Page 49 of One Night with Cinderella

“And Montgomery,” Monica said, turning to the braided beauty who looked divine in a fuchsia pantsuit with turquoise heels.

“Like Choice, I will be working from my own offices, but I agreed with Monica that we all should meet on this first day and put faces to the names,” Montgomery said, giving each woman a winning smile before focusing her sharp gaze back on Monica. “We have gotten a lot of traction from the press kits that were sent out, but even more requests for an interview with you have come in.”

“No,” Monica said with a shake of her head.

The publicist had made it clear she wanted the still-reserved Monica to become the face of the organization. Tell her story. Try to connect with the same people she was trying to help. Try to pull at the heartstrings—and wallets—of wealthy donors.

And use my connection to my father to help promote it all.

Something the NDA would not allow. She shared a brief look with Choice, who was aware of the agreement as her attorney.

“Maybe not live interviews,” Choice suggested. “But taped interviews with specific guidelines and editorial control might work best.”

Monica looked pensive.

“Or speaking engagements minus Q & As,” Montgomery suggested. “Especially as we gear up for the charity gala in a few months.”

Monica released a breath as she turned a bit in her chair to look out the window. Sunlight broke through the towering buildings, and the skies were a beautiful blue backdrop for the concrete-and-steel structures. In that moment of quiet she was facing—and trying to conquer—her fear...

Of public speaking,

Of more public scrutiny.

Of more reminders that her father gave her away.

She tried and failed. “No,” she said, forcing finality into her tone as she felt waves of relief at not stepping out of the shadows. “My intention was never to be the face or the brand or whatever marketing term it is. I just want to help foster kids, not become some pseudo celebrity. Remember for the last five years, I worked as a maid and lived seen yet not seen—if that makes any sense.”

“It does,” Choice said, offering her a warm and encouraging smile.

“Give me some time to adjust to everything and we’ll see. Okay?” she said.

Montgomery nodded. “You’re the boss,” she said.

I’m the boss.

Monica glanced out the window again and smiled at the very idea of that. As they ended the meeting and Choice and Montgomery took their leave, she retrieved her briefcase from the seating area and made her way with her chair to her office, closing the door behind her. She set her things atop the desk and moved over to the lone window in the corner, crossing her arms over her chest as she looked out at the world where she was trying to carve her own little place.

Am I crazy? Can I do this?

She shifted her sight to focus on her reflection in the glass. The only way to do it is to do it.

Bzzzzzz.

Monica jumped, surprised by the sudden noise. She whirled to see the electric-blue light of the intercom system flashing.

Calm down, Mo.

She stepped over to the desk to press the button as she cleared her throat. “Yes?”

“Mr. Cress to see you.”

Monica felt warmth as her grin spread. “Send him in. Thank you,” she added, holding up her hands and grimacing before pressing the button again.

Quickly she struck several poses. Leaning against the corner of her desk. By the window. In the seat behind her desk. Finally, in the second before the door opened, she came from behind the desk and simply walked over to meet him.

“Hello, beautiful,” he said, closing the door and pressing a kiss to her jawline as she slipped her arms around his waist.

She inhaled deeply of his scent and released a low moan. “You always smell so good,” she sighed, allowing herself a kiss to his neck before stepping away with reluctance. “I thought we were meeting up for an early dinner?”

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