Fractured Fairy Tales: A SaSS Anthology

by Amy Marie

  Of course, once I realized she was Archibald Ellis’s daughter, that detail clarified itself immediately.

  She likely hid behind the New York City penthouse address to protect her true whereabouts. As a fashion heiress, I could understand that.

  However, that doesn’t mean I have to respect it.

  Which means I need this receptionist to play ball.

  If I’ve learned anything in the years I spent working for my father, it’s that the true power lies in the hands of the gatekeeper. So, instead of storming past her, I curve my lips in a deadly smile and trace my finger along the nameplate on her desk.

  “Veronica, that’s a beautiful name.”

  “I was named after my mother.”

  Like taking candy from a baby. “How sweet.”

  She blows another huge bubble and sucks it back in. “She was a bitch.”

  Silence.

  I’ve been calm up until now. Well, my version of calm at least. But if this gum-snapping gatekeeper doesn’t change her tune in thirty seconds or less, she’s about to see a side of me that’s brought grown men to their knees.

  Every ounce of restraint leaves my body as I slam my palms onto her desk and lean forward with a growl. “I can appreciate a good set of business balls, but I assure you that mine are bigger than yours.”

  Her jaw drops. “Who the hell do you think you are, mister?”

  “He’s Kellen Knight.” We both turn to see a short, pudgy man with cheeks redder than Santa Claus on a three-day bender standing in an open doorway. “It’s fine, Veronica. I’ve been expecting him.”

  Is that so?

  I don’t know whether to shoot him a death glare or toss a victory smirk at Veronica. I settle for a combination of both, pleased at the sudden pale tint that’s washed over his receptionist’s face.

  That’s right. You just mouthed off to Kellen Knight, sweetheart.

  Tuck that under your pillow and have pleasant fucking dreams.

  I don’t give her another thought as I turn around and storm past the sweaty asshole smirking at me like I don’t know about the obscene gambling debt he owes to some very nasty people. Money speaks every language and gives me more weight than is hanging over his belt. The one thing keeping me from throwing it around like a grenade just yet is that he’s the only person who can lead me to the woman I’ve been chasing all over New York. Something that pisses me off on principle.

  I’m Kellen fucking Knight.

  I do not chase women.

  Until Cyn No-Last-Name.

  Once I find her, I’ll either throttle her for making me feel this weak or fuck her and then throttle her. Either way, it’ll satisfy this intense need in me and allow me to put all this nonsense behind me.

  I just need an address.

  Without hesitation, I round Bussy’s desk and sit in his chair. He stands there blinking, random gray strands of his pathetic comb-over parting to reveal his bald head. It’s a power move, and he knows it. However, instead of calling me out, he sinks like the coward he is into the worn wingback chair in front of me.

  He opens his mouth to speak, but I cut him off. “Obviously, she’s called you, so let’s cut to the chase, shall we? I want Kota Ellis’s address.”

  The agent’s lips peel back, revealing stained yellow teeth. “What’s in it for me?”

  “I’m sorry?”

  He shrugs. “Kota’s my prize client.”

  “She’s your only client,” I remind him.

  “Beside the point. I get that you want to keep things quiet, but I do run a business here. I’m not a pimp, but I still expect a finder’s fee, Kellen.”

  I want to punch this guy just for being a sleaze.

  “It’s Mr. Knight, and I have as much interest in sticking my dick in your client as I do this pencil sharpener,” I say, motioning to the metal relic sitting on his desk. “My interest in her is purely informational.”

  He waggles his eyebrows like we share some private joke. “I see.”

  “I don’t think you do, Bobby.”

  His amused expression fades, and I can tell I’ve touched a nerve. “It’s Robert.”

  Sure it is.

  I place my forearms on the desk and lean forward. “Well, that puts us in an unfortunate situation.”

  “How do you figure?”

  Oh, I’m so glad you asked.

  Rising from the chair, I lock my hands behind my back and pace around him like a lion. “I’m not sure if you’re aware, but I studied law at Harvard before taking over my father’s company. I planned on opening my own firm one day, but life had other plans. You know how that goes, don’t you, Bobby?”

  “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

  “Did you know Mick Cooley’s son tried his hand at Ivy League, too? Didn’t work out so well for him, though. Got himself into a little bit of trouble.” I stop pacing and face him. “Seems he’s a chip off the old block. Lucky for him, so am I. It’s amazing how far a law degree and the Knight name will go to clear a name.”

  I pause for dramatic effect, or maybe it’s just to watch the sweat pour down the idiot’s face. The vein in his massive forehead is pulsing so hard I wouldn’t be shocked if it burst.

  “Mick always told me he owed me one for that,” I tell Bussy, leaning down and placing my hands on the arms of his chair. “I’ve just been waiting to cash in. Do you understand what I’m telling you, Bobby?”

  Holding my eye, he snakes his hand out and slaps the desk until it hits the speaker button on his phone. “Veronica, get Kota Ellis’s address for Mr. Knight, now.”

  I feel the first smile of the day break across my face. “Good call.”

  “Kellen Knight.”

  The woman standing in front of me is not what I pictured but everything I expected. Cyn works for her, so I envisioned someone like her. Classy. What opened the door and greeted me was the complete opposite while checking every D-list-stereotype box imaginable.

  Slutty outfit. Check.

  Three pounds of makeup. Check.

  Bad dark extensions. Check.

  Shitty attitude. Check. Check and double check.

  I force a smile. “Well, that saves one introduction. Am I correct in assuming you’re Kota Ellis?”

  “The one and only.”

  I’m about to roll my eyes when she flashes me a wide smile. It’s intriguing, bizarre, and disturbing all at the same time. Like if the Cheshire Cat and The Joker had an oversexed bastard child.

  Chew on that image for a minute.

  “Where are my manners? Come in.” She motions to the couch, and warning flags are popping up all around me, waving like it’s the Fourth of July. However, I see the determination in her eyes, and it’s obvious I’m going to have to make a few concessions to get what I came for.

  So, begrudgingly, I take a seat, gently placing the sketchbook beside me as she wraps herself around me like a damn octopus.

  “Would you like a drink?”

  “No, thank you. I can’t stay. Miss Ellis—”

  “Please, call me Kota.”

  “Right. Kota. I apologize for the intrusion. Your agent gave me your address.” She cocks an eyebrow, and I quickly add, “I’m afraid I was rather insistent.”

  She runs a nail down my thigh. “You don’t have to apologize, Kellen.”

  I stiffen at her familiarity. Respect is everything in business. Only friends and family call me by my first name, and this woman is neither. It takes everything I have not to correct her.

  Well, that and to not shove her ass to the floor.

  “Yes, well, at any rate, this is a little awkward, but I need—” I’m silenced by another long nail pressed against my lips.

  “I know what you need, Kell.”

  Kell?

  “And don’t worry. I forgive you for working with someone else. We’ll make it all better, and I accept your offer to reshoot the commercial again.”

  Uh, what?

  I try to backtrack and set the record strai
ght, but the pressure against my chest intensifies as she leans forward and whispers in my ear, “I’ll be right back. Don’t move.”

  “Wait, Miss Ellis. Kota!” But the woman has reflexes like a cat, and before I get the words out, she disappears into another room and closes the door.

  Shit!

  I have no idea what the hell she’s doing, but at least it gives me a reprieve from the cloyingly sweet chemical smell of her cheap perfume. It’s nothing like Cyn’s delicate lavender scent. The one that’s haunted my dreams the past two nights. The one that, coupled with the memory of our kiss and the feel of her body all pliable and warm in my hands, has earned me more than one extra-long cold shower.

  If I don’t find her soon, I’m liable to go blind.

  “Now, where were we?”

  I look up to see Kota leaning against the doorway to what I assume to be her bedroom, hand on her waist, hip cocked, and wearing a wolfish smile.

  And not much else.

  What the fuck?

  Screw warning flags. The situation just shot to DEFCON 1. I can’t believe I had my secretary cancel a whole day of meetings for this shit. All over a girl I hardly know.

  I shoot to my feet. “Miss Ellis, I think you’ve misunderstood my intentions.”

  “Don’t play coy with me, Kellen. I know what’s on a man’s mind when he comes to my apartment.”

  Yeah, a restraining order.

  “I don’t think you do.”

  “You requested me for the Glass Sliver shoot for a reason. It’s not your fault my incompetent assistant attempted to have her pathetic fifteen minutes of fame at your expense. She’s a moron.”

  A flash of hot anger, tangled with some other strange emotion, rushes through me. “She’s not incompetent. She’s inexperienced.”

  Kota waves her hand, unaffected by my shift in tone. “Tomayto, tomahto. We can stand here arguing about semantics, or we can put our mouths to better use.”

  Thanks, but I’d rather tongue a crocodile. “Miss Ellis, your assistant is the entire reason I’m here.”

  Finally, that coy smirk turns down, and her eyes pop wide open. “What?”

  Turning, I grab Cyn’s sketchbook off the couch and wave it in the air. “This belongs to Cyn, correct?”

  “Where did you get that?” she snaps.

  “Tell me where I can find her.”

  A blank mask falls over her face. “I don’t know anyone by that name.”

  Bullshit.

  “With all due respect, you’re lying. I know the woman who filmed the commercial with me is your assistant.” Something she just admitted seconds ago. But I don’t bother pointing that out. This female clearly has several screws loose.

  There’s a tense silence where neither of us speaks. Kota’s eyes lower, and her eyebrows draw together as if she suddenly realizes she’s standing in front of a perfect stranger in her underwear. She glances up, her gaze darting from me to the open hallway behind me.

  I wait for it, and as if on cue, her shoulders hunch, and she launches into full actress mode. “I don’t know what you came here expecting, but I’m not that kind of girl, Mr. Knight. I think you need to leave.”

  I smirk. If she thinks she’s the first woman who’s stripped half-naked and come on to me only to flip it around when I reject them, she’s sadly mistaken.

  “Of course.” Tucking Cyn’s sketchbook under my arm, I make my way toward the door. I can hear her grinding her teeth behind me, so as I swing it open, I give her a dramatic pause before glancing over my shoulder. “Oh, and, Miss Ellis?” I wait until she meets my eyes before flashing a brilliant smile. “Don’t even think about selling some bullshit story to the tabloids. Because I assure you, my career isn’t the one that’ll go down in flames.”

  And she only has herself to blame as now I have no choice but to dig up all the facts about her, including the information I desire about her pretty little assistant.

  My smile widens as I close the door to the sound of a feminine hiss.

  Chapter 5

  Cyn

  Ugh, Queen Kota is in a mood.

  She’s been on me from the second I arrived, claiming the coffee was too cold, that I clearly forgot her extra pump of sugarless vanilla syrup, and stating she has no idea why she puts up with my incompetence.

  I bite my tongue as she spouts a laundry list of errands she needs done today.

  Groceries.

  Dry cleaning.

  Book an appointment for her hair and makeup, as it needs to be perfect for Friday’s date.

  Oh, and call Robert back about the commercial reshoot KK Midnight Enterprises requested. “I’m not interested,” she adds in a snooty tone.

  I blink at her. “They… they want to reshoot?” I swallow, my heart thumping a mile a minute. Despite my efforts to the contrary, I couldn’t get Saturday off my mind. Here it is, Tuesday morning, and I’m still dreaming about Kellen Knight’s luscious mouth.

  Which he’ll apparently be using on another “actress” for the reshoot.

  This shouldn’t bother me, I think.

  Yet it does.

  It really, really does.

  “Of course they do, sweetie,” Kota simpers. “I told you they would. You’re not an actress, and after what Kell told me yesterday, I can understand why they want to reshoot.”

  “Kell?” I repeat, my heartbeat thudding loudly in my ears. She can’t mean—

  “Sorry. Kellen.” She waves a hand. “He told me to call him Kell after our intimate meeting, if you catch my drift. But it’s such a silly nickname, you know?” She throws her long dark hair over her shoulder. “Well, he wants me for the reshoot, which, why wouldn’t he? Especially after our time together yesterday.”

  She sighs dramatically, completely oblivious to the earthquake working through my limbs.

  Intimate meeting? Yeah, I caught what she meant by that.

  But “Kell” doesn’t seem right. He told me to call him Kellen. But maybe he uses that name for his less “intimate” acquaintances. Like only the ones he kisses on camera.

  “Actually, I have you to thank. Not because of your major screw-up, but because he actually came by with your sketchbook. I guess you forgot it or something. Not sure where it ended up now.”

  Those words knock me out of my daze. “He has my sketchbook?”

  “Maybe. He had it with him, but with the clothes coming off, I honestly don’t know where it went.” She shrugs. “Well, regardless, I’m not doing the reshoot. Hard to fake chemistry with someone so lacking in the bedroom department.”

  My mouth goes dry at the image she conjures with those words.

  Then I frown.

  From what I experienced Saturday, he was certainly not lacking in any department. Or maybe he was a better actor than I realized?

  “Oh, you’re right,” she says as if agreeing to something I said out loud—a hard thing to do when my lips refused to move. “I should call Robert. I need to talk to him anyway.” She waves that perfectly manicured hand again. “You handle the other things. I’ll work on the business side.”

  “So he had my sketchbook here?” I ask, still stuck on that detail.

  “Somewhere.” She shrugs again. “He may have taken it with him to toss in the trash on the way out. I told him it was old and not all that important. What with you abandoning school and all.”

  My jaw clenches. “Not important?”

  Another shrug.

  So careless.

  So callous.

  So unapologetically Kota.

  “You know how much that sketchbook means to me, Kota.”

  She gives me a condescending smile. “Yes, but you also know it’s a pipe dream that’s never going to happen. I mean, why torture yourself? Personally, I see this as a blessing in disguise. You were chasing an impossible goal. Now you can focus on things that are more relevant and real, like helping my career.”

  Tears burn the back of my eyes while my hands curl into fists. My stepsister and stepmother
have never approved of my career choice. Always claiming it to be an untouchable reality. Yet, somehow, it hurts even more now.

  That notebook represented more than just a dream. It provided my escape from reality and allowed me a chance to fantasize about potential futures. Futures far away from my present.

  And it’s gone.

  Perhaps in the trash somewhere outside this very building.

  Or maybe Kellen still has it, a hopeful voice whispers.

  I cling to that hope like I do my very breath. He probably tossed it. But what if he didn’t? I need to know for sure.

  Kota has already forgotten my existence, too caught up in her social media pages to notice me slip from her condo without a word.

  I’ll go back to Maria, ask her how to contact Kellen, and find out if he still has my sketches.

  If not, I’ll start over.

  And I will never think of him again, particularly after learning about his dalliance with Kota. Because yuck. If that’s the kind of girl he wants, then I am totally not in his realm at all.

  Making everything I felt on Saturday all in my head, something I already knew. At least now I have cause to believe it.

  Chapter 6

  Kellen

  To say I’m frustrated is putting it mildly.

  I’m Kellen Knight. I can snap my fingers and have anything I want.

  Except now.

  The traffic in Midtown Manhattan is a clusterfuck, as usual. That’s another advantage of being me—riding around in the back of a limo and not having a thing to do but obsess over work.

  Well, work, and a woman I can’t seem to find.

  Swirling whiskey around in my glass, I stare at my phone and roll the consequences of what I’m about to do around in my head. Logically, it’s my only option, but I really, really don’t want to do it.

  Not because I don’t trust him.