Cinderella-ish (Razzle My Dazzle Book 1)

by Joslyn Westbrook

  Chapter 9

  Antonio

  Jonah’s eyes widen in absolute amusement the second he sees me strut into the expansive boardroom of Creative Solutions, Inc with Daniella by my side. I’m certain he recognizes her from the video TMZ showcased yesterday.

  “My man, my man, my man,” he says, coming in strong for a man-hug. “I’m all ready to brainstorm themes for the The Fashion Show. I can’t believe it’s only weeks away.” He gives Daniella a congenial once-over and extends his hand to shake hers. “Hey there. I’m Jonah. You must be Daniella. Antonio’s new PA? I’ve heard loads about you.”

  I launch critical glare at him. Fact is, he’s right. I haven’t stopped talking about Daniella since I laid eyes on her. But she doesn’t need to know that.

  “All things good, I hope,” Daniella says with a grin.

  She looks ravishing today, with a curve-hugging pant suit, sexy heels, and ribbons of her long hair streaming down her back. The two of us chit-chatted during the drive here, and I was able to unveil fragments of key information: she’s six years younger than I am, is from Texas, and is newly single, thanks to some dude who broke up with her yesterday, via text. Coward.

  “Yep. All good things. Anyway, shall we begin?” Jonah looks at me with raised eyebrows. “We’ve got lots to accomplish in such little time.”

  Time flies, and Jonah and I brainstorm for over an hour, even though I find it hard to concentrate with Daniella seated next to me—feeling as though I’m trapped in some sappy romantic comedy about a hunky guy drooling over a hot chick who won’t give him the time of day.

  Maybe that’s what I find so annoyingly alluring about her: she doesn’t seem to give a damn.

  “Hello? Earth to Antonio,” Jonah’s sharp tone cuts into my thoughts.

  “Uh…sorry, what?” I grumble, tapping my pen on the tabletop.

  “I said, what about an east meets west theme?” He looks as though he believes he’s struck gold.

  But he hasn’t.

  “Hell no,” I say unquestionably.

  “Well, I’m all out of ideas then.” He tosses his pen onto his notepad and runs his fingers through his dark, curly hair. “You’ve turned down a beach theme, a mermaid theme, a bad girl theme, and now this. Dude. Need I remind you again we are only weeks away? Weeks, Antonio.”

  Jonah’s ideas have been good. Just not good enough. CraveMe has been falling behind competitors at The Fashion Show, and I need this year’s theme to be freakin’ spectacular.

  “Look Jonah,” I express, now pacing the black-and-white marble floor of the boardroom. “All of those ideas are great. But I need something different. Something spectacular. And definitely something the other guys like Rendezvous won’t be doing.” I stop pacing and turn to face Jonah. “CraveMe must stand out.”

  Jonah smirks then looks pointedly at Daniella, who is feverishly scribbling away on the notepad. “What do you think? Have you any ideas?”

  I interrupt, throwing my hands in the air. “Hey, now wait. I seriously doubt she’s even been to The Fashion Show. Besides that, she knows nothing about the brand, being it’s her first day and all. I don’t think she’s remotely qualified to offer any insight.”

  And just as quickly as the insolent words fly out of my mouth I realize how they must have sounded.

  Daniella stiffens and I can see a glimmer of hostility in her eyes as she glares at me.

  Through pursed lips she mutters, “With all due respect, Mr. Michaels, perhaps part of the problem is that you’re quick to dismiss the scope of an idea simply based on your perceived notion. All of the themes you’ve eschewed can be made into something spectacular. You’ve just got to come down from your higher-than-thou pedestal and give the unknown a chance.” The seat scrapes from under her as she shoots up from her chair. She straightens her suit jacket. “If you’ll excuse me for a moment, I’d like to visit the powder room.”

  Jonah and I both follow Daniella with speculative eyes as she marches out of the boardroom.

  Jonah’s mouth flies open. “Well, isn’t she the perfect dose of spunk you’ve been missing all this time?” He beams and I just want to punch him.

  “I deserved it. I insulted her without meaning to. But, as seems her norm, she fired right back.”

  “You do know she’s right? You can’t afford to be Arrogant Antonio right now. We’ve got a fashion show to put on and frankly we’ve got nothin’.”

  I sit back down, lowering my head into my hands. “You’re right. Time is of the essence. I’ll try to keep an open mind and I’ll ask Daniella—”

  “You’ll ask me what?” Daniella queries, as she walks past my seat and slides into hers, seemingly careful not to make eye contact with me.

  “If you’ve got any ideas,” I offer, my voice low. “And I apologize for my rant. I’ll try to be less of a dick from now on. It’s something I’m working on.”

  “Diligently, I hope?”

  I flash a wry smile, and internally scoff at how relentless she is. She’s getting to me, in more ways than one.

  “Okay, you two. Back to the task at hand,” Jonah says, walking over to a flip chart to make notes. He picks up a green marker and points it to Daniella. “Spill it. Your ideas.”

  Her cheeks brighten as she bites on the tip of her pen. “Well, as Antonio so blatantly pointed out, I’ve never been to The Fashion Show in Milan.” She flashes me a side glance and scoots forward in her chair. “But I do know a tiny bit about fashion shows. I did, after all, work with the esteemed Lauren Blake, during Fashion Week in New York, a few years ago, while in design school.”

  Wait…what? I thought she was just a nanny.

  Jonah bites on his balled fist, his eyes animated. “Lauren Blake? She’s like a fucking fashion diva. And you worked with her? Props to you, my lady.”

  Daniella nods. “Right. Anyway, I’d be happy—actually, honored—to share some ideas. But,” she looks at me sternly, “seeing as how I know nothing about the brand,” she shifts a more amiable glare back to Jonah, “I’ll need information. Footage from past events, a catalog filled with CraveMe designs, and the amount of time they’ve allotted for us at this fashion show—”

  “We won the bid for thirty minutes on the runway,” I proudly interject.

  “Congratulations. That’s an impressive amount of time.” She sets her pen down onto the table and folds her arms. “So, gentlemen, I’ll be able to have concrete ideas for you tomorrow morning. Provided I’m given the items mentioned.” She faces me again, this time armed with one raised eyebrow and a smug half-grin. “And just so you know, I own several pieces of CraveMe lingerie. In fact, I’m wearing some right now.”

  Smoldering green eyes stay fixed on mine as if she’s waiting to see what affect her comment does to me.

  And although I’m burning up inside, imagining how her body looks and feels cradled in some of my sultry lingerie designs, I’m keen on keeping that to myself.

  “Well, then Daniella, you’ve got pretty reasonable demands, along with exquisite taste.” I look away, freeing myself from her glower, and adjust the collar on my shirt. “Jonah will provide a computer flash drive that contains footage of the last few years of The Fashion Show as well as the catalog—per your request.” I look to Jonah for confirmation.

  “Oh, right. Of course. I’ll just grab those from my office—just give me a few minutes to gather it all. Can I get you two anything while you wait? Water? Coffee?”

  “No thanks,” Daniella and I reply in unison.

  Jonah excuses himself, leaving Daniella and me alone. The silence between the two of us is deafening. She sits, arms still folded, legs firmly crossed, with a purposeful gaze toward the wall.

  “You’re angry.”

  “Annoyed,” she clarifies.

  “Are you always gonna be annoyed with me?”

  “Are you always gonna rise to the occasion?”

  “Without a doubt,” I say, a droll attempt at easing the tension.

  She face
s me, eyes gleaming, and a sugary smile finally escapes her presumably tenacious nature.

  It’s then that I realize Jonah’s right: Daniella Belle is indeed what I’ve been missing this whole time.

  Chapter 10

  Daniella

  “So…are you actually going to Milan? With Antonio he’s-so-hot Michaels?” clamors Emma via my computer screen on a FaceTime call.

  She calls to check up on me about three times a day whenever she’s away with her dad, mainly out of boredom, but I get the feeling Emma misses me every time we are apart. She’s truly like the little sister I never had, but always wished for.

  Peering up from the catalog of CraveMe lingerie items I’ve been perusing for the past hour, I grin. “Apparently, I am.”

  “Oh. My. God. You’ve so gotta convince my mom to allow you to take me with you, D! Tell her it’s for a school project or something.”

  “No can do, babe. Plus, it’s your last year of high school. You’d better savor every precious moment.”

  Emma sulks, as she crams a handful of potato chips into her mouth. “Fine. Just bring me home some Italian chocolate.”

  I chuckle at her demand. “You’ve got it.”

  “How was your first day as a PA? Is your new boss as dreamy as he looks?”

  How about despicable, pretentious, and apathetic—all accentuated by mesmerizing charisma.

  “Totally,” I utter, knowing I’ll never fool Emma since Little Miss All-Knowing does discern me quite well.

  “Name one thing you like about him.” She studies my expression as she takes a sip of soda.

  “Excuse me?” I blink.

  “My mom always says it helps to name at least one good thing about someone you don’t particularly like.”

  Just what I need: unsolicited advice from a sixteen-year-old.

  Reluctantly, I search deep into the pit of my gut, for something—anything—I like about Antonio.

  “His smile.” I finally decide.

  Emma folds her arms and squints her expressive brown eyes. “Uh-huh. The two of you will be sending out wedding invitations upon your return from Milan.”

  I shake my head. “Nope. I think he’s married.”

  “Married? No way! He’s been seen out on dates with too many women, D…so nice try.”

  “Well…he’s utterly impossible.”

  “So are you.”

  “He’s stubborn.”

  “And you’re not?” She gleams at my annoyance.

  “We are Night and Day.”

  “Opposites attract.” She sticks out her tongue.

  “Don’t you have homework…or something?”

  “Yep. In fact, I’ve got an assignment that’s due in a couple of weeks. Maybe you can help?” She grins like the Cheshire Cat.

  “And what exactly is this assignment?” I proceed with caution, knowing Emma always has a prank up her sleeve.

  “I’ve gotta study Milan fashion shows and their impact on society—in Milan.”

  I can see the corners of Emma’s mouth twitch, an obvious struggle at holding back a giggle. And, five seconds later, she cackles uncontrollably.

  “You’re funny,” I say, semi-amused. “But seriously, get off this call and do your homework,” I inject as a reminder that I’m still the adult here. “Besides, I’m kind of working on a small project, hun.”

  “Work-related?” she asks, her voice inflated, eyes widened.

  “Yep. And I promise to fill you in tomorrow.”

  Emma’s expression softens. “Okay then, I’m off to do my homework. Good luck with your project. Love ya.”

  “I love ya too, babe.”

  Describing this project as small wasn’t exactly a fitting characterization—more like mammoth.

  Taking a hearty sip of hot peppermint tea, I retrieve a spiral notebook from my desk drawer and begin jotting down mental notes I made earlier while viewing the extensive video footage Jonah provided me. Apparently, the entire lingerie event in Milan is colossal—commencing with a grandiose fashion show and concluding with a ceremonial ball. Invitees of The Ball exclusively don the newest and hottest avant-garde creations by the fashion show’s designers.

  During the brainstorming meeting, I remember Antonio mentioned CraveMe has fallen behind compared to what other designers present on the catwalk. Seems they’ve been going all out, presumably trying to outdo the other, in an effort to leave a memorable impression. And from what I’ve seen on the videos, he’s absolutely right. DJs, strobe lights, acrobatics, all in addition to an assortment of dazzling, ass-baring, women. It’s no wonder Jonah is freaked-the-fuck out about the amount of time we have left to plan. There is no way CraveMe can expect to pull off anything close to what the others have—unless we decide, like yesterday, what the theme will be.

  I rock back and forth in my chair as I scan my bedroom walls for inspiration. Over the years, I’ve been collecting and framing pictures of women wearing chic lingerie that I use to influence my own design creations. Yet, I think CraveMe’s thirty-minute contribution to the Fashion Show needs to be more of an all-out experience. To draw out my creative muse, I switch on my MP3 player—it’s still set to my 1980s playlist. I tap my ink pen on the hard, wooden surface of my desk and bob my head to the funky sound of The Eurythmics-Sweet Dreams, and before I know it, I’m up, moving about my room, dancing to the beat. Even though I wasn’t born in the ’80s, I still appreciate everything from the era. The music. The movies. The hair. And even some of the clothing. If someone could ingeniously figure out how to intertwine the best parts of the ’80s, ’90s, and today—

  Holy fuck. That’s it.

  The concept smacks me with such blunt force, I trip as I scamper back to my chair.

  Immediately I begin conducting an online search for images, articles, just about everything I’ll need to create a poppin’ slideshow to present to Antonio and Jonah tomorrow at Creative Solutions, Inc.

  Nearly two hours, two MP3 play sets, and two glasses of wine later, I stare, in awe, at what I’ve come up with. It’s phenomenally perfect and I honestly can’t wait until tomorrow—even though I’ll have to. I power down my laptop and pack it up for the meeting and shimmy my way into the closet, still feeling giddy over my creativity. I’ll need to wear something professionally eye-poppin’ to the meeting.

  Something Holly Golightly-ish minus the hat, of course.

  My phone rings.

  Shit. It’s Antonio. He and I exchanged phone numbers earlier when he reminded me I need to be available twenty-four hours a day. And, no doubt, he’s likely calling to tell me what type of coffee I need to bring him to the meeting tomorrow. I mean, isn’t that the sort of stuff I’m to do as his PA? Pick up his coffee on the way to work? Honestly, we really haven’t discussed my primary duties.

  “Sir?” I answer, still searching for an outfit to wear.

  “Sir? That actually has a nice ring to it. But I prefer Sir Antonio…you know, as long as you’re tossing the word Sir around.” I hear a soft chuckle escape him.

  His voice is soothing and sweet over the phone, like a soft lullaby. He can put me to sleep anytime. Ooops. That’s the two glasses of wine talking. I swear.

  “To what do I owe the honor?” I’m sure there are thousands of women in Los Angeles who would kill to have Antonio Michaels call them at—I glance at the clock display on my phone—10:35 p.m.

  “I was calling to see if you’ve been able to come up with any ideas. I figured you’d still be up…probably still brainstorming?”

  I smirk into the phone. “I’m actually all done. And I won’t be sharing anything with you until tomorrow at the meeting.”

  “Done? Well that’s great. Can’t you give me a teaser?”

  I let out an exaggerated sigh. “That will be a no.” I pull a black dress off its hanger and hold it up against me while looking in the mirror.

  He laughs. “Fair enough, Daniella Belle. What kind of coffee can I bring you?”

  I stand up tall. “Um, me?”
I stammer. “What coffee can you bring me?” Isn’t that what I’m supposed to be asking him? I slouch down, my butt on the edge of one of my shoe shelves.

  “Yes. I thought I’d get us some coffee on my way to pick you up. I figure since we live only a few miles apart and are both going to the same place tomorrow, we should go together. It will give us time to…talk.”

  My mouth opens, but nothing comes out. I wasn’t expecting him to pick up coffee nor was I expecting a ride. I even booked an Uber. Audible words are held hostage by the shock of him being…pleasant. Or maybe he’s just being an efficient boss. Yep. That’s it. Makes total sense.

  “Okay,” I finally manage to spill. “I’ll take a cappuccino with whipped cream, please.”

  “Perfect. Plan to be ready to go by 7:45 sharp. Until tomorrow, Daniella. Sweet dreams.”

  Chapter 11

  Daniella

  The doorbell rings at 7:45 a.m. sharp.

  I’ve been feverishly waiting, fully dressed, since 6:30 a.m. I hardly slept last night, my mind greatly absorbed with thoughts of today. It’ll be my first presentation, since design school—and frankly, I have no clue how Antonio and Jonah are going to react to my suggestions.

  I examine my reflection in the floor-length mirror that clings perfectly to the wall by the front door.

  Hair done up in an Audrey Hepburn bun—which, on its own, took over an hour to perfect.

  Black Dress. Black Heels. Red Lipstick.

  Yep. I’m good.

  I peek into my leather tote, scanning its contents.

  Phone. Wallet. Lipstick. Mascara. Laptop.

  Yep. It’s all there.

  Taking in a calming deep breath, I clutch the leather tote bag, flinging it on my shoulder, and swing the door open, fully prepared to flash Antonio an oh it’s only you look.

  Then, like a groupie, I nearly pass out.

  Without a single measure of doubt, Antonio Michaels seems to grow yummier-looking.