, and I was glad to note that a special film had been placed on it to block the UV light. At least whomever had set up this room had designed it to hold the artwork.

  I stood for a moment at the window, watching the waves break against the shore and sea birds fly through the air. It reminded me of this morning's sunrise and that made me smile and wonder what Mr. Belrose was up to. I couldn't see him out on the water, which meant that he must have had his meeting.

  “Why aren't you working?” Mr. Belrose's deep voice asked, distracting me from my thoughts. I turned around, startled, to see him standing in the open doorway. All the joy on his face from this morning was long gone.

  “I was just getting started,” I stammered, going to a table in the center of the room to lay out my supplies. I flushed, knowing I had only been standing at the window for a couple of minutes, but from his viewpoint it must have looked like I was doing nothing at all.

  “I'm not paying you to stand around,” he growled. I nearly dropped my tablet on the floor, but managed to catch it in the nick of time. He glared at me. “There are deadlines for a reason. If I wanted someone to stand and look pretty, I'd hire a model.”

  My face flamed to an even higher degree. I wondered if Elijah had remembered to feed him breakfast.

  “Didn't you have a meeting?” I asked. All I wanted to do was snap at him to go take a long walk off a short cliff, but I didn't. He was my employer.

  “It was canceled. Are you going to work or what?” He glared at me, daring me to sass back. But, I was a professional, despite the fact that I had enjoyed looking out the window. So instead of saying something I knew I'd regret, I put on my biggest smile and looked up at him.

  “Of course, Mr. Belrose. I'll get right on it.”

  I cocked my head to the side, willing sweetness to drip off every word. I made syrup look bland.

  He frowned, opening his mouth and then closing it. I had to hold in my sense of accomplishment at throwing him off. He had obviously been expecting a smart-aleck, defensive remark and my overly-sweet re
sponse was not computing.

  “Now, if you'll excuse me, Mr. Belrose,” I continued, still smiling and forcing sugar sweet niceness from every pore, “I need to get to work.”

  With that, I turned back to my table and arranged my tools. I moved methodically and carefully, feeling his eyes on me as I went about my work. I ignored him, concentrating on what was now entirely my domain. This is where I was most comfortable. I was now entering my element.

  Once my station was arranged to my liking, I went to one of the smaller paintings on the wall and carefully began my examination. It took all my willpower not to look up and say something snotty as Mr. Belrose kept watching me, waiting for me to do something he could criticize.

  The first painting was small, only about a 10X8 piece of oil on canvas. It's something I could see my mother having painted and I immediately fell in love with it. It was of an impressionist piece of a boat floating in the moonlight. Blues and silvers dominated the canvas, with short brush strokes carefully invoking the feelings of a festive boat out on dark water.

  I trembled taking it off the wall, not from nerves but because I could feel it in my bones that this was an important piece. It spoke to me. The frame was well made and I was glad to see that care had been taking in preserving and displaying the artwork properly.

  “That came with the house,” Mr. Belrose informed me, the tone of his voice dismissive. “I'm sure it's not worth much. You should start on the Degas.”

  I gritted my teeth and forced my face into a polite smile. I hated it when people told me how to do my job. If he was so sure the piece was worthless, then why the heck had he hired me?

  “Thank you,” I said politely, beaming my smile at him before turning back to my original painting. “I'll be sure to let you know when I'm finished.”

  I would get to the Degas when I got to the Degas. I had a system, one that I had perfected over the years, and I would be dammed if I was going to let him tell me how to do my job. Even if he was a billionaire.