by Nico Jaye
His Fairy Godfather
By Cate Ashwood and Nico Jaye
Since the death of his father, Trick Grigsby has fought to keep his head above water. Following in his father’s footsteps as a talented architect, he hopes to work his way up at the firm. Unfortunately, the company’s new owner barely resembles the man who was once Trick’s father’s best friend. Trick’s days are filled with drudgery and cruel remarks from the man who was supposed to be his mentor—along with his two sons, whose only jobs seem to be making Trick’s life miserable.
But all that is about to change.
Edwin Goodmaker struggled through his fairy godparent curriculum, but his mother—the reigning Fairy Queen—has a simple solution: Edwin will go to New York City and get some practical experience. When he meets Trick, Edwin knows he’s found a worthy charge, and he’s sure he can help Trick achieve all of his heart’s desires. Edwin falls for Trick, but with everything standing in their way, a fairy-tale ending might remain nothing more than a dream.
Table of Contents
Blurb
Dedication
Acknowledgments
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
About the Authors
By Cate Ashwood
By Nico Jaye
Visit Dreamspinner Press
Copyright
For Julia. During a difficult time, we hoped to fill your heart with a little magic.
Acknowledgments
WE EXTEND our heartfelt thanks and kudos to the Heartsville gals. Thank you to Julia, Piper, and Jayden for the wonderful beta help and words of encouragement along the way. A special shout-out and huge thanks to Sandra for her invaluable beta input and editorial wizardry. You all are the best!
This story would not have been possible without the love and support of our family and friends. Thank you.
As always, many thanks to the entire Dreamspinner Press team for making this book a reality.
Prologue
“PATRICK!”
The booming voice reverberated down the curved staircase, shaking the windows that lined all four walls of the office.
Trick cringed. It wasn’t getting yelled at that he objected to. That he was used to. James Redden, his boss, believed nicknames were “lowbrow and an affront to the woman who named you.”
He hated it.
Mr. Redden seemed to have an aversion to many things; for instance, the color yellow, decaf coffee, phone calls before 10 a.m., and the intercom, the telephone, and e-mail in general. When he wanted Trick’s attention, he preferred to bellow. Personally, Trick believed Mr. Redden loved the sound of his own voice roaring through the office. He was the type of man who got a kick out of pulling everyone’s attention away from what they were doing and forcing them to focus on him.
Trick stood in the doorway to Redden’s office and waited as his boss ignored him completely. It was always this way. His voice always stressed an urgency, but when Trick arrived, he was made to wait at least five minutes, standing with his dick in his hand—so to speak—waiting for Redden to summon the energy to deal with him.
Redden’s office space was grandiose, taking up most of the upper floor, his giant desk standing menacingly in the center of the room. For a man as gifted in design as he was, he certainly had no concept of warmth or comfort. Stark colors and harsh lines created a feeling of unease in Trick that hadn’t settled even after years of running at his boss’s beck and call.
“Have you finished typing up the proposal for Mrs. Bradley?” Redden demanded after an ample period of time had lapsed.
“Proposal, sir?”
He huffed a sigh and rolled his eyes. “Yes, Patrick. The proposal. I e-mailed you the details. You were to type it up to send out to her. She wanted it by four.”
Trick glanced at the oversized clock that hung to the left of Redden’s desk. It was 3:52.
“I haven’t received an e-mail, sir.”
“Goddammit, Patrick, you incompetent twat. If you can’t do your fucking job, I will replace you with someone who can.”
“Yes, sir,” he said, biting his tongue against telling Redden exactly what he could do with the job. He and Trick both knew he hadn’t e-mailed the details. Trick was meticulous about staying on top of his work. If there had been an e-mail, he would have seen it, and he would have taken care of it.
“I’ll resend it now. Make sure you have it to the client by four. There are plenty of guys smarter than you who would love to work in your place. Don’t give me a reason to fire you.”
“Yes, sir,” Trick said again with a curt nod. He waited to be dismissed, which came with a flippant wave of Redden’s hand, before Trick turned and hurried back down the stairs to his desk.
He pulled up the program and got to work. As much as he hated his boss, Mrs. Bradley was a lovely woman. They’d spoken several times on the phone, and he knew the house she was building in the Hamptons was intended as a summer home for her grandchildren. She wanted it to be perfect, and Trick wanted it to be perfect for her.
“Fucked up again, didn’t you, Pat?” The name he hated more than Patrick dripped off Jasper’s tongue. Trick scowled up at Jasper’s slicked-back hair, the style reminiscent of a greasy used-car salesman.
Once again Trick bit his tongue. It was becoming more and more difficult not to lose his shit in the office. Jasper thought because he was the boss’s son, he could get away with whatever he wanted.
Scratch that. He could get away with whatever he wanted, and most days, he just wanted to be a dick. It was as though it was coded in his family’s DNA. Daddy dearest and his twin boys, Jasper and Leif, made up Redden and Sons, and in addition to designing beautiful homes, they preyed on Trick like lions singling out the wounded baby zebra.
“Excuse me, Jasper, I just need to finish—”
Jasper cut him off. “Not really sure why my dad keeps you around. Seems like you can’t do anything right.”
Trick ignored him and turned his attention back to the computer screen.
“Hey. Dipshit. I’m talking to you,” Jasper said, sliding a piece of paper in front of Trick’s screen, blocking his view.
Trick looked up at him, unimpressed. “What can I do for you, Jasper? Do you need something? Because your dad has asked me to—”
He interrupted once more. “I’m hungry.”
He sounded like a toddler.
“All right. Let me finish this up, and I’ll get you something to eat. What would you like?”
“A cheesesteak from Al’s. With extra cheese.”
Trick eyed his shiny forehead, then his belly, complete with the buttons close to bursting off his polyester-blend shirt. “You got it,” he said, grinning.
“EDWIN!”
Edwin looked up and smiled. Estella Goodmaker, Paravale’s reigning Fairy Queen, did not return the smile.
Estella Goodmaker—also known as his boss.
“Mother!”
Also known as his mother.
“Edwin,” she repeated, the twinkly glow of her tiara at odds with h
er stern look. “What’s this I hear about your struggles in Advanced Summoning?”
The smile slid off Edwin’s face. When his mother had called him to her office, he had hoped it would be for anything other than his current difficulties with the complexities of the fairy godparent curriculum.
He bit his lip and looked down at his hands. Underneath his skin flowed the blood of Estella Goodmaker, Erich Goodmaker, and generations of influential fairies throughout the history of Paravale. Somehow, some way, he should have the power to be an incredible fairy godfather, but he couldn’t even pass the Advanced Summoning certification.
“Edwin?” Estella’s voice had softened, and when he looked up, a crease had formed between her brows. She looked at him with concern.
Sighing, Edwin shrugged. “Mother, I… I’m trying, but I just cannot seem to grasp it.”
With a cluck of her tongue, Estella gestured with one hand. “What’s there to grasp? The vault is vast and well stocked. When one needs something from it, one simply summons it.”
Edwin wrinkled his brow in frustration. “It’s hard to concentrate on just one thing at a time, Mother—especially when there are so many other things to think about! Like the metallurgy competition or the combining of fairy dust with wish potion or the most recent foal to be born in the stables. My mind has a hard time focusing with so much going on.”
Estella tilted her head and gave him a thoughtful look. “I can see how being in Paravale can be distracting.”
“Yes, exac—wait, what?”
“Edwin, you’ve been working on your certifications for the fairy godparent position for years. You have top marks in your classes focusing on theory, history, and knowledge,” she said with a hint of pride. “Your practical skills, though….”
Edwin’s face twisted in a grimace. His shortcomings were practically an embarrassment at this point. Twenty-five years old and still unable to receive two of the five necessary certifications. Portalysis and Advanced Summoning were useful in the arsenal of ways of Paravale. Most fairy godparents had already gone into their training practicum by now. Definitely all Goodmakers had been there by that point.
“I try, and I practice, but….” Edwin gave a helpless shrug.
“I know you practice, but classroom practicing can only serve its purpose to a limited extent.” Estella slid something across the surface of her prismatic crystal desk. “Here, these are for you.”
“What’s this?” Edwin reached for the small folder. After opening it, he saw a printout of white paper, a metal key, and several smaller green papers he recognized from one of his classes—Humanology—as currency in some parts of the mortal realm. Squinting at the white paper, he read “One Way” at the top. He gave his mother a curious look. “I don’t understand.”
“I’ve spoken with your instructors, and I’ve decided your training will be best served in the mortal realm.”
Edwin’s brows shot up. The mortal realm? But… “I haven’t yet received my certifications.”
“Yes, that’s true.” Estella nodded. “Which is why you’ll be going there with your current set of skills and learning in the realm of mortals. It’s my belief your presence among them should give you a better understanding of their needs and what is expected of a fairy godparent. It’s important you understand not just the ways of fairy godparents, but also the ways of the mortals whom you are seeking to help.”
Glancing down at the gray folder, Edwin ran his hand over the smooth surface. This was the first time he’d heard of such an accommodation occurring. Then again, perhaps it had occurred before, and he’d never been privy to the information.
This opportunity, though, was not to be wasted.
He pulled out the white paper and smiled up at Estella. “I look forward to it, Mother. I’m sure there will be much I can experience in—” Edwin glanced down and read the first line. Kansas City to New York City. “—New York City.”
He recognized the name from Humanology, but… “New York City?” Edwin looked at his mother and tilted his head. “Is there a York City?”
With a soft chuckle, Estella shook her head fondly. “Oh, Edwin. You have so much to learn.”
Chapter One
CLICKING SEND on the proposal to Mrs. Bradley, Trick leaned back in his desk chair and inhaled, enjoying the feeling of his lungs expanding. The timestamp on the document said 3:59—exactly one minute before deadline—just under the wire.
When he looked up, Leif was standing over him, a snide little smirk on his thin lips.
“I need you to get me a phone,” he said, his voice as slimy as rotting kelp.
“What happened to your phone?”
“I dropped it and the corner is dented. I need a new one before tonight.”
“It still works, though?”
“That doesn’t matter—I’m not using a subpar phone. I need a new one.”
“Okay,” Trick said, dreading the task already. There was no way he was going to be able to find a phone, get it set up for Leif, pick up Jasper’s cheesesteak, and make it back to the office to finish up the last of his work before five o’clock rolled around. There was no point in arguing with Leif on this, though. Nothing would be accomplished other than wasting Trick’s already dwindling time.
“Good. And make sure you get me the one I want. It’s limited edition. Just because you’re okay using a piece of shit doesn’t mean I am.”
Leif handed Trick a printout of the details and stalked away. Trick suppressed the angry scream that threatened to escape as he pulled his jacket on and headed for the elevator.
He pushed the button and waited. The thing was slower than molasses, given their building had about three thousand floors and a single elevator to service them. That’s what happened when you chose a building for your business based on aesthetics rather than amenities or functionality.
The doors slid open, catching Trick cursing Leif out under his breath. The man in the elevator looked up and caught Trick mid–“douche nozzle.”
“Uh, hi… hello… uh… sorry,” Trick stuttered. It was Preston Ward, president and CEO of Theory’s Edge, one of the leading marketing companies in the country.
Preston stared at him, a look of mild amusement on his face, as Trick stumbled into the elevator and turned around, straightening his posture and holding his hands behind his back. The guy always turned him into a bumbling mess. He’d never met someone more put together, sophisticated, and insanely good-looking as Preston Ward.
They’d met a few times, working in the same building and attending parties Redden had thrown, and every time, Trick got that tingly feeling in the pit of his stomach like he wanted to throw up in the best way possible. Preston was irresistible but so beyond Trick’s league he barely entertained the fantasy of what it would be like to be with him. It wasn’t fair how perfect he was. Handsome, not to mention wildly successful, and charming as fuck. Not that Trick had ever said more than a handful of words to him. But he had to be. No one who looked like Preston Ward was socially stunted.
The elevator doors whooshed shut, and Trick wore his humiliation all the way down the eight floors to the lobby before he managed one more hopelessly awkward good-bye, and Preston was gone.
It took not one but four different stores to find the phone Leif wanted. Apparently he wasn’t the only one who was after it, but after begging one of the sympathetic employees at the store over on Ninth and West 48th, he managed to walk out with a brand-new phone.
Trudging back to the office, he tried not to let his mood dip any more than it already had. There was a light at the end of the tunnel. Probably. He just had to keep going to find it.
After stopping off for Jasper’s calorically impressive cheesesteak, Trick arrived back at the office and made his way past his desk to the smaller office behind it that belonged to Leif.
“I’m back,” Trick said, stepping through the doorway. He didn’t afford Leif the same courtesy he did his father. While Leif was technically Trick’s superior,
he was a shitty architect, and Trick knew the only reason he was employed there was because he shared genetics with the boss.
“What the fuck took you so long?” Leif demanded.
“I had to go to four stores before I found the one you wanted.”
“My God, you’re useless.” Leif tore the box from Trick’s hand and ripped open the plastic. He pulled the phone out and studied it a moment with narrowed eyes before shoving it back into Trick’s hand. “Turn it on and download all my contacts to it. And while you’re at it, install a couple of dating apps, but make sure there’s an option so you can block the fat chicks.”
Trick stared at him, mouth agape. He’d heard a lot of bullshit spew from the Redden twins’ mouths, and he had no idea why he was ever surprised anymore, but they just kept stepping up their skeezeball game. It was impressive how effectively they outdid themselves. They must really work at it.
Trick left the office and returned to his desk without saying a word, setting Jasper’s greasy bag onto the surface with a grimace. This firm was in his blood, and he wasn’t going to abandon his dream because of a handful of assholes who did their best to stand in his way. Besides, he wasn’t about to throw away all the years he’d already put in.
IT WAS nearly nine o’clock by the time Trick made it out of the building. He’d missed dinner, but after Leif had forced him to take shirtless photos for his dating profile, Trick wasn’t sure his appetite would ever return.
He made his way out into the cold and down the street toward the subway station. A cab would be faster—and warmer—but Trick had to save money where he could, and a taxi was an exorbitant luxury he just couldn’t afford.
As it was, he was barely scraping by. Despite the million-dollar price tags that went along with many of their homes, the Reddens were not known for their generosity with employees, and Trick’s salary was somewhere on par with the woman who scrubbed the bathrooms in the subway station. He needed to scrimp and save every penny if he was ever going to be able to afford the buy-in for partner. Not that he’d have enough experience to do that for a very long time. He had his eye on the prize, though, and nothing was going to stop him from achieving that goal.