The Cinderella Rules

by Donna Kauffman

  The

  Cinderella

  Rules

  Donna Kauffman

  Bantam Books

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Dedication

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  About the Author

  Other Books by Donna Kauffman

  Excerpt from the forthcoming title Dear Prince Charming

  Copyright

  This is dedicated

  to my own fairy godmothers . . .

  Liz, Karen, and Nita.

  Cinderella Rule #1

  While life occasionally makes it appear otherwise, no one has control over your life . . . but you. Make decisions with care, because in the end, you have only yourself to blame for the outcome.

  —MERCEDES BROWNING, COFOUNDER GLASS SLIPPER, INC.

  Chapter 1

  Do not tell me you had Tugger stop me in the middle of playing midwife to a first-time mother because you’re stuck somewhere and need me to bail you out. Again.”

  Darby Landon didn’t wait for a response, but tucked the cell phone under one arm so she could pull off her bicep-length rubber gloves, glaring at Tugger Jack, her ranch manager and all-around right hand. “I’ll deal with you later,” she told him as she squeezed by.

  He shrugged and quickly ducked into the horse stall to take over where she’d left off. “Said it was a matter of life and death,” she heard him mutter as the stall door clicked shut. “Don’t pay me enough to listen to a woman cry.”

  “I don’t pay me enough to have to put up with any of this,” Darby grumbled. She wiped the phone off on the tail of her overalls and shifted it back to her ear, as her baby sister continued her latest version of Rescue Me. Baby being the key word. Despite the fact that Pepper had recently turned twenty-three.

  Darby stalked out of the barn and across the back stretch of grass to the farmhouse situated on the rise about twenty yards away. Of course, anyone who was old enough to vote and still went by her childhood nickname had serious issues anyway. Not that her only sister did anything as important as vote, unless it was a People magazine poll on the world’s sexiest bachelor.

  Darby knocked her boots against the frame as her sister continued to whine in her ear, then pushed through the screen door to the back porch and went straight to the fridge she kept in the outside corner. That way she didn’t have to track barn crud into the house more often than she managed to anyway. To be fair, of course, if she’d stayed back East, she’d likely be a thirty-year-old, politically conscious, Town & Country subscribing BiBi or Dinky herself by now.

  Okay, sure, technically speaking, Darby was a nickname, too. But the alternative had been so heinous—Darmilla Beatrice? Who did that to their own kid?—that certainly no one, save her father, the man who’d dredged up that horrific tidbit of Landon family ancestry, could blame her for sticking with her maternal grandfather’s alternative.

  And, as nicknames went, at least Darby sounded like a real name. As opposed to a condiment. Or a lap dancer.

  She popped the top on a can of soda and took a long gulp, then rolled it across her sweaty forehead, ignoring the resulting smear of grime, and used her sleeve to wipe off the wet left from the can. “You can’t keep doing stuff like this, Pepper,” she said, finally interrupting the steady chatter she’d let flow in one ear and out the other.

  “But I didn’t do anything. I can’t help it if I’m needed elsewhere. It’s not like I’m asking you to come down here. I just need one teensy little favor. I’m sure Daddy won’t mind, as long as one of us shows up.”

  Striving for a calm she definitely didn’t feel, Darby spoke slowly, through clenched teeth. “When Dad hears you’re not keeping your word—again—he’s going to have a cat. And a cow.” She broke off, swearing under her breath when she heard her sister’s first little sniffle. “You know, he’s this close to cutting you off permanently, and I don’t blame him. After the last stunt you pulled at the regatta in Monaco, he—”

  “I know,” Pepper wailed. “But it wasn’t my fault the ropes got all tangled. I had no idea they were important. You gotta help me out, DarDar.”

  “And half the reason you didn’t worry about literally running a million-dollar sailboat aground in a coral reef is because you knew Dad or I would bail you out. Well, he finally wised up. Maybe it’s time I did, too.”

  “But—”

  “And if you value your trust fund, you’ll never—ever—call me DarDar again. It makes me feel like an extra on Star Wars.”

  There was dead silence on the other end of the long-distance call, then a snuffle, a little hiccup. And, as always, Darby felt the burden of responsibility begin to creep in. Dammit. “You’ve got plenty of time to hightail it back home,” she said firmly. She wouldn’t cave. Not this time. “I’m sure there’s an airport within spitting distance of wherever you are.” Pepper wasn’t much for roughing it.

  “But, Dar . . . there’s something else. Or should I say someone.”

  “Isn’t there always?”

  “But it’s different with Paolo, Dar, I swear—”

  “Paolo?” Darby squeezed the bridge of her nose as the throbbing in her forehead increased. “Where the hell are you calling me from, anyway?”

  In a tiny voice, her sister said, “Brazil.”

  “BRAZIL?” she shouted. No amount of nose-pinching was going to stave off this latest Pepper-induced migraine. Pinching her sister’s head off at the neck, maybe. “You said you were out of town, not off the damn continent.”

  “Darby, you should see this place Paolo brought me to,” she gushed, switching effortlessly from tears to excitement and conveniently ignoring her sister’s tirade. A patented Pepper Landon trademark. “It’s huge, done totally in white marble, with fountains, an indoor pool—”

  “I’m not big on hotels. You’re the five-star princess. I had enough room service to last me a lifetime before I hit first grade.” Even when they’d been at home, it had still felt like room service.

  “It’s not a hotel. It’s his house,” Pepper bubbled.

  Bubbles. Now there was a missed nickname opportunity, Darby thought, trying and failing to summon the patience that talking to Pepper required. “I really don’t have time for—”

  “He’s a world famous soccer star.” Pepper lowered her voice. “Speaking of which, my God, Dar, you should see the man’s legs. Serious flex action, and hamstrings that could probably crack coconuts. And speaking of nuts, he’s amazingly well—”

  “I get the picture,” Darby broke in, trying like hell not to visualize a Brazilian guy with brown stringy coconut balls hanging between his legs. Her sister’s love affairs were always of legendary propor-tions . . . as were the men she had them with. Of course, they usually lasted about as long as the standard hotel-sized bottle of shampoo. “And we both know you’ll be back home, heartbroken and depressed, in a matter of weeks. So why not save yourself the trauma and fly home now. That way you can fulfill your promise, and if this big deal goes well—and we both know this business partner of Dad’s doesn’t stand a chance with you playing stand-in escort—you mi
ght even get access to your trust fund again. Sometime before the next Ice Age, even.”

  “You can afford to joke,” Pepper said petulantly. “You don’t care about anything but that stupid ranch of Grandpa’s.”

  “It’s my ranch now. And you’re right. I don’t care about jet-setting hot spots, Dad’s money, or working my way through every international power-broker playboy in the Northern Hemisphere.”

  “I’m in the Southern Hemisphere,” Pepper interjected grudgingly. “And Paolo’s not a playboy, he’s a professional athlete.”

  “There’s a distinction,” Darby said dryly.

  Pepper huffed. “You’re being unfair. I wouldn’t ask if it weren’t important. I do everything for Daddy, and we both know how impossible he is. When was the last time you—”

  “June fifteenth. Nineteen-ninety-nine. I showed up for your graduation. I’m due at least another decade or so before I have to descend into the snake pit of Washington power movers and shakers again.”

  “For Christ’s sake, you make it sound like the Animal Kingdom or something.”

  “Exactly. Watching the food chain in action is a perfect analogy. The powerful feasting on the weak.” Darby sighed as the silence spun out. “Listen, you know I’ve always wanted what was best for you. And I know it’s partly my fault for not pushing you to deal with things—”

  “And I’ve told you a million times that you don’t have to play mommy to me anymore.”

  Well, then, grow up, Darby wanted to tell her. And it didn’t matter how often Pepper told her she didn’t need a mother figure. She did. Hell, they both probably did. Their real mother had died when Darby was eight and Pepper was barely out of the crib. Of course Darby felt responsible for her baby sister. It didn’t help matters any that at the age of eleven, Darby had basically run away from home—or away from their father, to be exact. A man who measured a person’s value by their net worth. In the case of his two daughters, that translated to parlaying the family name into brokering a decent merger—what other folks called marriage—to another, equally powerful family name.

  On that scale, they’d both been dismal failures. Darby could care less, but Pepper had to deal with that reality—and him—on a daily basis.

  “I know Dad isn’t the easiest man to live with,” Darby began, ignoring Pepper’s snort. “But you’ve managed to do what I never could have done. I wouldn’t last two minutes in that world. You’ve found a way to thrive in it.”

  Another little sniff. “I do like the way I live. And the way I see it, Dad shouldn’t hold this kind of thing against me. Part of the reason I do these things is because of the way he raised me. I’m merely a product of my environment,” she announced with a pitiful sigh.

  Darby laughed. It was that or rap the phone repeatedly against the wall. Or her forehead. “Yes, well, you might actually have a point. But we both know the best thing I can do to help you is to stop bailing you out. Besides, it’s the end of foaling season. I can’t just waltz two thousand miles away and play stand-in for you. I’ve got horses to feed, stalls to muck—”

  “And all three of Tugger’s grandsons coming to Montana for the whole summer to help you out.”

  “Still,” Darby said flatly, stalwart to the very end, “I don’t have the polish, much less the stomach, to pull off the whole Washington hostess thing. I ride horses. You’re the one who rides senators.”

  “Oh, har, har,” Pepper shot back, not remotely offended. “And Morton was a delegate to the House of Representatives, not a senator.”

  “Which is exactly my point. I wouldn’t know a delegate from a horse’s ass.”

  “Actually, they’re very similar,” Pepper said with a dry laugh. “Or in the case of Morton, an elephant’s ass. He’s a Republican,” Pepper clarified when Darby didn’t laugh. “Elephant and donkey?”

  “Yeah, I get it, a real party animal.” Darby drew dirty circles on the table with the sweat from her soda can, wishing like hell she could just be mad at Pepper and not love her and worry about her all at the same time. “You’re the one who needs to get it. Even if I was willing—which I’m not—you really don’t want to be counting on me to keep this guy happy until Dad shows up. I’m good with animals, not people.”

  “But I’m not relying solely on you. I mean, not entirely. I have help all lined up, in fact.” She said that last part brightly. Too brightly.

  Darby propped open the screen door with her boot and stared unseeingly at the Big Belt Mountains that pitched up just beyond the boundaries of her land, an ominous feeling gathering in the pit of her stomach. “Meaning what, exactly? What have you done now?”

  “Well . . .”

  “Penelope Pernell Landon—”

  “I’ll never call you DarDar again, I swear.”

  Darby didn’t smile. “And I’ll use the hated full name again and again until you tell me what you’ve gotten me into now.”

  There was a pause, then a slight clearing of throat, then, in a perky voice that would put even Reese Witherspoon to shame, she asked, “Did you see that feature article in People magazine? About that company that does makeovers? And I don’t mean just beauty makeovers, but, like, entire life makeovers. Glass Slipper, Incorporated?”

  “Tell me I am not hearing what I think I’m hearing. I like movies as much as the next guy, probably more, given the social life—or lack of one—in Big Bend, Montana. But I don’t want to read about the people who act in them. You’re the one who cares who Ben Affleck is screwing, not me.”

  “I know. You only care who your horses are screwing. It’s sad, Darby.” She sighed, deeply disappointed. “I guess I should be happy you know who Ben Affleck is.”

  “Satellite dishes are a wonderful thing.”

  “Well, you should keep up more. Ben and I might make an excellent match. We both come from the East Coast, we both believe in having a good time.” She laughed. “And we both have a deep and abiding interest in his money.”

  “Then phone Ben. Because I swear to God, Pepper, if you’ve—”

  “Now don’t get your chaps in a knot,” she said, dropping the perky persona. “Just hear me out. Besides, it certainly wouldn’t hurt you any to do this. I’m actually doing you a favor when you think about it. In return for the one you’re doing for me,” she added hastily when Darby growled. “Think of it as a vacation. And a chance to improve your marriage options.”

  “My what? Did you just say improve my marriage options? I’m not shopping for a goddamn husband.”

  “I know you don’t like to talk about this, but the big three-oh has arrived, Dar. And with language like that, it’s no wonder they’re not exactly beating down your door. Or stall, as the case may be.”

  “Very funny,” Darby said darkly. “This is not about me. This is your harebrained idea. Your problem. And I refuse to be the solution, but thanks for calling. Please let me know when you’ve found the mind you obviously lost somewhere in the Brazilian jungle.”

  “Wait! Don’t hang up on me, Dar, please?” Pepper resorted to her little-girl wheedling voice, which went a lot further with men—any age, any tax bracket, didn’t matter—than it did with Darby. But it was effective enough to keep her from clicking the off button. “You know I wouldn’t ask if this wasn’t absolutely my last possible chance at happiness.”

  Darby snorted.

  “Okay, okay. I know I’ve been a bit fickle with men.” She sighed, deeply and with the kind of palpable emotion that could have made her a star on Broadway. “But he could be the one.”

  “Pressing the off button.”

  “No! Okay, okay, no more bullshit, I promise.” She blew out a sigh and finally gave up all the finagling and pretense. “Bottom-lining it, I have to be in two places at the same time, on opposite continents. We both know I can’t do that.”

  “We both know you have plenty of time to fly home, handle this hostess job you promised Dad, and fly back to Paolo the Magnificently Coco-Nutted Soccer Boy.”

  Pepper
snickered before she could stop herself, but quickly rebounded. “You don’t understand. Paolo has a big match this weekend. He has to have me there.” A smug little smile came into her voice. “He says I’m his good-luck charm. He’s the goalkeeper and he hasn’t been scored on once since we’ve been together.”

  “I assume you only mean by other soccer players.”

  “Darby.” She sighed, then in a knowing tone, added, “But honest to God, Dar, he is an animal in bed. I mean, the way he can make me scream when he—”

  “Way too much information here,” Darby cautioned. Not that she was a prude. Anyone who’d put stallions to stud as part of her daily routine couldn’t afford to be at all squeamish when it came to sexual anything. But this was her baby sister. And, okay, maybe a teeny tiny part of her was a teeny tiny bit jealous. Not of Paolo. She went more for the tall, blond and earnest, if not particularly bright type. They were more appreciative and less demanding that way. But the screaming? Well . . . it had been a while.

  “It’s only a week,” Pepper cajoled. “And you get a spa vacation.”

  “Spa vacation. You mean, makeover hell. I’ve been out here almost twenty years. It’s going to take a lot more than a new hairdo and pair of heels to make me believable as a Washington socialite. This guy I’m supposed to drag all over town and impress for Dad will take one look at me and be on the first plane back to his homeland.”

  “Which is precisely why Glass Slipper is perfect. That’s exactly what they do. They can help get a person past whatever obstacles are in her way to getting what she wants. Whether it’s a new job, a new location, a new man, a new life—they’ll help give you the tools you need to succeed.”

  “I’m already a success,” Darby stated, but she knew she was wavering. Not because she had even the remotest interest in being pampered, plucked, and waxed. She shuddered down to her DNA at the mere thought. One perk of working on a ranch was that shaving was optional. Horses didn’t care. And neither did Tugger. But Pepper actually sounded happy, excited, when for too long she’d sounded bored and restless.