Page 16 of Cinderella Is Faking It

What. The. Heck.

“No,” I gasped and clenched my thighs together to stop him before his hand could wander further. To his credit, he immediately drew his hand back and a flash of confusion furrowed his brows. “Does that usually work for you?” I asked because he seemed to think that was genuinely the move to make on me. “Did you really think I’d like that?”

“Yes.”

“Did you think I’d let you touch me right here in public?”

“Yes.” He sighed and pressed his lips together. “Becausethathas been going on since you heard the sex tape.” He jutted his chin out and it took me a moment to follow his gaze. The deep sweetheart neckline of the dress hadn’t allowed for one of my usual T-shirt bras, but I wasn’t really busty enough to desperately need that support anyway. So, I’d gone braless. In this case, however, that meant the silky fabric of the dress clearly outlined the hardened peaks of my breasts.

Heat shot up my neck, burning my cheeks. “I’m leaving,” I said, voice strained. I grabbed my bag and crossed my arms in front of my chest. “You’re very pretty but you need to learn some manners.”

This time, he didn’t try to make me stay.

Victor leaned against the car in the parking lot, a pair of aviator glasses hiding his eyes, but he didn’t even have to take them off for me to feel his gaze on me. “What?” I barked, angrier than he deserved. Instead of replying, he tilted his head towards the restaurant. Our table by the window technically had a seaside view, but it was also in direct line of sight from this parking spot. Probably why Victor had stayed right here. “Amazing. So you saw. Whoop-dee-doo.”

“Do you want me to punch his lights out?”

I gaped at him. Those were the most words he’d ever spoken to me. The startling part was the sincerity in his voice though. I had zero doubts that he’d march in there and introduce his fist to Beck’s face if I asked him to. “No,” I said after imagining the satisfying crunch of Beck’s nose, followed by the disaster that could turn into, “can you please just take me home?”

He nodded. “Hop in.”

“Can we stop at a Dunkin’ or something on the way? I’m still starving.”

Victor must have pitied me, because following my order of one donut and one refresher, he bought two dozen donuts and two more refreshers, and then carried all of that into my apartment for me alongside the rest of my new outfits. He didn’t even blink an eye when Fitzwilliam attacked his ankles.

And then he left. The door shut. My adventure as Cordelia Montgomery was over. No more opulent events, overpriced clothes or confusing billionaires.

When Parker came over that night, he accepted my explanation that I’d stocked up on donuts to make up for our missed date last night, and we had a donut taste test date while some Marvel movie played in the background. Spending downtime with Parker was easy and nice and relaxed, and I didn’t have to watch out for verbal traps or negotiate conversation rules. I didn’t even feel bad about comparing him to Beck, because Parker was so sweet to me, he came out on top. No questions asked. And then I felta littlebad, because when Parker took my dress off and pushed my legs apart that night, I had zero physical reaction to his touch. I wanted to sleep with him for the sake of being close to him, but Beck’s knuckles against my leg had made my skin burn hotter than Parker’s hands roaming my whole body.

EIGHT

Two nights a week,Vortex was filled with the ear-piercing screeches of little girls as they barreled into each other and tried to do some damage to the punching bags that hardly swayed from their attacks. We’d had to enforce a hair tie rule though. For what these kids lacked in muscle power, they easily made up for in foul tricks.

Thankfully, Scarlett’s office upstairs was soundproof.

“Looks good to me,” I said after reviewing her plans for the new Vortex opening in L.A.

“You always say the same darn thing.” She clicked her tongue at me and threw her inky ringlet curls back.

“You know what you’re doing.” Vortex was her thing as much as it was mine. We’d met ten years ago, when I’d thought sponsoring pro athletes might be fun. Scarlett was my first and last investment. Pro kickboxer, 23, at the height of her game, knocked out of the ring permanently by an injury six months after I got on her team. The other sponsors dropped her, I paid for her physical therapy and her business degree. Turned out, sponsoring worked in your favor beyond the trophies.

“I’ll be flying out there tomorrow for three days,” she said, “I’m staying at the Montgomery Beverly Hills if you need me.”

“Seriously?”

She fluttered her fake black eyelashes at me. “They have softer towels.”

“Noted.” Actually noted. Scarlett could charge that shit to the company card and I didn’t limit her on her business expenses. Which meant that other women with unlimited spending possibilities were also leaving their money at the Montgomery. Because of soft towels.

“Come on, I’ll introduce you to Hannah. She’s the new regional.”

I glanced at the clock. “I don’t have time for small talk, Scarlett.”

“Yes, you do. Because you’re a picky lil Gingersnap and if anything is wrong atyourgym, you’ll have to talk to Hannah. Not me.” Scarlett shooed me out of her office, slapping her hand against my upper arm when I didn’t go fast enough for her taste. I considered her one of my oldest friends, but fuck, she liked torturing me.

“Hannah!” She waved over a middle-aged woman from reception. Except, when Hannah walked over in her leopard-print leggings and a fitted tank, I realized that she was probably around my age. Mid-thirties. Her wagging salt-and-pepper ponytail just didn’t really match the fresh face of freckles.

“Hi, you must be Mr. Beckett, it’s so good to meet you.” She flashed her pearly whites at me and stemmed her fists into her sides, power-posing.

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