And then I was screaming with orgasm, and he was throwing his head back as his body jerked and jolted with his own climax, and the room around me disappeared and everything went very still and silent and my whole body seized in one long, endless, toe-curling moment of suspended bliss.
Minutes later, slumped against his chest, with him still buried inside me and his hands still gripping me hard as if he was afraid I would disappear at any moment, I released a calming breath and said quietly, “I love you too, by the way.” My throat hurt after all the screaming, my thigh muscles tightening with cramp, but my heart soared as I allowed myself to utter those words, and I felt the moment they registered with him.
He kissed me so deeply that by the end of it I was almost ready to go for another round, but it was slowly dawning on me that I’d just fucked a guy in my new place of employment, and embarrassment started to wash over me. So instead I separated from him, straightened out, went to the bathroom and then, weirdly, we sat and ate dinner in the empty restaurant, Reade serving us the food I’d seen pre-cooked in the kitchen when I arrived.
“Come with me to Breck’s gala next month,” he said to me, watching me over the rim of his glass, his eyes dancing with intoxicating happiness. “As my girlfriend.” I smiled at him, heart leaping, and he added, “My family will be there.”
I knew what he meant by that—let’s show them, together, that we can’t be torn apart. That we’re in love.
“You can have any dress you want,” he added, as if he thought I needed the added incentive. But I didn’t. Right now, after everything, there was nothing I wanted to do more than obnoxiously parade my love for this man in front of his parents. Selfish, yes, and maybe a little immature, but I figured I’d earned it.
“Any dress?” I asked, and he nodded, fondness spreading over his face as he reached across and took my hand—for no particular reason, it seemed, only that he wanted to touch me. I nodded at the rack of dresses behind him. “It’s not one of these.”
I had a dress in mind, silvery gray and shimmering in a familiar boutique window, and it was like coming full circle—with this all starting in the same place. Plus, those gorgeous shoes would go with that dress so perfectly, and now they were safely returned to me.
Except this wasn’t the end. It felt like the beginning, and I could barely contain the emotion pouring through me, lighting me up on the inside and making me want to take this man home, undress him, learn every inch of the body belonging to the man I would spend the rest of my life with.
So that was exactly what I did.
Epilogue
Kylie
Meet Reade Lennox’s Cinderella, the caterer plucked from a life of poverty and crime and brought into high society…
I sighed. “I’m a chef now, not a caterer,” I moaned, making April snort.
“All the crap in that article, and that’s the part that bothers you.”
“Well,” I said, closing the newspaper app on my phone and reaching for my glass of champagne, “it was only a matter of time before someone in the press would be able to sneak an article through. At least it’s a vaguely positive write-up.” I downed the champagne, noticing that April hadn’t even touched hers. “Something wrong?” I asked, brushing a thumb over my lips to wipe away the moisture.
“What?” April startled, looked away. “No…” But there was something very suspicious in her tone, and I knew my best friend well enough.
“Hey,” I said, scooting my chair closer. “Spill it.”
“There’s nothing to spill,” April said after a moment of hesitation, hands fidgeting in her lap, a flush crawling up her cheek. At my flat stare, she sighed and said, “Oh, all right. But you have to promise to tell no one.”
I made a gesture of zipping my lips, watched April glance around for eavesdroppers, and then had my heart squeezed by pure elation with April’s next words.
“I’m pregnant.”
“Oh my God—”
“Shh!” April flapped her hands at me, looking over her shoulder in alarm. “Reade’s coming,” she hissed, and the look she shot me was pure warning.
“Do you mind if I borrow my Cinderella for a dance?” came Reade’s smooth drawl.
I had to make a massive, face-straining effort to wipe off my grin and school my expression into something that didn’t tell the whole world I’d just heard the best news ever, and then I turned and got to my feet, April waving me away before heading off to find her husband. The father of her child, oh my God.
Reade’s description of me registered in my brain as he led me onto the dance floor, and I gave him a look of amusement. “Cinderella?” I asked, letting him pull me into a loose hold, pretending I couldn’t feel the eyes of his mother burning through my back from across the room. “I take it you’ve seen the article too?”
He made a Hmm sound and pulled me closer into his body. I caught sight of his father as we turned, looking stiff and miserable in the corner—and then, a few feet away, April and Breck, speaking quietly, both of them radiant with happiness. Breck’s gala was a raging success, packed to the rafters with the city’s greatest, many of whom were Reade’s team’s donors, and to top it off, he was about to be a father. I didn’t know if April had already told him yet—he looked so happy all the time around his wife anyway, that it was impossible to know.
“You don’t mind it?” Reade asked, bringing me out of my thoughts.
“No,” I said, because I didn’t. It came with the territory—I accepted it now, almost welcomed it. I was Reade Lennox’s girlfriend, and I wore that distinction with pride. They could write whatever they wanted about me—none of it would change how I felt, how happy this man made me. Even the thought of him warmed me right down to the bone, set my veins alight—made me want to hold him close and never let him go, for the rest of my life. “So does that make you my Prince Charming, then?”
He hummed again, a note of consideration, and said, “If I am, then you’re my princess.”
“Only when we’re married,” I said, smiling, before catching a glimpse of Jazz working the bar. I felt a little guilty that Jazz was working while I was dancing the night away as a guest, but Jazz had just scoffed at me, told me I was the one she felt sorry for. Some people just didn’t care for this life of champagne and galas and cocktail dresses, and I had no idea if I really did either, but I was willing to find out, to try my best.
“It’s a good thing I’m planning to propose then, isn’t it?” Reade said, tone deceptively calm, and my heart leapt right up into my throat.
“What?” I said, bringing our dance to a screeching halt in the middle of the floor. “Proposing? When?” I blinked at him, head starting to spin. “What?”
The look on his face was pure amusement mixed with such undeniable affection that I felt a sudden rush of joy, increased twofold when I realized what was happening here.
A proposal. God.
“In about half an hour,” he said, “after the speeches.” Then he smoothly swept me back into the dance, as if he hadn’t just tipped my world upside down.
“Oh,” I said stupidly, and sort of went with it, even as my stomach started doing crazy somersaults. “For the record,” I added, hooking my chin over his shoulder so I could snuggle closer into his body, “I’m gonna say yes.”
I could feel his heart against my chest, beating hard and wild for me.
I smiled into his neck and breathed him in, remembered his words to me, back in the restaurant all those weeks ago.
I look at you now and I see my wife, the woman I want to get pregnant with my baby, and the one I will love until the day I die.
He kissed my temple, almost fierce with it, as if knowing the thought going through my mind. And I pulled back and kissed his lips, in front of his family, for all the world to see.
Kissed the man I would soon call my husband.
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Chapter One
April
The office bathroom was a shitty place to be caught crying.
You know what’s shittier? Finding out that the guy I invested more than three years of my life in had just gotten engaged, less than six months after breaking up with me.
The same guy I thought I loved. The one who dumped me, unable to commit to the ‘us’ of a relationship because “I’m sorry, April, I’m just not ready to settle down. I really don’t see that in my future right now.”
Whoa, right there. I hadn’t been talking about settling down. We were comfortable together, but I hadn’t been pushing for anything more permanent than what we had. I tried to reason, made an attempt to stop this whirl of emotions that were suddenly pouring out of him. He was prepared for this conversation and I’d been pole-axed. I scrambled to gather my thoughts, asked for reasons, before I saw it in his face. This wasn’t something he wanted to fix. That’s not why we were having this talk. In his mind, our relationship was already done.
“I feel trapped. We’re young. I need to…”
The only bit of dignity I pulled from that horror scene was managing to walk out of the apartment and slam the door before the man I thought was one half of my future could finish that sentence. I had a good idea about what was coming, but I didn’t have to stick around and hear it. Jeff would tell me that he needed to play the field. Sow his oats. Add some names to his fucked-it list.
To be honest, I’d been suspicious for a while. I had these nagging thoughts when he worked late, or stayed longer than he used to on his Wednesday meet-ups with the guys.
Well, fuck that.
Now, it seemed, Jeff had grown himself some balls. Except, I wasn’t sure where they hung because for some reason he thought it would make my day if he called me to share his fantastic news about his wedding. That’s what he said: “April, I have fantastic news.”
I would have blocked the call but I’d deleted Jeff’s details from my phone pretty soon after I walked out on him back in January, before the breakup speech became too humiliating.
That breakup speech didn’t come close to the thick frosting of humiliation that arrives with the “Guess what, we’re engaged!” speech.
For some reason Jeff thought we were still in the friendzone, and by some mysterious insight which was totally off the mark, he knew I’d want to hear the news of his engagement, right from the horse’s mouth.
More like the ass’s mouth.
The other thing he knew, was that I’d be happy for him. The man was deluded. Why he imagined I would want to know anything about his upcoming nuptials was beyond me.
The end of my nose goes red when I blow it too hard. In sympathy, my eyes develop a matching geriatric scarlet rim when I cry. I’m allergic to sad stuff and it shows all over my face.
Soft facial tissues were not provided in the bathroom I got to use at Bridge Literacy, the non-profit where I worked. This wasn’t the executive suite. The scratchy paper hand towels I used to try and clean myself up were like 40-grit sandpaper. So when Monique, the executive director’s PA, burst through the door, I was looking a total mess.
“What the hell, April, have you seen what time it is? Your meeting with Driscoll was scheduled to take place ten minutes ago. He’s fuming. Are you…oh, shit, April, what’s wrong. Has something happened? Your mom? Your cat?”
“I don’t have a cat,” I told her. “I have allergies.” Sort of true; I seemed to be allergic to phone calls from my ex. Or maybe it was an allergy to being reminded about something that hurt deep inside. I hadn’t picked at the band aid I plastered over my damaged feelings for Jeff, but hearing from him had ripped that thing right off. Sharp sting, flash burn, then the hurt fades, doesn’t it?
We lie to ourselves to ease the pain. Shrug, and say it’s not so bad, we weren’t really going anywhere, finishing the relationship probably saved me from years of mediocrity and eventual divorce. Even if that’s true, even if the relationship was doomed, it still hurt.
Monique took a step back, screwing up her face, as if my sorrow might be contagious. “Sounds nasty. Do you need a pill, or one of those pen things people inject themselves with when they get a bee sting?”
I flicked my hand, trying to shoo her out the door. There was nothing she could do for me, and I didn’t need an audience to witness my meltdown.
I needed cocktails chased by tequila shots. I needed a brainless hunk of eye candy to rub scented oil all over my lush body while I lay on a tropical beach. Someone totally dedicated to me. Someone who would only stop the massage to hand-feed me delicate slices of exotic fruits, and pay me compliments. I needed my rent money, and seven pairs of Louboutin heels, plus a week of lessons in how to walk in them.
I needed to save a puppy.
I needed anything, but to be reminded of how completely useless I was at relationships.
Monique took a deep breath. “Okay. Well, if you’re not dying, you’d better get into Driscoll’s office because he’s…you know, annoyed that you’re not there already.”
I nodded and waved my hand again. This time she left me alone in the bathroom. I splashed cold water over my face, trying to get the image of Jeff and his bride in some gorgeous romantic wedding setting, out of my head.
The reel wouldn’t stop playing, though. The outdoor location in the magnificent garden, rows of chairs dressed in white silk, adorned with flowers. The arbor covered in climbing roses, and Jeff in his tuxedo, standing, waiting, doing that nervous thing with his hands while mystery fiancé bitch walks to him along a path strewn with rose petals, wearing an amazing clinging white dress over the body of a goddess.
Wait.
She can’t wear white. That slut isn’t pure and virginal. I adjusted the scene and made the dress ill-fitting and a hideous drab mustard color, just as the bathroom door flew open again.
This time, Monique didn’t look quite so sympathetic.
“April, Driscoll’s office, now. Before we both lose our jobs.”
I hoped that was simply a poor choice of words, and that nobody’s job was on the line. I blew my nose one last time and followed Monique along the corridor to meet with the executive director.
Alan Driscoll was not as handsome as his office space, nor was his personality as welcoming. Not even close. I did my best to ignore his curt manner because I was rarely summoned by him, and I couldn’t help but hope, just a little, that I was in line for a promotion.
The head of the communications department where I worked as a publicist said how pleased the board was with the reach of our last fund-raising campaign. I’d managed to snag a prime time television spot for a heartwarming story about a family who’d been through our literacy program, highlighting the way their lives had changed as a result. The family were fantastic, made for television with the right amount of character and vulnerability, their struggle obvious, their triumph something to be admired. Our public awareness rating had shot up right at the time we were pushing our annual fundraiser.
That success had to be working in my favor. Promotion, or at least acknowledgment of my
worth, was surely in the cards.
Seating myself on the opposite side of the large walnut desk from Driscoll, all thoughts of Jeff’s wedding vanished beneath my rising curiosity as to why I’d been summoned, along with the desperate hope that I hadn’t ruined any chances of promotion by being late for the meeting.
I started with an apology and a matching smile, neither of which were acknowledged by Driscoll.
Minutes later, I was back at my desk in a state of shock. Words like ‘changing tactics’ and ‘evolving in this modern world’ collided in my head. There had been emphasis on something about expert analysis by consultants. My position hadn’t so much been merged with others, as it had been entirely consumed by some monstrous creature otherwise known as restructuring.
I’d been restructured out of a job.
Fired.
I found myself with a white-knuckled grip on the edge of my desk, willing myself to breathe quietly lest someone in our open plan office ask me if everything was okay. If I had to speak or explain myself, I’d totally lose it.
Gradually my heart came back to a jogging pace and, still gripping the desk with my head low, I sneaked a glance around the room. Nobody made eye contact. They must have known. With that idea, betrayal swept through me for the second time that morning.
Anger surged with nausea so that I didn’t know what to tackle first. I pulled out my chair, sliding half onto the seat before my legs gave out. I dug around for some self-worth. I wanted to walk out of the office with a semblance of dignity, but there was nothing there. I felt defeated. My ears rang and I looked at the few personal items on my desk I was to pack up and take with me. Immediately.
Bad Boy's Cinderella: A Sports Romance Page 9