Unforgettable: The Complete Series (A Sexy Cinderella Standalone Love Story)

by Nelle L'Amour

  “Where do you think you’re going?”

  “To sleep.”

  “No, you’re not. Get your ass over here.”

  It’s one o’clock in the fucking morning. It’s now Monday. So contractually, I’m on duty, back to officially being his majesty’s lowly personal assistant at his beck and call. With resignation, I join him at the island and hop onto a stool cattycorner to his. Glimpsing the shiny Golden Globe statuette on one of the kitchen counters, I falter trying to make conversation.

  “Congratulations on winning. I guess your lucky cufflinks really worked.”

  No response. Silently, he picks up the spoon and digs into the ice cream. One heaping teaspoon after another. My elbows are anchored on the counter, my head sunk between my palms. I glumly watch him devour the container of Häagen-Dazs, my eyes riveted on his sensuous hands and mouth. You’d think I’d be drooling over the caloric ice cream, but I’m too consumed by my erotic dream. And the way he licks the melting dessert off his spoon.

  “Why aren’t you having some?”

  “I’m not hungry.” I squirm on my stool to quell the throbbing between my legs.

  “Eat.” He scoops up a heaping teaspoon of the ice cream and puts it to my mouth. “Open.”

  I part my lips and clamp my mouth over the cold spoon. His eyes stay on me while I gulp down the creamy dessert and lick off the remains.

  “Have some more.”

  “Why aren’t you at one of those awards parties?” I ask, ignoring his order.

  He looks up from the ice cream. “I had a big fight with Katrina.”

  My ears perk up. And so does my mood. “Oh. What did you fight about?”

  “I fucking forgot to thank her in my speech. The press is already all over it. Tomorrow’s going to be a living nightmare.”

  “How could you forget to thank her?” Easy!

  “I don’t know. I was nervous. Plus, I had to wing it. To be honest, I can’t remember what the hell I said.”

  Should I remind him? Forget it.

  His words meant nothing. My heart sinks to my stomach. Prince Charming could never forget Cinderella. But I hold no candle in Brandon Taylor’s heart. Svelte Cinderella was blond and beautiful like Katrina. I’m fat and mousy. I’ve got to stop dreaming. A fairy tale ending is not going to be mine.

  Chapter 32

  Brandon

  I begin my morning after the Golden Globes the same way I always do—with a swim. Except instead of my normal twenty laps, I only do ten. Booze and a quart of Häagen-Dazs don’t mix well. Hoisting myself out of the pool, I spot my manager Scott. He’s heading my way at breakneck speed. Already smoking, he looks agitated. I throw a towel over my shoulders and meet him halfway.

  “Brandon, the shit’s hit the fan. Your speech last night is the talk of the Internet. It’s worse than I anticipated. Every fucking gossip columnist online is wondering why you didn’t thank Katrina.” He hands me his phone. He’s googled me. While Scott puffs on his cigarette, I read one headline after another:

  Perez Hilton: “Brandon Taylor Wins Big at the Golden Globes. But Will He Lose Katrina?”

  TMZ: “After the Golden Globes, Is It Splitsville for Bratrina?”

  Celebuzz: “Katrina Cusses Kussler at Awards Party!”

  E! Online: “Thanks but No Thanks. Is That It for Brandon and His It Girl?”

  I scroll down until I’ve had enough. Scott follows me as I stride to a table. He takes the chair opposite mine. I hand him back his phone.

  “I fucked up.”

  Scott blows out a cloud of smoke. “Big time. Katrina is fuming. She hasn’t spoken to the press, but she’s demanding a public apology.”

  “Shit.”

  I haven’t seen or spoken to Katrina since last night. The scene she created at the Conquest Broadcasting after-party was beyond embarrassing. The shrieking and expletives were just the tip of the iceberg. She went ballistic and yanked my award out of my hand. She seriously would have either struck me with it or hurled it across the room had not security reined her in. Mobbed by reporters, I was lucky Blake Burns used his clout and got me out the back door and arranged for one of his company limos to take me back home. But nonetheless, the damage was done. And I’m sure today I’m going to pay the price. I have people who deal with these kinds of things, but Katrina’s a loose cannon.

  Contemplating what I’m going to say to the press and how I’m going to handle Katrina, I catch sight of Zoey coming toward us. She’s carrying a folder and a Starbucks bag. At the sight of her, my mood brightens. And my cock flexes. She always has that effect on me. I’m glad she was around when I came home last night even if she seemed a little down. Eating ice cream with her more than cheered me up. It aroused me. There was something about the way she wrapped her lips around my spoon that made them so kissable. I, of course, refrained, but it wasn’t easy with my raging boner. If she only knew.

  Meeting my gaze, my assistant shows no emotion. If anything, an expression that borders on coldness is etched on her face. Once at our table, she silently sets down the bag. With not as much as a good morning, she hands me my regular iced Caffè Americano. Scott eyes it.

  “Whatcha got for me, sweetheart?” he asks my assistant before I can thank her.

  “Nothing. Not even a smile. And by the way, my name is Zoey.”

  Do I detect some animosity? I wonder if she’s still pissed at him for sending her away while I was in the hospital.

  Her voice stays icy cold. “Brandon, here’s your schedule.” She places the folder in front of me. I flip it open and peruse the printout. It’s a fairly light day. I just need to go to the recording studio at noon to do some pickup lines.

  Avoiding eye contact, she continues. “I’m outta here. I’ve got a lot of things to take care of.”

  As she pivots, Scott grabs her by the elbow. She tries to shake herself free. “Let go of me, Scott.”

  “Sweetheart, you’ve got your work cut out for you today. I need you to draft an apology statement for Brandon. You know, something along the lines of him being so excited last night, he totally forgot to mention Katrina in his acceptance speech.”

  Zoey’s face grows seething mad. “Since when do I take orders from you?”

  Scott sneers at her. “And don’t forget to mention how much he loves her and is looking forward to their wedding.”

  With dark, questioning eyes, Zoey looks at me for a go-ahead. I nod.

  “Zoey, that would be very helpful.”

  “Fine. Now, let go of me, Scott.”

  “Scott, let her go.” My voice is firm and authoritative.

  Ignoring my order, my manager leers at her “That’s not all. You need to respond to all the tweets and Facebook posts that are questioning the future of Bratrina. And I want you to work with their publicists and try to get the two of them booked on one of those talk shows. Jimmy Kimmel or Letterman would be perfect.”

  “Okay, now let me get to work.” She tries again to jerk her arm free of my salacious manager.

  “Scott, did you hear me? Let go of her. Now!”

  A smirk crosses Scott’s lips. Rage crescendos inside me. My hands ball into fists. I’m so close to punching him I can feel the pain of the impact on my knuckles. Just in time, he releases her and blows a cloud of smoke in her face.

  Zoey’s eye narrow and her bowed lips press thin. “You know, you shouldn’t be smoking. It’s actually not allowed in the Hollywood Hills. It causes fires.”

  “Aren’t we a Miss Know-It-All?” Scott deliberately blows another puff of smoke at her.

  This time she waves it away and glowers at him. “Maybe you’d feel differently if your father died putting out a wildfire.”

  My brows lift. That’s news to me. I swear the other day after she witnessed Katrina sucking me off, she told me she was going to see her father. Maybe in my mortified state, I heard her wrong. Or my fucked-up mind was playing tricks on me.

  “Brandon, text me if you need anything.” She stalks off bef
ore I can say another word.

  Scott takes yet another drag of the cigarette. The repulsive smell of the smoke and tobacco is getting to me. I’m done with being Mr. Nice Guy. I’m going to tell him to put the damn thing out. Before I have a chance, he blows out another puff, flicks the ashes on the deck, and throws me another curve ball.

  “You know, today’s Katrina’s birthday.”

  “It is?” Shit! I had no clue. My mind’s so screwed up I’m lucky I remember my name or what day of the week it is.

  “I’m taking her out for lunch at The Ivy. You should join us. It might help smooth things over and being seen in public with her might help quell rumors of your breakup.”

  “Can’t. I have some pickup lines to take care of.”

  “Too bad. Hope you’re getting her something expensive and taking her out for a nice, romantic dinner. That would definitely help calm her down. The Polo Lounge would be a great place for the two of you to be seen.”

  “Done.” Crap. I haven’t bought a thing for her or made a reservation. Mental note: Email Zoey and tell her to go to Tiffany’s and pick up a bauble. Plus, make a dinner reservation at the Polo Lounge.

  Scott flashes his pearly white teeth. They glow against his fake tan. They’re perfect. In fact, too perfect. They’ve got to be caps.

  “Good. You know, Katrina’s mentioned you’re still having a little problem in the equipment department.”

  I cringe. She’s been sharing our sex life—or lack of one—with Scott? Okay, he might manage both of us, but it’s none of his fucking business. Fucking Katrina.

  Scott takes another puff and winks at me. “Brand-man, you should treat yourself to a little bauble too. A ring.”

  I glance at Scott’s flashy pinky ring. So not my style. “I don’t do a lot of jewelry.”

  He snorts. “I was thinking jewelry for your weiner. Trust me, those cock rings work wonders. You’ll be as hard as nails and going at it for hours. Take my word, Katrina will love it.”

  Who is Scott to know what Katrina will or will not like when it comes to sex? Just how much does she confide in him? Or is there something more? Or maybe I’m just reading into things and Scott’s just trying to be helpful.

  He gives me the name of a nearby sex shop—a name that rings a bell—and I hesitantly thank him for the tip. Another errand for Zoey. She’ll need to be discreet.

  “Brand-man, you’ll be thanking me again after you use it. Katrina will be way over the Globes screw-up.”

  I inwardly cringe and tell him I’ll have Zoey handle it.

  Scott’s beady eyes darken. “You know, Brandon, I’m a straight shooter. I don’t like that girl.”

  And she doesn’t seem to like you. “What’s your problem with her?”

  “She’s a little smartass. She thinks she owns you.”

  She does. In more ways than one.

  “On top of that, she’s been very rude to Katrina. If I were you, I’d fire her fat ass. It’s something I told you to do before your accident. You probably don’t remember.”

  I don’t. And I don’t like the way my chain-smoking manager talks about Zoey. His cigarette is down to the butt. At this point, it’s moot to ask him to put it out, and I’ll wait till he lights up another. My mind right now is burning with more questions.

  “Why did you force Zoey to go away while I was in the hospital?”

  “For your own good. You don’t remember shit, but that little twit’s a thorn in your side.”

  “You had no right to do that.”

  “I made a big mistake.”

  “You did.”

  His lips snarl. “You’re not kidding. I should have fired her sorry ass while you were in a coma and saved you the time and effort.”

  My blood is sizzling. It takes all I have to hold it together. “Scott, you may be my manager, but you have no authority to ever act on my behalf. I control all of my decisions at all times. Do you understand that? Don’t ever cross that line again.”

  Scott’s eye twitches. My gaze stays on him. With silent rage, I watch as he tosses his cigarette butt onto the deck and stamps it out with one of his shiny leather loafers.

  “You’ll be sorry you didn’t listen to me. Trust me, you could do a lot better.”

  Zoey is perfect for me. Maybe what I need is a new manager.

  Chapter 33

  Zoey

  Breakfast at Tiffany’s was one of Mama’s favorite movies. She made me watch it with her a few months before she died. I didn’t understand it. I thought the cat was cute and begged for a kitty afterward. I was allergic to cats so we never got one. But many years later, I watched it again with Jeffrey, and it brought tears to my eyes. It made me think of Mama. Unlike me, she was waifish like Audrey Hepburn, and I could hear her singing “Moon River,” her angelic voice better than any movie star’s. While Jeffrey gushed about Audrey’s Givenchy wardrobe, I, the romantic, wished I could find true love like Holly Golightly. And could be ballerina-thin.

  The melody and lyrics of “Moon River” play in my head as I float through the high-end jewelry store in Beverly Hills in a trance-like state. I hear Mama’s voice. Memories of last night flicker in my head. After dressing my boss and hearing him thank me on the Golden Globes, I had high hopes. Now, I know my erotic dream was sending me a message. I’m delusional. I can never have him. Brandon Taylor is my heart breaker, not my dream maker.

  The reality is he’s in love with Katrina or I wouldn’t be here. Believe me, the last thing I want to be doing is shopping for a glitzy birthday present for the stuck-up, evil bitch. The morning was bad enough, having to perfect a statement from Brandon about his undying love for her and assuring all his fans that their relationship was intact. Long live Bratrina! It took me hours. By the time I was done, I hated myself as much as I hated the bullshit words I finally locked down. Unshed tears brimmed in my eyes.

  With a heavy heart, I roam through the main floor of the store. The Rodeo Drive outpost is not exactly the Fifth Avenue Tiffany’s featured in the movie, but still it’s Tiffany’s. Dazzling diamond jewelry fills the display cases. Happy couples in love and wealthy matrons surround me. I don’t really belong here.

  “Can I help you?” asks an impeccably groomed, Audrey-thin sales associate. She tells me her name is Beatrice.

  “Um…uh…yes,” I stammer. “My boyfriend’s looking for something special to give me for my birthday. He wants it to be right.” I have no clue why I’ve launched into this fantasy. Maybe I’m so mental I need to see a shrink.

  The saleswoman beams. “You’ve come to the right place. Your boyfriend must be someone really special.”

  “Y-yes,” I stutter. She has no idea.

  “I suggest this diamond necklace. It’s one of our signature pieces. Classic Elsa Peretti.” She takes out a necklace from the display case and lays it on a black velvet pad on the counter. Under the overhead halogen lights, the bling blinds me.

  “It’s platinum and the diamonds are all D-colored stones…VVS1 quality.”

  Having no idea what all that code language means, I admire the stunning necklace with its abstract pavé diamond heart pendant. So sleek. So elegant. So Katrina.

  “Yes. This is perfect,” I splutter. Too perfect! “My boyfriend has an account here and told me to put it on his credit card. I hand her the “dummy” credit card Brandon gave me. To protect his identity, he has many with false names.

  I stare at the exquisite necklace while Beatrice swipes Brandon’s card. It’ll look beautiful around Katrina’s long, slender neck. I’m sure he’ll give it to her at their romantic dinner tonight. The reservation at the Polo Lounge is all set. I almost didn’t make it, but I was driven by my unquenchable desire to please him.

  The saleswoman’s breathy voice brings me back to the moment. “Wonderful. The charge went through.” Handing me the receipt, she smiles brightly. I eye it and gasp silently. Twenty-five thousand dollars. A bolt of jealousy tears through me. Score one for Katrina.

  “Is
your boyfriend coming by to pick it up or does he want it sent?”

  “Actually, he’s out of town right now and wants me to take it with me.”

  “Would you like it gift-wrapped?”

  “Yes,” I mutter, still drowning in jealousy. “He’d like that.”

  “Wonderful. I’ll call someone.” Moments later another Tiffany’s staffer comes by to take the necklace to gift-wrapping.

  “Thank you,” I mumble as he skirts off.

  Beatrice clears her throat. “In the meantime, can I show you some engagement rings? With that extravagant gift, I’m sure he’s going to pop the question sometime soon. Perhaps Valentine’s Day?”

  Valentine’s Day is just a few weeks away. The only question that pops inside my mind is—what will Brandon get Katrina for the occasion? I’m sure I’ll be back here.

  “So may I?” asks Beatrice, her voice pitchy.

  “Sure,” I say with hesitation. My stomach knots. Why am I playing this cruel game with myself?

  Beaming, she leads me to the engagement ring section. I immediately spot Katrina’s ring. It’s hard to miss. The sparkling elliptical-shaped diamond outshines and outsizes the others by miles.

  “How much is the ring in the front row center?”

  Beatrice’s smile widens. “Just a little over a million dollars. It’s a flawless ten-carat D-colored marquise.”

  GAH! A million dollars? He spent that much on her? I feign composure.

  “Would you like to try it on?”

  Just the thought of this mega-expensive ring on my finger gives me butterflies. I shake my head. “It’s lovely but not my style.”

  I sidestep to the next display case. Beatrice tracks with me.

  Scanning it, my eyes take in the various beautifully displayed rings. And then I see it. A magnificent rectangular amethyst flanked by two glittering triangular diamonds. The stone is the color of Brandon’s eyes. My favorite color. It’s calling my name.

  “May I please see the ring with the amethyst?”

  “Of course.” With a somewhat haughty attitude, Beatrice sizes me up. “I’m not sure if it’ll fit your finger. It’s a sample that’s made for a very slender hand.”