Charming: A Cinderella Billionaire Story

by Sophie Brooks

  “The project you are working on is for Davenport. What difference does it make?”

  If she only knew. “Is there any other team I could be on?”

  “There are only seven of us in the firm, Autumn, plus a few freelancers. Most everyone ends up working with every client at some point or another. I thought you’d enjoy working on the Davenport videos. Ford was the one who recommended you for the job, after all.”

  “Ford works at Davenport?” I asked, my normally low voice reaching a high note I hadn’t hit in years.

  “Of course,” Heidi said, frowning at me. “Didn’t you know that?”

  Crap. No, I certainly hadn’t known that. But I did now. And suddenly, taking this job seemed like a terrible mistake.

  20

  Autumn

  If I’d felt nervous entering Montgomery Multimedia yesterday, it was nothing compared to how I felt entering the downtown headquarters of Davenport Industries today. The lobby was almost as opulent as the one at the Plaza hotel. Silver surfaces, leather chairs, and glittering glass chandeliers surrounded me. Keeping my head down, I made my way to the reception desk where two young women and a man smiled at my approach.

  Mumbling, I said my name and that I was supposed to meet with someone named Lawrence. Then I stepped aside and waited while one of the receptionists made a call.

  I couldn’t help but think of Ford, wondering if he was here in this building, wondering if I’d see him today. Wondering what I’d say to him if I did. After work yesterday, I’d looked up the company online to see if I could find his position here. There’d been a half dozen employees with the last name of Ford, but none with the first name. Four of the people with Ford for a last name had been women, and the two males were in accounting and custodial. Somehow, I didn’t think that either of them was Ford.

  Of course, Ford might not even be his real name. Most of my Sultry Sirens clients didn’t give me their real names, but Heidi had called him that, and Jason, too.

  Our phone call last night hadn’t gone well. He’d been his usual irreverent, funny, flirty self, but I just couldn’t keep up my end of the conversation, which was ironic considering that was my job. When he asked for about the millionth time if I was okay, I said that I’d been a little overwhelmed by my first day, and that I hadn’t been feeling all that well since lunch time. Which was certainly the truth. I think I put on enough of an act to assure him that I wasn’t upset about what we’d done together Friday night, but he’d seemed troubled by the end of the call. I wished I could have told him that the issue wasn’t with him but with the company he worked for, but that was a long, complicated story. And now that I was in the belly of the beast, so to speak, I tried to put it from my mind.

  “Miss Andrews,” a nasal voice called. Turning, I saw a tall, skinny man in his late twenties approaching. He wore a dark brown suit and a crisp cream colored shirt underneath. The overall effect, combined with his blood-orange tie, was not flattering. “I’m Lawrence.”

  “Autumn,” I replied, and we shook hands. I followed him into the elevator, where he swiped a keycard on the control panel.

  “Been here six years,” he said, patting his breast pocket as he put his card away. “Got hired straight out of college.”

  “That’s great,” I said, since he clearly considered this to be an impressive accomplishment. And it was, I supposed, but that didn’t mean I had to fawn all over him as he seemed to expect.

  He gave me some general information about the company, nothing I hadn’t already read online last night. While nodding in the right places, I wondered again about Ford, where he was, and if I’d see him. It was a big building. The odds were against it, but now that I was apprehensive about running into him, that somehow made it seem more likely I would. Murphy’s Law was like that sometimes.

  As I followed Lawrence around the sixth floor, it became more and more clear that he was not happy with playing tour guide. “No offense, you seem nice enough,” he said with a backward glance that contradicted his words, “but do you have any idea how many independent contractors and consultants Davenport Industries employs? Hundreds, at the very least. If we had to give tours to all of their new employees, we’d never get anything done.”

  I nodded, as if in sympathy for the horrible fate that had landed him with me. It was either that or get a couple of steps in front of him, stick out my foot, and trip him. Both seemed like valid reactions at the moment.

  We toured the PR department. Accounting. HR. All of which looked like they could have been part of pretty much any large corporation in American.

  Perhaps sensing that I was unimpressed, Lawrence led us back into the elevator. “Want to see the top floor? The executive level.” Without waiting for me to answer, he flashed what seemed to be a genuine smile. “Only about ten percent of the employees are allowed up there,” he said, swiping his card with pride.

  Once we were up there, it was easy to see why. The reception area was filled with well-dressed men and women rushing past, all wearing business suits that put my clothes, and Lawrence’s too, to shame.

  “C’mon, I’ll show you around,” he said, nodding at a receptionist who looked as if she was about to object as he led me down a hall. “Wait’ll you see the executive conference room,” he said, walking rapidly ahead of me. “It’s the best view of the city, bar none. It’s—oh crap, it’s in use.”

  He turned back to me and put his finger to his lips, even though he’d been practically shouting down the hallway a moment before. “Come see, just be quiet.” He tugged at the sleeve of my blouse and I stumbled forward.

  Another few steps and all I could see was glass and light. People sat around large table bathed in sunshine. There was a glass wall in front of Lawrence and me, one at the far end of the room, and a floor-to-ceiling wall that did indeed show a spectacular view of the city. Squinting, I could see several buildings I recognized though I’d only seen them from the ground level.

  “I guess they called an emergency meeting or something,” Lawrence said, his voice quiet now. “I probably wasn’t asked because I had to show you around.”

  Instead of apologizing, I gave him a sharp look. I had the feeling he’d never been in a meeting inside this magnificent room. He seemed way too junior for that.

  The people in the room, typing on laptops, taking notes on legal pads, all seemed more experienced. More component. And older. All except one.

  My breath caught as I saw a figure in a black suit with his back turned to me. He’d been partially obscured by an easel with a large chart on it. That’s why I hadn’t noticed him before. All I could see was his back. His dark hair. The way his muscled torso and arms filled his dark suit. But I knew.

  “Ford,” I whispered.

  Lawrence turned and followed my gaze. “Wow, consider yourself a lucky girl. Not all interns get to see the CEO on their first day.”

  Ignoring the fact that I wasn’t an intern, and that I didn’t work here, I continued to look into the conference room. It was funny—I’d recognize Ford’s voice anywhere, but I hadn’t realized I’d recognize him by his appearance even with his face turned away. But I did. I think my body’s reactions, a quickening pulse, hardening nipples, and a tingly feeling between my legs alerted me before my brain did.

  Silently, I stepped back in case he turned around. With one more step I could be safely anonymous in the dark hallway behind me. But since he was still facing the table, I was okay for the moment. Then Lawrence’s words hit me. “Ford’s the CEO?” Please, please let me have misheard.

  “You didn’t know that?” He looked at me chidingly. “Man, you really need to learn how to do a keyword search. Of course he’s the CEO. Has been since his father died. And it’s not Ford. To you, he’s Franklin Oliver Randolph Davenport, the Third. That’s if you ever meet him, which I doubt you will.”

  Unbelievable. Ford was the CEO of Davenport Industries. How had I not known that? Except he wasn’t really Ford, he was Franklin. So that was
why he wasn’t in the company directory under Ford. It wasn’t his first name or his last name. It was an acronym for all his names, the middle two of which I couldn’t remember now. But he still looked like a Ford to me. It suited him better than all those fancy names.

  “Come on, let’s go. We can’t go in there while they’re having a meeting.”

  He turned back down the hallway, but I still had my eyes on the back of Ford’s head. He looked so confident standing in front of those people. Those executives. Natural. In charge. He was the youngest one in the room, and it was very clear he was in charge.

  “April, come on.”

  “Autumn,” I whispered absently as Lawrence appeared at my side. Following my gaze, he made a sigh of impatience. “Don’t even think about it. Every second woman who walks into this building throws herself at him, but he’s way, way out of your league. The man’s been on the Ten Most Eligible Bachelors in Southern California list three years running. So if you’re here because of him, just forget about it.”

  But I was here because of him. Because he’d gotten me this job. And because I couldn’t stay away from him. Or maybe it was more like he couldn’t stay away from me. But he would, once he found out. I couldn’t see any other outcome.

  It was with great relief when I finally turned in my visitor’s badge, freed myself from Lawrence’s company, and exited the elegant lobby. It felt like I didn’t even take a full breath of air until I was back in my tiny, beat up old hatchback.

  Only then could I think about what to do. The answer, when it came, was unwelcome, but it had to be done. Grimly, I searched inside my purse until I found my phone. I had a call to make.

  The next evening, I pulled through the gate and parked in front of a large, forbidding building. I’d ditched my Sultry Sirens shift, having called in sick for the first time ever.

  After carefully locking the car, I went through the glass double doors I passed through two or three times a year. As always, I was checked in, reminded of the rules, patted down, and then was led to the back to the visitor area.

  I sat down nervously at a booth until a slender, pale man settled down opposite me. A man who’d been in serving time for the last five years for theft. A man who’d stolen from his employer, Davenport Industries. A man who shared my eyes, had taught me to ride a bicycle, and who knew my favorite ice cream flavor was mint chocolate chip.

  I picked up the phone attached to the wall, and he did the same.

  “Hi, Dad,” I said.

  21

  Ford

  “Good evening, ladies.”

  Autumn and Cara climbed out of their prehistoric car and made their way over to me. I’d only been staking out the front of their apartment for about ten minutes, but I hated it. Waiting was wasted time. I rarely wasted time, but when I did, I preferred to spend it in a more fun fashion that standing around a parking lot.

  Of course, as Autumn neared, my spirits lifted. She was wearing jeans and a pretty, rose-colored, long-sleeved shirt that had a scooped neckline that instantly drew my eye. Her outfit wasn’t fancy, not like the expensive, designer clothes my female friends wore, yet she made her whole ensemble look somehow wholesome and sexy at the same time. Not sure how she did that, but I wasn’t complaining.

  It was her sister who greeted me first, though. “Hey, it’s Ford Model Three,” Cara said, bouncing to a halt in front of me.

  “I think you mean Ford Model T,” I said.

  “Autumn told me how your real name is Something Something Something The Third, so that makes you Ford Model Three.”

  I couldn’t help but laugh. “I guess it does. I come from a long line of men named Something. Good to see you,” I said to Autumn. I wanted to give her a quick kiss, but I wasn’t sure how she’d feel about that in front of Cara. Or at all. Autumn smiled up at me, but the smile didn’t quite meet her eyes. This was not the same woman I’d had writhing underneath me on Friday night. “I was hoping we could talk for a few minutes. I brought beignets.”

  Cara responded with her usual enthusiasm. “Wow, I’ve always wanted to try one of those. Maybe Autumn can make us hot chocolate to go with it?”

  “You do realize it’s sixty degrees out tonight, right?” Autumn’s smile at her sister was slightly more genuine than the one for me had been.

  “Yeah, but it’s still technically winter. So, we’re allowed to have beignets and hot cocoa. Come on up, Ford.”

  I followed Cara into the building, but my mind was on Autumn. Did she regret what we’d done the other night?

  At the time, I thought she’d enjoyed it as much as I had. In my wildest dreams—and I’d spent a lot of time dreaming about what it would be like to get her into bed—I hadn’t expected she’d be that responsive to my touch. She’d come alive in a way that was the opposite of the staged moans for her Sultry Sirens job. It had been amazing, and I wanted her naked and tied to my bed as soon as possible. But now she seemed to be pulling away, and I didn’t have the slightest fucking clue why.

  We’d texted a few times over the weekend. Just fun, flirty stuff. But on Monday, she’d been distant during her phone shift. And last night she hadn’t even worked her shift. I’d had to call the Sultry Sirens headquarters to find out that she’d taken the night off. Something was going on.

  Once the three of us were crowded in their tiny kitchen, Cara got a plate for the beignets and filled me in on play she was writing while Autumn put some water on the stove.

  “At first, it was a modern-day version of Cinderella, a loose retelling, kind of. But then I figured, why not set it back in the day and age of princes and castles but keep modern sensibilities? Like Cinderella—though she’s called Ella in my play—knows that she’s being mistreated by her evil stepmother and stepsisters. She’s trying to make a life for herself, but she doesn’t have any money. And when she meets the prince, he’s under attack, and she grabs a sword and starts fighting at his side. At first, she doesn’t know who he is. Or not. I haven’t finished writing that part yet, but it’s going to be great.”

  “It sounds like it is,” I said honestly.

  “Thank you,” she said. “Oh! And there’s going to be a ball at the end. The home economics students are going to work on the costumes, and I have a sketch of the dress I’m going to wear...”

  When she stopped for air, I got a word in. “So you’re writing, directing, and acting in it?”

  She paused, her first beignet halfway to her mouth. “Just writing and acting. I’m going to be Ella. Mrs. Hagen, the drama teacher, is the director.”

  Autumn came over, setting a bowl of marshmallows on the table. “The cocoa will be ready in a few minutes. I could get you coffee, if you’d prefer,” she said, but I shook my head.

  There was a short pause, and then Cara snapped her fingers. “Autumn, you haven’t given Ford his present.”

  “Present?” I echoed, surprised.

  Autumn’s face flushed. “It’s nothing. I just—over the weekend, I was trying to think of some way to say thank you. For setting up the interview with Heidi.”

  Since Cara was currently stacking marshmallows onto her plate, I raised an eyebrow at Autumn. If she ever needed some help with ideas on that front, I had a bunch of them.

  Autumn’s eyes widened and then she dropped my gaze. “I—it’s not even really finished. Maybe next time—”

  “Yeah, it is. You showed it to me last night.” Cara smiled at her big sister, either oblivious or immune to the glare Autumn was shooting at her. For a moment, it looked like Autumn might beat her sister over the head with the half-empty bag of marshmallows, but instead, she turned and left the kitchen.

  “It’s in her bedroom,” Cara said, and I did my best to look as if I had no knowledge whatsoever of Autumn’s bedroom. Or her bed. Or the way she sounded when she—

  “Here.” Autumn was back, and she handed me a soft object wrapped in white tissue paper before turning to the stove. I waited until she’d brought over three steaming mugs of hot choc
olate before I opened it.

  It was a beautifully knitted scarf. She’d used a bold red yarn with threads of gold running through it. I unfolded it and felt how soft it was on my hands and arms. She’d told me about her knitting, but I never thought the finished product would be like this. I could imagine finding it in an upscale clothing store, but that’s not why I liked it. It was the fact she’d made it for me. She’d obviously spent a lot of time on it. Had she been thinking about me when she made it?

  “It’s beautiful,” I said.

  “It’s dumb, nobody really needs a scarf in California, but I—”

  “It’s beautiful,” I said firmly. “Thank you.” I couldn’t recall anyone ever making something for me. Buying something, yes. But not making something by hand. Even if it was too warm, I’d wear it. Besides, it would look good with my black coat, and it might come in handy with my current plans.

  After that, we focused on the pastries for a while. The beignets were from my favorite patisserie. They were delicious, so warm and light they melted as soon as they hit my tongue. And speaking of things that melted in my mouth… I couldn’t help remembering how Autumn had exploded under my fingers, my tongue. I wished I could grab her and take her off to a hotel and make her explode again.

  “These are delicious, Ford. Thank you,” Autumn said, but her expression was that of a woman who’d just been fed Brussel sprouts, not decadent French pastries.

  That was definitely something I needed to get to the bottom of, but first things first. I was here for a reason. “I was wondering if you were free on Saturday night?”

  “She’s free,” Cara said with enough enthusiasm to make up for her sister’s demeanor. She was so adorable. Growing up, I often wished I’d had an older brother for my father to pin his hopes and dreams on instead of me. But now I was wishing I’d had a kid sister like Cara.