The Cinderella Fantasy

by Sara Jane Stone

  His matter-of-fact tone mentally tipped the scales in favor of indignation.

  “You’re . . . ” His hand dropped from her chin. “You’re you, Lucy.”

  She raised an eyebrow, allowing her ire to bubble. He’d followed up “You’re more than a fantasy” with “You’re you”?

  “You had me until the end,” she said.

  He raised an eyebrow, his lips sliding into a slow, welcoming grin. “I should have quit while I was ahead?”

  She nodded.

  He shook his head, still smiling. Then he turned and headed for the door. She followed the line of his broad shoulders. She watched his easy gait. The man was a walking, talking ad for confidence. And he’d declared her “more than.”

  What if Philip Ryder looks at me and only sees his handcuff fantasy?

  “Jared,” she called.

  He stopped in the doorway and turned to her.

  “It’s not safe for you out there,” she said.

  “I’ll take my chances.” Then he winked at her and slipped into the hall.

  “Jared Mitchell!” Lou Tennyson’s familiar baritone echoed in the corridor outside the dining room. “Just the man I wanted to see.”

  Lucy stood and rushed to the door. She peered into the hallway, but kept her heels planted in the library. “For all I know, you were spewing more bullshit,” she muttered. Then she dropped her voice and added in a poor imitation of Jared’s oh-so-masculine voice: “You’re more than a Cinderella fantasy.”

  But she wanted to believe him. It had been a long time since she’d thought of herself in those terms. Had her ex ever thought of her as more than anything?

  Maybe. In the beginning.

  But by the end, I was the less than in his equation. He wanted me less than his new girlfriend.

  That was the problem with words. It was so hard to know when they were empty promises. She shook her head, pushing away the past. With her gaze fixed on Jared, she stepped into the crowed hallway. “It doesn’t matter if you meant every word,” she whispered. “I still owe you a rescue.”

  I still want to save you.

  And that might prove far more problematic.

  Chapter 12

  “Buffalo meat!” Lou Tennyson’s booming voice echoed in the narrow corridor. “There is a plant in North Dakota you should take a look at. Small company now, but in your hands?” The portly seventy-something-year old let out another laugh. “You could—”

  “Lou!”

  Jared heard Lucy’s voice and glanced up from his cell. He’d listened to his long-time client’s thoughts on buffalos while reading through little Lucy Linden’s message to Philip Ryder for a third time. He could picture Lucy murmuring, “I’m a handcuff virgin” in a voice that was meant for his ears only. Hell, that one line of text had driven his conversation with a major investor off a cliff.

  His so-called Handcuff Virgin walked up to Mr. Tennyson and planted a kiss on his cheek. Jared slipped his cell back into his pocket and fought the urge to grind his teeth.

  Not the “rescue” I had in mind, princess.

  “Did you see the pictures from your granddaughter’s party?” Lucy rested her hand on Lou Tennyson’s shoulder. “I thought the fairy photo shoot was an excellent idea.”

  Lou Tennyson nodded. “My daughter printed a few out for me. I have one on my desk of Claire wearing her wings. I’m sorry I missed the big event.”

  His client took ahold of Lucy’s hand and raised it to his lips. He pressed a kiss to her fingers and Jared’s common sense shorted out.

  Drunk dad hands.

  He reached for Lucy, needing to draw her away from the grandfather who’d bellowed “Buffalo Meat” in the country club corridor before kissing his handcuff virgin.

  “Speaking of fairies,” Jared said, his hand closing around Lucy’s free wrist. “I have a potential client for you. Her daughter loves Tinker Bell. Why don’t I introduce you?”

  Lucy smiled and nodded as she stepped closer to Jared, forcing Lou to release her other hand. “Of course. I love meeting new clients.”

  “Good.” Jared issued a curt nod to his client. “I’ll send Finn over to discuss the details. He handles the acquisitions. Now, if you’ll excuse me.”

  “Yes, yes,” Mr. Tennyson called after them. “Send Phineas Linden over.”

  “Finn hates it when anyone calls him Phineas,” Lucy murmured.

  “He’ll survive.” Jared steered them to the double doors marked exit. “Thanks for saving me. I’ve never eaten buffalo, and I don’t plan to buy a processing plant in North Dakota.”

  “I did my best.” She nodded to the man still standing in the corridor behind them. “But you’re the one who executed the extraction.”

  “Drunk dad hands,” Jared said. “Or granddad hands in his case.”

  She laughed. “Lou’s teetering on the edge of intoxicated, but he’s never disorderly. What you witnessed back there? The kiss? He was playing the gentleman. You didn’t need to pull me away. He’s really very sweet.”

  I don’t want him touching you.

  But he kept the thought to himself. He didn’t have the right to tell her who would kiss her hand, and he damn well knew it.

  Lucy’s cell vibrated as they pushed through the doors separating the pool deck from the club’s noisy interior. He stopped on the stone pavers that filled in the space between the locked cabanas, the outdoor bar, and the pool.

  “Need to get that?” he asked mildly.

  She withdrew her cell from her purse. He held his breath and mentally replayed his response about the damn handcuffs.

  Not mine. Fucking Philip Ryder promised to keep the handcuffs on his desk until she was ready.

  Philip Ryder had also typed some corny-ass line about how the bondage didn’t lead to happy-ever-after. Hell, he’d even signed off Your Prince-No Bondage Required. If there was a direct path to that mythical place, he was willing to bet it wasn’t through handcuffs. But he knew more about princess movies thanks to Lucy and co., than fifty shades.

  Jared had hit send on the Fated for Love message while standing in front of Lou Tennyson. And he’d waited for a response, wondering what he would do if he’d read the situation wrong and Lucy wanted the handcuffs to be part of the bargain.

  “A text from one of the princesses?” he asked. He stepped closer in order to gauge her reaction.

  The Olympic-sized body of water glowed under a sliver of moonlight. Apart from the pool’s soft light and the moon’s half-hearted attempt to play peek-a-boo with the cloudy night sky, the club’s main daytime attraction was cloaked in darkness.

  But he could make out her profile as she wove her way through the empty lounge chairs and read. A gentle smile graced her lips, and her expression softened.

  “No. It’s from that guy.” Her thumbs started dancing over her phone. “The one I met online.”

  Jared stared at the jumping fountains on the far side of the lounge chairs. The leaping water feature had been installed for children. Leaving the fountain on all night made about as much sense as a fire in Florida.

  He glanced over at her and fought the desire to pluck the phone from her hands. She was messaging him dammit. He wanted to read her reply. If she craved wild, handcuffed . . . hell, he’d deliver.

  “Do you feel like getting wet?” he asked.

  She looked up from her phone. Her thumbs hovered over the screen. “What?” she whispered, heat rising in her cheeks.

  He nodded to the jumping water. “In the fountain, Lucy. What are you writing to this guy you’ve never met?”

  “Nothing.” She returned to her screen. “And I’m not playing in the fountains with you. We can’t go back in there soaking wet. Finn would—”

  “Finn would what?” her brother’s voice cut through the dark.

  Jared turned his back to the fountains. He would have settled for a barefoot walk on the beach instead of causing a scene in the leaping water. He wanted Lucy to himself—no interruptions from the gala,
her brother, or the imaginary Mr. Ryder.

  “You would stop taking me to these events,” Lucy said without looking up.

  “I thought you wanted me to find a date for these things,” Finn challenged.

  She glanced up. “They’re not so bad. I’ve met potential clients here.” She tapped the screen one more time and then slipped her phone into her purse. “Which is what I should be doing right now.” She waved to him, and the cell in Jared’s pocket vibrated. “It’s Finn’s turn to protect you.”

  When the door closed behind her, Jared reached for his cell.

  “Protect you from what?” Finn demanded.

  “Lou Tennyson.”

  “I talked to him earlier,” Finn said. “The meat packing plant isn’t a bad idea. No one else is looking at the business. It’s too small for most big players. But if we brought in new management and tripled the value, we could sell it for a substantial profit. Unless Lou is bullshitting us.”

  Jared nodded. Then he blocked out the rest of his friend’s argument about potential numbers as he read Lucy’s message.

  Dear Philip,

  I need to leave the handcuffs on the desk. I like knowing they are waiting for the right time. But I’ll be honest with you. I need to start with trust. A few months ago, the man I loved, the man I planned to marry—he left me. I watched my plans shatter. I spent the first month grieving and angry. But then I realized my ex hadn’t walked away with my dreams. I still wanted the same things. Only now, I know that I need to find that happiness with a man I can love and trust.

  You should know that it might take a while for me to trust you. I might even agree to test out the handcuffs before I’m ready to fully believe in a future with you. I hope I haven’t sent you running for the hills (not that we have any in Florida) because I want to take a chance on you.

  Your bondage virgin,

  Lucy

  P.S. I never realized how little a face matters. I haven’t seen yours yet. But I’m realizing your words matter more.

  “Fuck. While I was standing here, picturing Lucy dripping wet from the fountain, she was pouring out her heart to Philip Ryder. She’s never even met the guy.” Jared glanced up from his phone and gave Finn a hard look. “You need to talk some sense into your sister.”

  “The fountain, huh?” Finn sounded too damn amused.

  “What if Nicole was right?” Jared challenged. “What if this guy was an axe murderer who liked to handcuff his victims to his bed?”

  “I hadn’t considered the handcuffs, but similar scenarios had crossed my mind.” Finn raised his right hand and jabbed his index finger in Jared direction. “That’s why she’s meeting you tomorrow night. On your date, she’ll realize that the guy who listened when she opened up about her feelings, the guy who said the right thing in response, is the guy who was right in front of her the entire time.”

  “What the hell is the right response?” Jared demanded.

  “She told you her feelings. Now it’s your turn to share yours. You have to let her in. Give her something. If she’s letting you, or hell, Philip, in, you need to do the same.” Finn turned and headed for the door. “I’ll talk meat with Mr. Tennyson while you figure it out. You know Lucy. You know what she wants. Don’t mess this up now.”

  The door slammed, leaving Jared alone on the pool deck. He turned away from the building and headed for a lounge chair on the far side of the patio. A breeze rushed in from the waves breaking on the beach. He couldn’t see the surf on the other side of the retaining wall, but he could taste the salt in the air.

  So damn familiar.

  He thought he’d escaped the taste and feel of the ocean. He’d traded the erratic tides, the crazy, unpredictable life he’d lived growing up down in Florida, for Manhattan’s consistent, but fast pace. But work, Finn, and now Lucy, brought him back to the sunshine state.

  Lucy.

  He thought he’d known her. Hell, he’d watched her grow up, spending more time at the Linden’s welcoming home than his own as a kid. Sweet, innocent, Disney-crazed Lucy had been a fixture in his life. And he’d believed he’d figured out what made the princess tick. But now he wasn’t so sure.

  Sinking down onto the chair, he read her message again. He analyzed the words, separating them from the sweet businesswoman he thought he understood.

  She’s heartbroken.

  Jared closed his eyes and let the fury roll off him. Fantasizing about hurting her ex-fiancé wouldn’t help. He needed to move her beyond heartbreak and give her a reason to trust him—after he’d pursed her under a false name.

  Time. He had to buy himself another day or two to show her that Philip Ryder’s words and Jared Mitchell’s action made for a winning combination.

  Dear Lucy,

  You won’t regret taking a chance on me. That’s a promise. Don’t be afraid to rewrite your dreams and plans for the future. I changed mine when I joined the world of online dating.

  Yours truly,

  Mr. Ab Selfie

  P.S. I told my friends that ab selfies win dates with bondage virgins, but no one believes me.

  Jared hit send before he deleted the signature line. If anyone found out he’d signed a message “Mr. Ab Selfie”—hell, if Finn discovered that detail, Jared would never hear the end of it. He stood and headed across the patio. But he detoured away from double doors. Instead, he moved to the wall of windows separating the main dining room from the pool. He scanned the crowd until he found her.

  On the other side of the glass, Lucy excused herself from a conversation with two ladies Jared failed to recognize. She stepped to the edge of the crowd and reached into her purse. Her lips parted as she withdrew her phone. Then she tapped on the screen.

  She’s reading my message.

  Her eyes softened, but Jared didn’t look away. His jaw tightened as he waited for her to reach the end.

  And then she did. He knew she’d read the signature when she tossed back her head and laughed.

  Jared turned away from the windows. The local paper could run a column that outed him as Mr. Ab Selfie when this was all over. It would still be worth it to see Lucy smile—to push her heartbreak a little further into the past. He couldn’t erase her pain with one message. But give him time and he’d find a way.

  Chapter 13

  “You baked the emergency roll of cinnamon buns?” Emma called as she stumbled to the coffeemaker. Her yellow, silk robe flowed behind her, filling the room with a sunshine pop of color.

  Nicole stopped in the kitchen’s entry to sniff the air, and her eyes widened. “What happened last night?”

  “Nothing.” Lucy opened the oven and withdrew the baking sheet. She set it on the stovetop to cool before applying the frosting. “Last night was a grand success. I rescued Jared without kissing him in the library.”

  “That’s your definition of success now?” Nicole poured herself a mug full of coffee and headed for the creamer.

  “I also met a handful of potential clients and had this open, honest but playful back-and-forth with Philip.” Lucy plucked her phone off the counter. “But then this morning, I wake up to this message from Mr. Ab Selfie.”

  “Is that what we’re calling the potential axe murderer now?” Nicole murmured over the edge of her steaming mug.

  “His words, not mine,” Lucy said.

  “What did this morning’s message say?” Emma asked. She’d cut open the frosting packet and started covering the still-steaming buns.

  “Those are still too hot,” Lucy protested.

  “Buns are never too hot for frosting.” Emma moved to the next bun. “Read the message. The one from this morning.”

  Lucy cleared her throat. “Dear Lucy.” She glanced up at her friends. “He used my name, not something clever or cute.”

  “That’s why you baked the emergency buns?” Emma said.

  “No.”

  “Then keep reading,” Emma demanded. “Save the commentary until the end.”

  “I need to reschedule our
beach date. I’m free the day after tomorrow,” Lucy began again. “Believe me when I tell you, this has nothing to do with handcuffs. I’m not hiding from you. You have my word. Something came up at work.” She walked around the kitchen island and sank onto a stool. “Then he signed it ‘Your workaholic suitor.’ ”

  “You did the right thing.” Emma set a plate filled with a pair of cinnamon buns in front of her. “Making the buns.”

  Nicole picked up her breakfast treat and waved it through the air. “I think we should start with the handcuffs.”

  “He’s referencing a previous message,” Lucy mumbled. Then she bit into the relationship woes cure-all. The gooey frosting ran over her fingers, and she licked them clean.

  “Maybe he’s telling the truth,” Emma said. “He was upfront about being a workaholic. Maybe something came up.”

  “Or maybe I told him too much,” Lucy said.

  “About your secret handcuff fantasies?” Nicole asked.

  “About my ex, my trust issues, my hopes and dreams.” Lucy took another bite of the bun. “I probably should have kept the conversation light and playful until we had a chance to meet.”

  “No.” Emma dropped her bun on her plate. “Why should you continue to waste your time? It’s hard enough weeding out the guys who pretend they’re serious, but only want a one-night stand. You shouldn’t have to tiptoe around what you’re looking for in a relationship. But, I don’t think that’s why he canceled. I think Mr. Ab Selfie has to work today. I don’t think it’s fair to write him off as a faceless, lying dude just yet.”

  “I should wait and do that after I meet him for a first date,” Lucy said dryly.

  “Yes.” Emma reached for the phone Lucy had abandoned in favor of the sugar rush. “I’ll send him a response for you—”

  “No.” Lucy grabbed for her phone. “I’ll do it.”

  Nicole stood and carried her empty plate to the sink. “I’ll swing by the store after I drop you at this morning’s consult and pick up another roll of emergency buns.”

  “Please tell me that I can throw a three princess, deluxe party for thirty seven-year-old boys and girls and not break the bank.”