Fractured Fairy Tales: A SaSS Anthology

by Amy Marie

  “You said it yourself—sex sells. You were right. It does. To men. If you want to reach the female demographic, you have to hit ’em where it counts.” He puts his palm over his chest. “Right in the ticker. Women eat that stuff up.”

  Cyn sighs. “He’s right.”

  I shoot her an irritated look. “Et tu, Brute?”

  She shrugs, and I grumble as Victor hands me the pièce de résistance. My pride and joy. The Glass Sliver. KK Midnight Enterprises’ hot ticket and the piece of technology that will catapult us into the top spot of the telecommunications industry.

  The whole damn reason for this commercial.

  Then he hands me a ridiculously huge diamond. One I would be expected to give a potential fiancée. Cyn looks as uncomfortable as I feel as I sink to one knee and present her with the ring, now placed strategically on top of the phone.

  The device that brought us together.

  Aww.

  It’s all I can do not to roll my eyes.

  “And that’s a wrap, everyone!”

  People scatter, with Cyn and me leading the herd. I can’t wait to get out of here. I have plans. Meaning, the minute I’m out of this tux, I plan to escort a certain blonde back to my fuck pad.

  Yeah, I have a fuck pad. Every billionaire has one, and if he says he doesn’t, he’s a lying son of a bitch. It’s cliché as hell, but necessary. I don’t need clingy one-night stands knowing where I live. That’s a recipe for disaster.

  Once I’m in my own suit, I charge through the halls and back to the set. I have one thing on my mind, and with any luck, she’ll be in a cab before two in the morning.

  Then I can return to my penthouse with a clear head.

  Unfortunately, the only people still milling around the set are Victor and a few insignificant stagehands. Crossing the room in three strides, I step between them. “Where’s Cyn?”

  Victor crosses his arms and glares at me. “No, you’re not interrupting at all.”

  Like I care.

  “Where is she?” I repeat.

  “Gone.” He says the word like it’s nothing. Like my whole plan for the night didn’t just go up in flames.

  “What do you mean, ‘gone’?”

  “I mean gone. Ran out like her ass was on fire.”

  “Dammit!” I’m pacing now, my trademark emotionless mask slipping. “Do you know where she went? Where she lives? You must have information on these actresses!”

  “Nope. I don’t know anything. Hell, I was told she was a brunette.” He glances down, tapping a large brown book against his palm. “She did leave this, though.”

  “What is it?”

  “Some kind of sketchbook. A sound guy found it.” He arches an eyebrow. “Not half bad. Good thing, too. The girl’s a shitty actress.”

  I snatch the book out of his hand and flip through it. He’s right. The drawings are good, but I’m too pissed to care. What the hell am I supposed to do with it? It’s not going to help me find her.

  This is exactly why I avoid good girls.

  They get you all hot and bothered and then disappear at midnight like some damn fairy tale.

  Victor laughs, a smug smile curling on his lip. “What do you know? There actually is a girl alive who can resist the great Kellen Knight after all.”

  Chapter 3

  Cyn

  “How could you not reschedule the shoot?” Kota demands, her voice a shriek in my ear that the entire New York City street likely overheard. “You’re, like, the worst manager ever.”

  Assistant, I nearly say. Managers get paid more.

  “What did you expect me to do?” I ask her. “They had the hotel booked for yesterday and couldn’t reschedule. So they proceeded with the shoot.”

  “With who?” she shrieks again. “I was the lead!”

  “Technically, Kellen Knight was the lead,” I mutter, pushing through the door of the very hotel I swore never to return to. A shiver traverses my spine as the memory of yesterday caresses my mind.

  Kellen kissing me.

  Kellen touching me.

  Kellen waltzing me around the ballroom.

  It really was a magical day.

  And totally over now, I tell myself. So focus.

  Right. I lost my sketch pad and want it back. Hopefully, it’s near the dressing area from yesterday.

  “So who shot with him?” Kota presses, reminding me of the phone against my ear. “And how did they find a replacement on such short notice?”

  I pinch my nose on a sigh.

  There’s no point in deflecting from the truth because she’ll find out as soon as the commercial airs. Or whenever Maria’s office contacts her about payment. My details weren’t on record, so she will need to find my credentials somehow.

  Maybe I can talk to her first.

  “Cynda,” Kota snaps.

  I stop walking in the middle of the hotel lobby and glare up at the ceiling. “Me, all right? They made me do it. And it was awful. And you’re welcome.” Because I saved your fucking career, I think sourly.

  Silence.

  Yeah, I didn’t expect her to take that news well.

  With a shake of my head, I start moving again toward the makeshift wardrobe area, which, of course, has been demolished. A bunch of chairs and sofas take up residence in the corner, with no sign of my sketchbook. Awesome.

  “Wait, you’re serious,” Kota says slowly. “Oh my God, you’re really serious!”

  Her laugh follows, causing me to cringe at the cruelty underlying her layers of humor.

  She finds it hilarious because she assumes I did a horrible job. Well, she’s not wrong. Still, her inability to believe in anything I do stings.

  “Wow, and here I was worried,” she continues, giggling. “They’ll be calling me for a reshoot soon, I’m sure.”

  My molars grind together to keep from replying. Maybe she’s right. They’ll look at the feed and realize how horribly I performed and request a reshoot. Then she’ll meet Kellen and become his girlfriend of the day.

  That’s fine.

  I’m so not jealous of that idea at all.

  My stomach isn’t even rolling in reply.

  All lies I need to believe because this little idiotic crush I’ve developed on Prince Charming isn’t healthy for anyone. It was a one-time gig. A shoot. It meant nothing to him, just as it needs to mean nothing to me.

  Who cares if I dreamt of his mouth last night and all the wicked ways he could taunt my body?

  “I’ll give Robert a call to ask for the reschedule details,” Kota adds, not caring at all that I haven’t replied.

  Just hearing her agent’s name makes me shudder. His propensity for unprofessionalism knows no bounds. Case in point, if he knew how to do his job, I wouldn’t have even been at the shoot yesterday. Alas, here we are.

  “ ’Kay. Talk to you later, Cyn,” she says, sounding as cheerful as ever despite my silence. She hangs up without a care in the world, her assumption already made.

  I shake my head and continue my search.

  Not ten minutes later, my phone rings again, and Kota’s name flashes across the screen. I consider ignoring her, but I know she’ll just continue to call if I do. She probably needs me to grab her something, as always.

  “Hello?”

  “Well, it seems you did a decent job, because Robert needs your payment details.” Kota sounds miffed. “I told him to give the casting director mine, of course. It was my job you stole, and I’ll be taking my cut of the profits.”

  “Your cut?” I repeat, gaping at the deep-red runner beneath my feet. “You didn’t even show up.”

  “You wouldn’t have gotten that job without my name, and we both know it. This was just a fluke, and I’ll be taking my share. And don’t think this will ever happen again. You’re not an actress, honey. I’m honestly shocked they even accepted you as a stand-in. The commercial will be horrendous as a result, but it’s their loss. Anyway, I have a list of things I need, so check your email. See you later today
.”

  She hangs up again, not caring at all that today is Sunday and my only day off.

  I scowl at the device, a curse leaving my lips.

  “Ma’am?” the lady at the reception desk calls out to me.

  Right. The reception line. I had entered it to ask about their lost-and-found items.

  Clearing my throat, I approach the slender brunette and force a smile. “Hi. I was part of the shoot yesterday, and I’m looking for something I left behind. A sketchbook. Do you happen to have a place for lost items that someone can check?”

  “Yes, of course. But my guess is the crew would have picked it up during cleanup. Of course, I’ll still look for you.” She leaves me with a kind smile that brightens my day a little.

  Until I remember the phone still clutched in my hand.

  A little growl bubbles in my throat that I force myself to swallow.

  Tomorrow, I’ll head over to Maria’s office to sort out the payment details. My stepsister’s idea of a percentage will be eighty percent or higher, rendering all my hard work yesterday useless.

  Well, maybe not hard work.

  Because kissing Kellen Knight… mmm, yeah, that wasn’t a hardship at all.

  I nearly draw my thumb across my lower lip at the memory as the receptionist returns with a little shake of her head. “I’m sorry, ma’am. No sketchbook.”

  I nod, expecting as much. “Okay, thank you. I’ll check with the company to see if one of the crew picked it up.” Hopefully, Maria can put me in touch with the right contacts. Otherwise, I’ll have to start all over again.

  Gah, I can’t believe I left my sketchbook here, of all places. All because of my desire to leave as soon as possible last night after the shoot. I knew if I stayed, I would have wanted to talk to Kellen a little more, and that just wasn’t possible. The whole day had felt like a dream.

  Because it was a dream.

  Not reality.

  And Kellen Knight is probably back up in his billionaire penthouse with another woman right now. A real one he actually wants to fuck, not a silly girl with dreams of being a fashion designer.

  I really need to stop thinking about him.

  “Thank you,” I tell the kind receptionist and leave the building. Tomorrow will be a new day. One where I forget the fairy tale of the weekend and return to my real world, where I act as a glorified servant to my stepsister.

  “Maria says it’ll be about ten more minutes,” Carrie informs me from the front desk.

  “Okay. Thanks.” I take my current book from my bag and begin reading to distract myself from the strong likelihood that my sketchbook is lost forever.

  After leaving the hotel, I went back home to search again, with no luck. Then I completed Kota’s list, slept, and called Maria’s office first thing this morning to arrange a meeting. I only need five minutes, which Carrie was fortunately able to schedule for me. However, apparently, an important client cut in before me, leaving me in the reception area to wait.

  And wait.

  Ten minutes tick by.

  Then fifteen.

  Finally, just before the twenty-minute marker, the door opens and Kellen Knight steps out into the lobby wearing a scowl.

  Oh God, I think, ducking down behind my book as if it’s a wall that can hide me completely.

  “Well, if you find out more, I’d better be your first call,” he snaps.

  Maria appears behind him, her expression frazzled. “Of course, sir.”

  He storms through the lobby without once looking my way, his long legs eating up the floor in wide strides that only emphasize his athletic physique. I immediately flash back to Saturday when I saw him in nothing but a pair of boxers.

  Yep.

  Definitely athletic. Toned in all the right places. Hot as fuck, as my best friend, Gem, would say. Not that I told her about my little acting debut. She would lose her shit if she found out and then demand to know exactly how good Kellen tasted. And, um, I do not want to go into those details because just thinking about it heats my blood.

  The door slams, jolting me from my thoughts.

  Maria blows out a breath. “I don’t know what else is on my calendar today, Carrie, but cancel it. I need a break after that.”

  “Oh, uh, your next appointment is…” She trails off, glancing my way.

  I give a tiny little wave as Maria spies me in the corner, and her eyebrows shoot up. “It’s you!” She goes running from the room and out the door Kellen just stormed through.

  “Uh.” I blink after her, then glance at Carrie, who gives me a confused look that likely rivals my own. “Okay.”

  A few minutes later, Maria returns with a dejected expression. “He’s already gone.”

  I say nothing, uncertain of whom she meant that comment for.

  “Do you need me to call him back?” Carrie asks.

  Maria considers, then narrows her gaze at the door. “You know what? No. That man deserves to stew for a bit.” She grins broadly at me after that statement. “What can I help you with, Cyn? And please don’t tell me it’s a future career in acting. While I adore you for saving my ass Saturday, you don’t have a future in this business.”

  Yeah, my stepsister said the same thing repeatedly last night. “Uh, no. I’m just wondering if anyone mentioned a sketchbook to you. I think I lost it at the shoot.”

  Something flashes through her features, and I hope for a second that she knows something useful, but she shakes her head slowly. “No, sorry. I haven’t seen it.”

  “Do you think one of the crew members might have it? Or maybe there’s a lost and found for the shoot?”

  “If they found it, they probably tossed it,” she admits, breaking my heart a little. “But I can ask Victor if anyone turned something in.”

  I nod, tears poking at the back of my eyes.

  Crying fixes nothing, I tell myself, swallowing. Chin up. Face forward. Start over.

  All things my father would say if he were here. I miss that man every day.

  Swallowing my emotions, I nod again. “Okay. Thanks, Maria.”

  I slide my book into my bag and stand to go, but she stops me by saying, “I need your payment details. Might as well fill out the forms now while you’re here.”

  My earlier drive to piss off Kota is gone, replaced by a deep-seated sadness at the loss of my sketches. Over a year’s worth of work gone because of my stupidity. I should have taken my time Saturday night, not run off like a girl trying to make a midnight curfew.

  “You can just send the funds to Kota,” I tell her without looking up from the floor. “It was her job, not mine.”

  “But you did the job,” Maria says, annoyance infusing her tone. “Fill out the damn forms, girl. I’m sending you the money, not Kota.”

  Blowing out a breath, I nod for the thousandth time today and let her make my decisions for me. Sometimes it’s easier that way.

  Twenty minutes later, I hand the clipboard to Carrie and take my leave.

  At least the payment will help me buy new sketching materials. Maybe I’ll even splurge and buy the fancy book I saw online last month. Or I’ll put the funds toward a future tablet. Perhaps school.

  Kota will still demand her share, though. Might even take the earnings out of my monthly salary.

  Right on cue, my phone begins to jingle, her name the clear caller.

  It’s Monday and almost ten o’clock. She probably wants to know where her coffee is.

  Answering, I tell her I’m on my way and bolt from Maria’s building, returning to my daily routine, the weekend a distant memory.

  There are no happily ever afters in my life.

  Because I’m not the princess.

  That title goes to Kota and always will.

  Chapter 4

  Kellen

  I stomp into the building, continuing my wild-goose chase, all because Maria confessed that Cyn isn’t even an actress. Not that I didn’t already know that. Hell, everyone on that set knew that. What I didn’t know was that sh
e’s the assistant to the actress who decided not to show up.

  This just keeps getting better.

  Not only that, but the only contact information Maria had was for the actress’s agent, so now here I am in a broken-down building in Brooklyn. I thought Maria was kidding about the agency’s name. Clearly, she wasn’t. It’s written in white peg letters right there on the board inside the decrepit office building.

  Bussy, Inc.

  There’s a bad joke in here somewhere, but I’m too irritated to bother with it.

  I also see why she was so flustered when I demanded the address. This place is a dump. No, calling it a dump would be insulting perfectly nice dumps. This place is where dreams go to die.

  And apparently half of New York City’s rat population.

  Tucking the sketchbook under my arm, I approach the receptionist’s desk. “I need to speak with Mr. Bussy immediately.”

  “Do you have an appointment?”

  Do I look like I have a fucking appointment?

  I grit my teeth and force a smile. “No, but it’s important.”

  Popping a bubble, she drums her nails on the desk and stares blankly at her computer. “I can make you an appointment.”

  I can see the green glow from her screen from here. I’ve had enough shitty assistants to know a game of solitaire when I see it. Half of what makes me so successful is an acute ability to assess my surroundings, read people’s weaknesses, and then manipulate both to my benefit.

  It takes me all of two seconds.

  This girl is a figurehead, and a bored one at that. That’s not skill at work; it’s common sense. One look at the state of the office tells me that. The thrift store furniture looks like it’s been bought and sold a few dozen times, and the only artwork gracing the stained walls is a portrait of a woman that, frankly, belongs in an establishment that rents by the hour. No actress with a shred of dignity would set foot in this place, much less allow a man like this to represent her.

  I don’t need an appointment, because the man has no clients except Kota Ellis.

  The men I have on retainer dug into his files and gave me that information on the ride over here. Helpful, yet not, because despite finding details about Kota Ellis, none of those files included her current address. She used her mother’s place for her financial documents, something I found rather telling about her pampered existence.