Cinderella-ish (Razzle My Dazzle Book 1)

by Joslyn Westbrook

  Every. Single. Day.

  “You’re ready?” he says, eyebrows raised.

  “You’re surprised?” I step out, closing and locking the door behind me.

  “Well, in my experience, most ladies are never ready on time.” He simpers, as if he’s the only man in the world who’s come to that absurd conclusion.

  “Perhaps I’m not most ladies,” I propose.

  “Indeed, you’re not.” He winks and the two of us walk side by side toward his silver Mercedes. Like a gentleman, Antonio opens the passenger door. “Buckle up please, Miss Personal Assistant.”

  Honoring his command, I dutifully slide into the sleek leather seat and buckle up. The scent of his cologne consumes the atmosphere, and for a nanosecond my–ahem–honeypot, is overcome by salacious desire. I cross my legs, and sternly put her in check with a reprimanding don’t you dare go there, miss thing.

  Once on the road, Antonio points to my cappuccino sitting in the cup holder. “I didn’t picture you to be the cappuccino with whipped cream kind of girl. I thought for sure you’d order something far more intricate.”

  “Judgmental?”

  A skittish smile tugs at his lips as though they are bracing for his imminent quip. “That inquiry coming from the woman who called me a first-class jerk on the Metro?”

  I twirl a loose strand of my hair. “Alrighty then…how do you take yours?”

  He turns to face me, heady gaze fixed on mine. “Hot. Smooth. Extra Cream.” His robust tone is as alluring as his assertion.

  Heat curls down my spine and I nearly melt into the passenger seat. He is talking about coffee, right?

  We sip our respective cups of java in silence as Antonio zips along Wilshire Blvd, its sidewalks already riddled with a wide assortment of pedestrians. Hurried businessmen in stuffy suits racing to their meetings. Older ladies wandering aimlessly as they haul their carts full of groceries. Meter Maids issuing parking tickets. It’s like a people watcher’s dream.

  The car crawls to a brief stop at a traffic light, and even though I’m avoiding eye contact, clearly trying to cool off from his off-putting comment, I can feel his gaze upon me. “What’s your specialty?” he asks.

  I turn my head abruptly to face him. “I’m sorry?” I answer, feeling a tad thrown off.

  “You went to design school so, what’s your area of specialty?”

  Oh. right. He’s talking that kind of specialty. Duh. I’ll need just a teeny-tiny minute while I get my head out of the gutter.

  After taking a sip of my cappuccino, I finally mutter. “Lingerie.”

  One eyebrow raised, he says, “Seriously? I would have never guessed lingerie. But I would have guessed dresses and shoes. From what I’ve seen you wear so far, you have elaborate taste.”

  Is he flirting? Or just passing down a genuine compliment? I think back to the photo of the young pregnant woman I saw on his office desk yesterday and, with that in mind, I dismiss the thought of him flirting.

  “Well, thanks. I started off designing dresses, actually. When I was much younger, of course. But, as I got older, I began sketching lingerie pieces. When I got accepted into design school, I focused solely on lingerie.”

  He offers a smile, but his expression is somewhat dormant, leaving me to ponder whether he’s impressed or not.

  Antonio pulls into the Creative Solutions, Inc complex and maneuvers his way through the underground parking garage until he eases the Benz in-between two parked cars. “I’m glad we had a little time to chat, Daniella, and honestly, I can’t wait to see the ideas you’ve come up with.”

  Up in the boardroom, Jonah greets us, offering breakfast pastries, fruit, and yogurt. He rubs his hands together as he looks at me and smiles. “Are you ready to rock and roll? If you’ve got a presentation, I’ll gladly connect your laptop to the projector.”

  I place my tote onto the large table and remove my laptop. “Sure thing,” I say, feeling my heart rate speed up as the realization of me actually presenting, now, in real-fucking-time, kicks in.

  Jonah takes my laptop while I slowly ease down into a seat next to Antonio’s.

  “You okay?” Antonio asks.

  I bite on my lower lip. “Of course.”

  He smiles, leaning in close, and whispers into my ear, “Don’t be nervous—Jonah and I are really looking forward to this presentation.”

  “I’ll be fine, thanks,” I affirm, knowing damn well that’s a straight-out lie.

  “Okay, you’re set, Daniella. The floor’s all yours,” Jonah says, as he encouragingly claps his hands, claiming a seat across from Antonio.

  Buying time, I slowly tug my butt out of the seat, smoothing down my dress as I rise to a knee-wobbly stance. And as I begin inching my way toward the laptop to load the presentation onto the projection screen, I mentally recap the talking points of my fervent proposal.

  Chapter 12

  Antonio

  She’s nervous. I pretty much surmised that the moment she flung the door open to greet me—her frazzled green eyes resisting my eager gaze.

  If she were mine, I would have scooped her up in my arms and—

  What the hell does it matter? She’s not mine. Women like her won’t give someone like me the time of day. Instead, I attract women who are on a fast track mission toward fame and fortune.

  Can I be in a CraveMe commercial? What about the CraveMe catalog? Or Can you introduce me to a movie producer? As if I’ve got quid pro quo tattooed across my chest.

  It’s no wonder I’ve never been in love—though it’s not like I haven’t tried. God knows I have. Yet, the struggle to find someone interested in just me is real.

  I know, I know…boo-freaking-hoo for the handsome rich dude who can’t find love, right?

  I can’t help but think Daniella could very well be the one. It’s an indisputable sensation I get each time I lay eyes on her. Not a carnal sensation; well yeah, I’m not gonna lie—that too. I mean seriously, she is felicitously hot.

  And when I see her, I see a woman who’s meant for me, and I am not sure why, exactly.

  “Okay,” Daniella speaks softly as she stands behind her laptop that’s propped on the end of the large oval-shaped boardroom table. She bites on her bottom lip. “Jonah, will you please turn the lights down?”

  Jonah lifts a small remote control off the table and forcefully points it to the ceiling, effectively dimming the lights. He offers Daniella two thumbs up and says, “Mission accomplished.”

  She looks at Jonah then to me; an intrepid smile emerges, complementing her flawless features. “Gentlemen, brace yourself for Get Your Chic On—A Tribute To Confident Women.”

  Stepping to the side, Daniella fans out one arm, gesturing us to divert our attention to the large projection screen. “Women. They make up eighty percent of those who purchase lingerie.”

  Scrolling across the screen are images of women donning provocative lingerie, as they stand in front of a mirror, seductively studying their own reflection.

  With one hand on her hip and one sexy-as-hell, stiletto-enhanced foot jutted out, Daniella goes on, “And why is that? It’s simple. In order to be sexy, a woman must first feel sexy. And feeling sexy exudes more than simple allurement. Sexy exudes confidence.” She pivots, and begins pacing back and forth in front of the projection screen. “Confidence to conquer the day. Confidence to ace that job interview. Confidence to boost up her self-esteem when she’s feeling a little down. And of course…confidence to please her man.”

  Jonah leans back in his seat, placing his Nike-covered feet up on the table, and grins. “Well, alright, now! I think I like where this is headed.”

  I chuckle at his enthusiasm, then lean forward in my seat, giving Daniella my undivided attention.

  She places both hands on the table and leans forward with a resolute gaze glued to me and Jonah. “Gentlemen, what better way to showcase CraveMe than with beautifully confident women, strutting down the catwalk, wearing an assortment of CraveMe pieces—from elegan
t designs to naughty designs.”

  My eyebrows rise with interest all on their own.

  “Our models will tastefully prance the runway,” she continues, “to music from an era in which ladies vocalized songs with just the right blend of bad-assery and sassy confidence.”

  Jonah nods. “And from what musical era would that be, exactly?”

  Daniella stands tall, arms folded as she brandishes an audacious smirk. “The 1980s.”

  Jonah smiles while I internally cringe.

  She takes a few steps toward her seat and spills into it. “Think about it. Female pop vocalists of the ’80s were strong and confident with fierce vocals that were packed with messages of empowerment. These women came across as being in charge of their own destiny, and that confidence made them sexy without being just sexy. We can give models big ’80s hair and makeup. Some dressed only in CraveMe pieces while others will be dressed in clothes with CraveMe pieces underneath. For instance, imagine Donna Summer’s She Works Hard For The Money blaring in the background. Our models swagger along the walk, briefcases in hand, sleek hair pulled back, eyeglasses, dressed in tight miniskirts and a formfitting blazer; only, underneath the blazer is a very prominent CraveMe bra.”

  Silence consumes the room for a brief second.

  Jonah stands and claps his hands. “Now this is a woman who knows her shit. Antonio, my man, you must admit this is freaking gold right here.”

  I rock back and forth in my chair as I rub the small amount of stubble growing along my chin. I really can’t stand music from the ’80s—and Jonah of all people knows this all too well. Yet, what Daniella suggests may just work. If we add the right amount of lighting and match the right pieces with the right songs, this could be CraveMe’s knock-it-out-of-the-park year in Milan.

  I sit up in my chair and look to Daniella whose confidence seems to be dwindling, most likely due to my silence. “Great job. I love it. Even though ’80s music isn’t typically my thing.”

  Jonah cackles at the last part of my comment and plops back down in his seat.

  “But I think if you and I match the right piece with the right song, this, as Jonah put it, will be gold.”

  Daniella’s cheeks redden. “I’m so glad you think so. And thank you for allowing me the chance to share my idea with you both.”

  “So, will the new pieces you designed this year fit this Confident Woman theme?” Jonah asks.

  I give a half-shrug. “I dunno. Maybe. I’m actually not quite sure. They just came in last week and I haven’t bothered to look at them yet. I’ve been preoccupied,” I hastily admit.

  Although, I should have made time already. Every year, I design new pieces of lingerie that are to be debuted first in Milan. I know I should be better prepared.

  “Well, where are they? Let’s have a look.”

  I scoff. Not at Jonah’s inquisition, but at my own damn self. “I left the boxes at home. I meant to throw them in the car, but forgot.”

  Truth is, I was so excited to pick up Daniella, I left the boxes of newly designed pieces on my kitchen table. Yes, I’m a complete idiot.

  “We can go get them, right?” Daniella softly interjects.

  “That’s a great idea,” Jonah says, glancing at his watch. “But you two go right on. I have three more clients I’m meeting with today.” He gets up and pushes in his chair. “Great job, Daniella. I look forward to working with you.”

  Daniella stands with her hands behind her back. “Thanks! Same here.”

  “So, are you sure you don’t mind going with me to pick up the designs?” I ask Daniella.

  “Oh, not at all, boss. I’m beyond elated that I get to see them!”

  Chapter 13

  Daniella

  I was nervous as fuck, yet I doubt neither Antonio nor Jonah noticed. In fact, I rocked the hell out of that presentation and, as soon as I get home, I’m totally making waffles to celebrate.

  It’s been a pretty quiet ride to Antonio’s house as he and I both seem to be consumed by our own private thoughts. Me, over the excitement of helping plan the fashion show. But I’m not certain I’d be able to guess what’s on Antonio’s mind. He’s a bit mysterious, honestly. Although, in his defense, that’s the case with most creative types. Lord knows, I’ve been referred to as mysterious plenty of times.

  Stealing a surreptitious glance, I try to study his expression.

  Fail.

  I can’t make out a damn thing through his dark sunglasses.

  Mysterious or not, I’m thankful for the opportunity to work with him. He seems to be less of a jerk to me with each passing day.

  He turns onto Sunset Blvd and drives west before coming to a crawl approaching a black iron gate.

  Antonio slides his designer shades on to the top of his perfectly styled hair. “We’re here. My humble abode.”

  The gate creeps open, and Antonio zips through the opening and up a long cobblestone-lined driveway before parking at a hasty angle in front of a row of three garage doors. And to the left of the garage doors sits a stunning, white, two-story, Mediterranean-style villa.

  He kills the engine and jumps out of the car, wanders over to my side, and opens my door. He leans in slightly. “Um, Daniella…you okay?”

  A fleeting pause lingers between us as I stare, in awe, at his house.

  “Yeah, sure. It’s just…your house. It’s gorgeous.”

  He lifts a brow and chuckles. “It’s alright.” He takes my hand, politely aiding me, as I step out of the car and onto the driveway. “Come on. I’ll give you the grand tour.”

  The two of us climb a flight of stairs, leading up to the embossed double-door entry.

  “Holy shit, Antonio,” I let out once inside. The entry hall is majestic, showcasing a grand sweeping staircase.

  He slides my tote bag off my shoulder and hangs it on the coat rack by the doorway. “People have said many things as they walk in…but I’ll grant you none have said holy shit.”

  His blue eyes brighten as he stands in front of me, peering down to meet my gaze. He’s much taller than I am, even while wearing these five-inch stilettos, that are actually killing me right now.

  “Mind if I remove my shoes?” I say, just as I begin to extract myself from them.

  He opens his mouth to answer, but I’m already barefoot, playfully wiggling my newly manicured toes, as I stand before him more miniature-sized than I was only seconds ago.

  “Not at all…nice toes.” He laughs. “Come on. Let’s begin the tour.”

  He gestures for me to follow and I do so, allowing my eyes to canvass the sophisticated yet modern décor of all things black and white.

  My feet feel cold walking behind him on the marble floor, as we walk past an ebony-colored, rectangular accent table that holds a small collection of crystal vases. Above the table hangs a large, framed black-and-white photo-collage of famous Hollywood movie directors. I feel my stare widen as I walk past it, then I bump into the backside of Antonio who has apparently stopped at the base of the sweeping staircase.

  Turning around to face me, Antonio grabs ahold of my arms, his grip soft yet firm, as I clumsily lose my footing. “Whoops. You alright there? Lucky for you I’m not holding a jelly donut this time.” He looks down at me and winks when our eyes meet. “I, uh, figure we can begin your tour upstairs, then finish downstairs before we look at the designs.”

  I nod in anticipation as excitement, as well as total embarrassment, has captured my ability to speak.

  Upstairs, Antonio takes me through six bedrooms and four bathrooms, all decorated in the elaborate black-and-white theme that I’ve now gathered is flourished about the entire home. Most of the bedrooms have windows with magnificent views of nearby Century City and the Pacific Ocean.

  We come to a double door and, before opening, Antonio explains. “This is my room, so please excuse the mess.” His mouth slips into a playful grin as he goes on. “The bed is never made and—”

  “Antonio. Seriously? It’s just a bedroom
.” I laugh at his spiel and roll my eyes. Then turn the doorknob and let myself in.

  My eyes survey the space that’s gotta be at least a thousand square feet.

  Gorgeous. Huge. Dreamy.

  A king-sized bed that is indeed unmade, but still cozy looking.

  A 50-inch TV that hangs over the wood-burning fireplace.

  A large deck with a wet bar and jacuzzi.

  Two walk-in closets.

  And a bathroom with a step-in Spanish-tiled shower equipped with six shower heads, and to the right of that, a bathtub large enough to bathe an army.

  Antonio busies himself, picking up loose articles of clothing from off the floor. “I wasn’t exactly expecting company.” His cheeks turn red—and it’s the first time the cool and collected Antonio seems nervous.

  He’s actually human, after all.

  I feel a satisfying grin devour my face and, while I try to hide my amusement, my grin doesn’t go unnoticed.

  Antonio tosses an armful of clothing into one of the closets. “And what is it that you find so funny?” he solicits, armed with his own mirthful simper.

  “Truthfully, I find it kind of cute you’re embarrassed that your room is a little messy.”

  “Cute? Well I guess that’s something.” He places his hand along the back of my waist. “How about I show you the rest of the house?”

  I giggle as I’m guided out of his room. “Of course. I’d love to see more.”

  Back downstairs, Antonio presents a dining room, a grand living room overlooking a flower garden, an office, a thirteen-seat theater room, an elaborate kitchen, and a unique outdoor living room, before he escorts me into the library—the only room in the house that is not shrouded in black-and-white décor. It’s rather large in scale, with ginger walls and floor-to-ceiling shelves displaying an assortment of books.

  Besides the shelves being the focal point of the room, there is a rustic-looking brick fireplace. Sitting on its mantel is a large black-and-white photo. The same photo that sits on his desk back at his office, only obviously much larger.