Page 2 of One Night with Cinderella

Not that she wanted the attention of him or any other man. As far as she was concerned, love spelled nothing but a bunch of trouble.

She enjoyed her life of solitude. She spent her days keeping the family’s home organized and tidy before retiring to her maid quarters and enjoying a night of television or reading. She felt safe from the disappointment and hurt she’d felt all her life growing up in the foster care system, never feeling at home or fitting in...and wondering why her parents didn’t want her for themselves.

Monica pushed away the all-too-familiar pain she felt at being abandoned, thankful time had dulled it to just an ache. She shook her head a little as she stepped off the elevator into the basement, moving past the wine cellar, storage room and utility closet—every area grander than the next. She refused to give her unknown parents that type of power over her life—just as she had the numerous social workers, case managers and foster families she encountered as she was shifted from various group homes and foster families throughout her childhood.

She did not emotionally invest in anyone.

Love had let her down one time too many.

Look how my last relationship turned out.

As she rolled the caddie into the closet where she kept some of her cleaning supplies, she paused with her hand on the door. Remembering him.

James.

She rolled her eyes and shook her head, wishing life had rewind and delete buttons.

Once she aged out of the system at eighteen when the government deemed her an adult, Monica had been lucky enough to attend a community college and acquire a studio apartment, relying on school grants, loans and a part-time job to pay her way. Times had been tough and lean. Never had she felt so afraid that she wouldn’t be able to make it on her own but also so determined to enjoy her freedom. She had been a student there for two years when she’d met and fallen in love with James Gilligan, a handsome travel photographer who convinced her to drop out of college and go RVing across the country with him as he documented his adventures on his popular blog. Leaving school had been a huge choice, but she felt she finally had someone who loved her and hadn’t dared to risk losing him. Their travels and nomadic lifestyle lasted five years, filled with fun and spontaneity, until they traveled back to New York for a brief visit and she awakened one morning to discover he had left her behind to search for his next quest without her.

Monica grunted at her foolishness, hating how heartache and betrayal had left such an imprint. It’d been five years since she’d had to gather her wits, put aside her tears and make a new plan for her life. The advertisement for an in-house staff position had seemed like an answer to her prayers, providing a job and a place to stay. She applied and then thankfully accepted the position when it was offered.

Once she had work to focus on, she resolved to never give someone the chance to hurt her and leave her behind again.

Like her parents.

Like so many foster parents.

Like James.

Monica sighed as that poignant ache of bitter disappointment radiated across her chest. His treachery still affected her. She hated that so much.

She closed the door to the supply closet and moved over to open the door to the stylish and brightly lit laundry room, where she loaded two high-capacity washers with bed linen that she changed every day. While the machines quietly went to work, she walked to the other end of the basement to her quarters. It was a lovely little suite comprised of a bedroom, adjoining bathroom and small sitting area. She’d decorated the area in shades of yellow to give it more warmth, make it feel a little bit like her own, since it was the longest she’d ever been in one residence.

She pulled a small stack of envelopes from the front pocket of her apron to put on the side table near the recliner to sort through later. The family’s mail was left on an ostrich leather tray in the foyer, as was customary. Leaving her room, she closed the door and retraced her steps until she reached the stairs to make her way up to the modern and brightly lit kitchen on the first level. The space, with its dark wood against light walls, chrome appliances and bronzed fixtures, was as beautifully designed as the rest of the town house.

The family’s chef, Jillian Rossi, was out doing her daily shopping, and Monica always used that time to clean the kitchen from what little mess was left over from the family’s breakfast dishes. Before loading the dishwasher, she opened it to find the high-end cutlery she knew belonged to Jillian from the initials engraved on the handles. She spotted the chef’s leather carry case on the granite counter and retrieved it, undid the clasp and unrolled it.

A handwritten note was inside.

“‘The taste of you still lingers on my tongue,’” she read aloud.

Well, well, well, Jillian...

Monica furrowed her brow as she rolled the carry case back as it had been, wishing she’d never seen the note—or the embossed gold Cress, INC. logo at the top. In such a large, affluent family, whose members chose to do business and live together, secrets weren’t scarce. She’d seen and heard plenty in her five years. Hidden safes. Vices. Stubborn grudges. Business deals. Promises made. Promises broken. Even two of the brothers unknowingly dating the same sexy socialite. Discovering that one of the Cress men was enjoying a secret tryst with Jillian the Chef—complete with a handwritten note in this day and age—was light work in comparison.

It was none of her business, but Monica couldn’t help but wonder which one.

Phillip Jr.? Or Sean? Cole? Maybe Lucas?

She winced as she pictured Gabe passionately kissing Jillian. She had no right to the jealousy warming her stomach. If Gabe and Jillian were secret lovers then it was no concern of hers.

Right?

Right.

Still, at that moment, it was feeling easier said than done.

Gabe stroked his chin as he stared at the waterfall fountain at the end of the paved garden area. Winter was just truly beginning to break and the air was crisp and refreshing instead of biting and chilly. He sat at the long concrete table beneath the arched framework that covered the full thirty-two-foot length of the area with the leaves of bamboo trees offering the family privacy and shade when they were outdoors. The sounds of New York on the adjacent busy Lexington Avenue reached him, but it was vague background noise as he focused instead on his thoughts.

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