Claiming Cinderella: A Dirty Billionaire Fairy Tale

by Amy Brent

  “Ditzy types,” he said, shrugging. “Brainless sorts that can't hold a conversation. You seem like you're above that sort of thing. Like you know your stuff.”

  “I definitely do, Mr. Masterson.”

  “Call me Hal.”

  He reached out and took my hands in his. His palms were rough, but his grip was gentle, yet strong. The sort of hands that could hold a girl all night long. I swallowed a lump in my throat.

  “Just one drink?” he asked.

  “I really can't,” I said. This meeting was starting to cross the line from business into something personal, and I didn't want to get personal with Hal Masterson. He was an attractive man, sure, and he was very flattering. But even if I wanted to, this would be a bad time for me to get involved with a man. My last relationship had ended in a whirlwind of fighting, infidelity, and crushed feelings. I still remembered the day I stuffed my ex-boyfriend's clothes and everything else he owned into garbage bags and tossed it out of the apartment window. When he tried to come inside to explain, ready to feed me lies about how the girl he'd cheated with “didn't mean anything,” I'd refused to let him inside. The police had eventually had to come and settle things. Since then, I'd avoided any kind of dating life, instead throwing myself into my work. Sometimes I didn't want to admit it, but my work was all I had anymore. Which is why I'd been so upset when Jim thrust this assignment onto me.

  Hal sighed. He gave my hands a gentle squeeze. “All right,” he said. “If you can't. But I want you to know that you're breaking my poor heart.”

  I snorted and shook my head. He was trying to play the wounded puppy routine, and I wasn't having any of it. Though the disappointment in his eyes was genuine.

  “Maybe another time,” I said.

  I finished gathering my things and headed for the lobby. It wasn't until I got there that I saw the blizzard outside had picked up to blinding levels. The snow was piling up so fast that the doors to the hotel were blocked.

  A member of the hotel staff stood near the doors. He spread his hands when I approached and said, “I'm sorry, ma'am, but the city has declared a state of emergency. The roads are closed. You're going to have to return to your room. The hotel will give you a discount off your bill for being stuck here an extra night, but there's nothing we can do.”

  I stared outside, trying to figure out what to do. “I don't even have a room here,” I said. “I was just here for a meeting.”

  “Oh, I'm so sorry,” the man said. “I wish there was something I could do. I'm afraid we're completely booked up.”

  “Great.” I huffed and turned away. Not only was I stuck here, but it seemed like I might end up trapped overnight with no place to sleep.

  I found Hal in the lobby, checking on the weather. He saw me and hurried over. “Jane, hey.” He touched my arm, his touch gentle against my soft skin. “I just heard they closed the roads. Are you going to be okay?”

  “Well, I'm stuck here,” I said, sighing. “I don't know what I'm going to do.”

  “I'm sure I can help out,” he said. “I'll pay for your room. It's my fault you got stuck here, really, since I asked you to meet here for the interview.”

  “The hotel is all booked,” I said.

  “Ahh.” He scratched the back of his head. “Well, we'll figure something out. Hey, how about that drink? Looks like now you could really use it.”

  I thought about it for a second, but it seemed like I wasn't going anywhere. “Yeah,” I said. “I suppose so.”

  We headed to the hotel bar. It was a fancy place, with gold trim on all the fixtures and silk tablecloths on every table. We got a table near the back and Hal ordered us a couple of drinks, billed to his room.

  When the drinks arrived he raised his glass, looking me up and down. “To...new friends.”

  “To new friends,” I agreed, raising my glass. I took a sip and let the smooth burn soothe my worries. I glanced at Hal out of the corner of my eye. He was still eyeing me in a way that made me think he had something more than friendship in mind.

  “So, Jane,” he said, “what does a girl like you do when you're not writing about the exciting world of national finance?”

  I had to stop and think about the question for a moment. “Not much, actually,” I said. “I haven't had much of a social life for a while now.”

  “Too busy with work?”

  “Maybe.” I shrugged. I didn't want to admit the truth, that I was too afraid to put myself back out there. The mistakes of my past relationship kept playing in my mind. It made it hard to socialize. It didn't help that all of my friends were single and they always wanted to go out to bars and clubs, hoping to pick up guys. I barely spent time with them these days because I didn't want to be part of that scene anymore.

  “You need to get out more,” Hal said. “A woman as bold and strong as you could go out there and rock someone's world. I know you could rock mine.”

  I glanced at him over the rim of my glass. He had this cute little smile, full of confidence, but in a quiet sort of way. “You think I'm bold?” I asked.

  “You certainly didn't pull your punches in the interview.” He smirked, then took another sip of his drink. “It's not often I meet a woman who knows how to carry herself so well. You look like someone who takes whatever assets you have and makes the very best use of them.”

  He looked down at my “assets” and my face heated up. I'd worn a low-cut shirt to show off my generous cleavage. Being a big girl meant I had some very generous blessings in that department, and I wasn't afraid to use that to my advantage. When men were attracted to me, it made it easier to get them to talk during an interview.

  “You're a charmer,” I said. “But I'm afraid you're barking up the wrong tree, Hal Masterson.”

  “Why's that?” he asked, grinning as if it were a challenge. “You afraid I can't handle you?”

  “You think you can?”

  “Well,” he eyed me from head to toe, and he looked like he liked what he saw, “you're definitely a whole lot of woman. I like that. Real women are supposed to have curves. The kind a man can hold onto all night long.”

  I lowered my eyes and swallowed hard. The images Hal was bringing to mind were certainly compelling. And he was certainly a nice-looking, healthy man. But I couldn't let myself consider such things. “I'm not looking to get involved with anyone right now.”

  He sighed. A pout formed on his cute mouth. “That is a real shame, Jane. A real shame.”

  We had a few more drinks. Hal eased off on the flirting a bit, but just a bit. I could tell that I had his attention, and under different circumstances, I would have enjoyed that. But aside from my personal baggage, there was the simple fact that he was the subject of a story, someone I had interviewed and planned to write frankly about. I made it a point never to get too close to the people I wrote about. His feelings could end up being hurt, since the article I had in mind was none too flattering. It wouldn't do to get too close to him, only to have it all crash and burn because of my writing.

  After we chatted for a while and had dinner, it was starting to get late. I still didn't know where I was going to be spending the night. When we left the bar, Hal stopped in the hall and shoved his hands in his pockets. “So, Jane,” he said. “You need a place to stay tonight, right?”

  I looked across the lobby. The snow had piled up even higher. There was no way of getting home tonight. I supposed that I could try walking to another hotel, but trudging through knee-deep snow at this time of night didn't seem like a very smart idea.

  “Listen,” he said. “You can stay in my room.” When I opened my mouth to protest, he held up a hand. “No funny business. I mean, I'd be all over you if you were willing. You're one fine woman, and I'd consider myself lucky to spend the night with you. But what you need is a place to sleep, and I've got a room. You can have the bed. I'll have the hotel staff send up a rollaway mattress for me to sleep on.”

  “You don't have to do that, Hal.”

  “Yes,�
� he said, “I do. What kind of guy would I be if I left a lady out in the cold?”

  His smile was genuine. He'd turned off the flirtation and the charm, and he was simply offering me a place to stay for the night. I couldn't help but smile.

  “All right, Mr. Masterson,” I said. “You've got yourself a deal.”

  We went up to the room. Hal let me use the shower first, while he spoke to the hotel staff about getting a rollaway mattress and some extra pillows, towels, and bathrobes. I found all the amenities I needed: little travel-size containers of shampoo, conditioner, toothpaste, and so on. I decided to treat the night like a little vacation. It was a hell of a nice hotel, and the room had a king size bed, a mini-bar, and a huge flat-screen TV.

  Once I was cleaned up, I checked the TV for news about the storm, while Hal took his turn in the shower. It looked like everything would be cleared up by morning, which was good. I didn't want to be stuck here any longer than I had to, no matter how nice it was.

  “Thanks again, Hal,” I said as I settled in for the night. “I really appreciate this.”

  “No problem at all,” he said. “It's the least I can do for a lady, especially one as sweet and lovely as yourself.”

  I turned off the light and lay in the bed, staring at the ceiling in the darkness. I half-expected Hal to come over and try to put the moves on me, but he didn't. He was a perfect gentleman. He deserved a lot more credit than I'd given him, it seemed.

  Hal filled my dreams that night. In my dreams, he wasn't a gentleman at all. He was rough and assertive, the way I liked it, taking me to his bed and giving me what I needed. My body grew warm and I writhed beneath the sheets, feeling his dream kisses as if they were real. In that place halfway between sleep and wakefulness, I heard myself moan, and a distant part of me wondered if Hal had heard. A deeper part of me wanted him to.

  I woke in a sweat in the early hours before dawn, filled with need. Hal lay sleeping on the rollaway mattress across the room. I rose from the bed and walked over to him, looking down at him. The sheets hung halfway off of him. He wore only a pair of silk pajama bottoms. His bare chest was covered in hard muscles, and with his shirt off I saw that his tattoos extended across his torso as well.

  I reached out and touched them, sliding my fingers across the tribal designs. He stirred softly, letting out a soft moan in his sleep. My fingers kept moving, tracing across his muscles, feeling the warmth of his skin. I knew that this was a bad idea. We had a working relationship, and I wasn't in a place in my life to be ready for romance. But in that moment, I didn't care.

  I pulled down the sheets and slipped my hand into his pajama pants. He gasped in his sleep, but he didn't stay asleep for long. “Jane?” he whispered as he woke to my tender touches.

  “Shh, baby,” I whispered back, climbing on top of him. “I know you wanted this.”

  “God yes,” he said. “But...are you sure?”

  I stroked him to show him just how sure I was. He reached up and touched me, his hands sliding over my curves. He slipped his hands under my shirt, then pulled it off. “So soft,” he whispered, leaning up to bury his face between my breasts. “Soft and warm, just like a woman should be.”

  “You want to feel the way a real woman feels?” I asked.

  “Oh yes.”

  I could tell just how much he wanted it, and I was ready to give it to him. I slid him inside of me and he gasped, grabbing my ample hips. He gently guided my movements as I rode him, taking my time, enjoying every moment of it. We melded into one another, his firm hands gripping my buttocks, his lips seeking my neck, my breasts. The rollaway mattress squeaked beneath us, shifting with our movements as they became more frantic and energetic. Then he grabbed my hips tight and gasped as climax overcame him

  We moved to the bed for a second round, then fell asleep in each other's arms. I drifted off to sleep, thinking that this little “vacation” was turning out pretty damn good after all.

  * * *

  In the morning I was up and getting dressed before Hal had even woken. When he woke up, he sat up in the bed and looked me over. A blissful grin was on his lips, as he was no doubt reliving our experiences from the night before. “Good morning, beautiful,” he said.

  I didn't look at him. “Good morning.”

  “In a rush to head out?” he asked, the grin fading from his lips. He got up and went over to the window, peeking out through the curtains to look at the street below. “Looks like they've plowed. You won't have to worry about being stuck here. But I'd like it if you'd stay for breakfast.”

  “I really can't,” I said.

  He stepped over to me and put his arms around me, then kissed my shoulder. “Why not?”

  “Because this was a mistake.”

  He pulled away, a hurt look on his face. “What? Why?”

  “Because,” I said. I huffed and searched for my jacket. “Because of who you are. Because I'm not in a good place right now. I...”

  I looked up at him. My heart ached at the pain in his eyes. I reached up and caressed his cheek. “It was nice, Hal. It really was. But we have different lives, from different worlds.”

  “That doesn't mean...”

  “Yes, it does,” I said. “I'm sorry, Hal.”

  I gathered my things and hurried out the door before he could try to change my mind. I didn't want to regret what we'd done. It had been a wonderful experience. But now, in the light of day, I had to remember all of the reasons that it had been a bad idea. I had a life to get back to, and it was a life that this billionaire football player had no place in.

  I went back home, my car trudging through the snowy roads amidst all the backed-up traffic. Plows passed by me here and there, and the main roads were mostly clear, but a lot of local roads were still covered in a few inches of slush. When I finally got over the bridge and back home, my back was sore from being in the car for so long. Though the workout I'd gotten the night before might have been a contributing factor.

  I spent the next few days working from home, typing up both the Jonas GMS story and the separate story on Hal Masterson. I obviously left out any details of what had happened between Hal and I, focusing purely on the financial aspects. I was none too flattering. My story painted Hal as a lucky man who'd stumbled into his fortune, making his millions off the hard-working backs of people like Brett Jonas. I gave him credit where credit was due: his investments had surely helped the Jonas Corporation to grow, and without the money they would never have achieved the success that they had. But Brett Jonas and her family had done the hard work, and Hal had simply gotten rich off of it.

  Which was not to mention how overpaid Hal was as an NFL quarterback. I ripped right into the economics of sports player salaries and how ridiculous it was that fans were charged ridiculous prices for tickets, food, and merchandise at the games, while the people who worked at the snack bars were paid little more than minimum wage, and the rest went to the players. It was a scathing review of the football industry specifically, and the sports business as a whole

  I sincerely hoped that Hal would never read it.

  I emailed the final drafts to Jim down at the office so he could look them over. A few days later, when I was back at the office, he called me in to go over the stories.

  “Well,” Jim said, looking over the pages I'd sent him, “I'll say this, you sure didn't pull your punches.”

  “I'm a reporter,” I said, standing in front of his desk with my arms crossed. “It's my job to tell it like it is.”

  “You're right,” he said. “And I like what you did here. I've got a few edits—you were a bit harsher than you needed to be, and I want to give these a more neutral tone—but all in all you've done good work. I'd like you to expand on this. Do some more research into the goings-on in the sports world. Research the economics of it. Ticket prices, those crazy high markups on beer and hot dogs, that sort of thing.”

  “Jim...”

  “Come on, Jane,” he said. “This is good stuff. I want to see
more of it.”

  I had no interest in having any more involvement in the sports world, but it seemed like I was stuck with it. At least I'd found an angle that I could embrace, attacking the economic disparity between the overpaid players and their underpaid concession stand workers. People always talked about how the workers at places like Walmart and McDonald's were underpaid, many of them barely able to live off their minimum wage salaries. I could draw on that area, lay out some parallels, and write some compelling pieces on the subject.

  I went back to my office to see what else I could come up with. While I was sitting there, my phone rang. It was Hal. Again. He'd called more than a dozen times in the last few days, but I'd ignored every call. I couldn't deal with getting involved in another relationship right now. But I also knew I didn't have it in me to hear the heartache in his voice when I shot him down. The easiest solution, even if it was the cowardly solution, was to ignore his calls until he moved on. I was sure that soon enough, he'd find some nice young honey among his fans, and he'd forget all about me.

  A few weeks later, our lead sports writer, Frank Gafferty, stuck his head into my office and said, “I think you broke Hal Masterson.”

  I turned towards him, my face going pale. Did he know what happened between Hal and I? How had he found out?

  “He blew his last three games,” Frank said, stepping into my office. “Reports are he's been distracted. Everyone's saying it's because of that article you wrote.”

  I felt a wave of relief wash over me. If it was about the article, then no one would know that I'd slept with Hal. “He's that broken up over my article?”

  “That's what they're saying.” Frank shrugged. “Word from the locker rooms is he talks about you all the time. Can't seem to get you off his mind. It's screwed up his concentration. People are screaming for your head.”

  “My head?”

  “They blame you for the team losing,” Frank said. “You know how sports fans can get. If Hal said his Fruit of the Looms were bad luck, his fans would be forming a mob to torch the underwear factory. I've checked some of the bigger online forums. They're smearing your name, saying you're trying to destroy football.”