Cinderella Hired for His Revenge, page 1
Grant could still remember the first time he’d seen her.
She’d glanced at him over her shoulder with that sunny, innocent smile, and he’d been lost.
Memories and fairy tales, he reminded himself as he moved to the glass wall of his office with purposeful strides and gazed down at the bustling streets of New York City.
No, he’d made real progress after he’d accepted that Alexandra had used and discarded him. He’d accrued his first million before he was thirty and now stood on the cusp of becoming a billionaire before he was thirty-five.
He turned back toward his desk, the unique floral arrangement catching his eye. It was striking, and despite the person behind the proposal, she’d made a good pitch.
That he had the upper hand this time certainly didn’t hurt. In fact, he thought as he turned the possibility around in his mind, hiring Alexandra would serve two purposes. Adding a little extra class to the upcoming events, yes, but also showing her exactly what she had thrown away.
Emmy Grayson wrote her first book at the age of seven about a spooky ghost. Her passion for romance novels began a few years later with the discovery of a worn copy of Kathleen Woodiwiss’s A Rose in Winter buried on her mother’s bookshelf. She lives in the Midwest countryside with her husband (who’s also her ex-husband), their children and enough animals to start their own zoo.
Books by Emmy Grayson
Harlequin Presents
The Infamous Cabrera Brothers
His Billion-Dollar Takeover Temptation
Proof of Their One Hot Night
A Deal for the Tycoon’s Diamonds
The Van Ambrose Royals
A Cinderella for the Prince’s Revenge
The Prince’s Pregnant Secretary
Visit the Author Profile page at Harlequin.com.
Emmy Grayson
Cinderella Hired for His Revenge
To my husband and my children with love, with a special note of thanks to my new baby girl, who got me up at 1:00 a.m., 3:00 a.m. and 5:00 a.m. for two weeks to make sure I had time to finish this book.
Contents
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
EPILOGUE
EXCERPT FROM FORBIDDEN UNTIL THEIR SNOWBOUND NIGHT BY MELANIE MILBURNE
CHAPTER ONE
ALEXANDRA MOSS GAZED out over Central Park, her eyes drinking in the welcome signs that spring had finally arrived: bright green grass, rosy-pink blossoms on the cherry trees, sidewalks crowded with joggers, bikers and families. Winter had held on to New York City with a vicious, icy grip through the end of March. But finally, the sun had started to beat back the gray clouds, and spring had arrived in all her beautiful, colorful glory last week.
Alexandra’s fingers tightened on the black leather sport folio clutched in her hands. Just in time for the final nail to be hammered into her coffin. Her landlord had raised the rent on her little shop in SoHo the same day her biggest client, a bride with a soap opera star for a mother, decided to elope and canceled her entire floral order. It was enough of a financial setback that she’d had to let her part-time employee, Sylvia, go, leaving her working sunup to sundown to make the arrangements, monitor online orders, manage social media and oversee everything else that came with running a floral store in New York City.
Ten thousand dollars, minus a one-thousand-dollar deposit, gone in the blink of an eye. That and a chance to show The Flower Bell was capable of handling the exclusive, high-priced events that would keep her store running.
She turned away from the floor-to-ceiling windows and faced down the empty mahogany conference table. No chairs yet, or any other furniture. The up-and-coming Pearson Group had just moved into the forty-sixth floor of the Carlson, an exclusive building that hosted the offices of public relations firms, ad agencies and financial organizations like Pearson.
When her friend Pamela, a manager with a luxury catering company, had suggested trying to land a corporate contract, Alexandra had hesitated. She’d done some work for businesses in her college internship, but she’d always imagined weddings, baby showers and anniversary parties when she’d thought of the types of events The Flower Bell would service. But the more she’d thought about it, the challenge and the change of pace, she’d decided to go for it. Pamela had snuck her a list of companies with upcoming events.
The first thing Alexandra had done was scour it for any familiar names. It had been seven years since her father, David Waldsworth, had landed in prison after his pyramid scheme had collapsed. The majority of the victims had been blue-collar workers and middle-class families. A point the media had used to hammer her family into the ground, with phrases like, “There’s no way they could have not known,” plaguing her throughout the trial wherever she went. She’d started buying clothes at thrift stores the week after the trial, unable to bear the thought that her silk blouses and sheath dresses had been purchased with a military veteran’s savings or a grandmother’s meager retirement fund. Most of her and the family’s belongings, including the penthouse, the private plane, the house in the Hamptons and the seaside home on Martha’s Vineyard, had been sold to cover her father’s debts and start a victims’ compensation fund. A fund that even now was several hundred million short of the amount her father had stolen.
Her stepmother had cried but Alexandra had breathed a sigh of relief, grateful to have the reminders of what David’s perfidy had bought gone.
Now, after nine years of rebuilding herself, she was once again on the verge of losing everything.
But you won’t, she told herself firmly as she breathed in deeply. You’re going to land another contract and The Flower Bell will be a success.
She’d been nervous about approaching the Pearson Group. It sounded exactly like the kind of firm David had been trying to build his company into, except he’d built it on the backs of hardworking people who had trusted him. All to keep the family name among the elite of New York society after he’d squandered the Waldsworth fortune.
Plenty of people in those upper circles remembered the scandal. However, Pamela had mentioned that the new CEO had recently moved to New York from Los Angeles and so she needed to take the risk. The worst that could happen was that she could get escorted out by security. The best was that she could land a contract large enough to save her business while showing the people of New York what she was capable of before they found out who her father was and wrote her off.
Something that had happened one too many times, including when she’d first tried to find space for The Flower Bell. Her favorite spot, a corner shop close to her future sister-in-law’s bookstore, had been her dream, one she’d scrimped and saved and kept her fingers crossed for, hoping it would come available around the time she was ready to launch.
By some miracle, it had been available. Until the leasing agent had found out who her father was and shared that her own father had lost his life savings investing in the Waldsworth Fund.
Alexandra brushed aside the hot rush of shame that pooled in her belly every time she remembered the agent’s look of utter revulsion as she’d pointed to the door. She focused on the arrangement she’d brought with her and ran a critical eye over the flowers. Pamela’s list of upcoming events for the Pearson Group included a brunch at the New York Public Library, a series of meals at a private address in the Hamptons and a formal reception at the Metropolitan Museum of Art.
“They’re wining and dining prospective investors,” Pamela had shared when they’d grabbed coffee last week, a tradition they’d carried on since they’d met in a community college class. “From what I hear, the client targets are the kind you’d see in Forbes. Whoever they are, the company’s not holding back. They’ve gone with a mystery approach, only revealing a couple key contacts before they officially launch. Cloak and dagger, but it’s working. Everyone’s talking about them. The invitations they’ve sent out for their upcoming events are the most coveted in the city right now.”
She’d decided to make a sample arrangement for the first event, the brunch. The low-lying design she’d created featured white roses and anise hyssop, tube-shaped clusters of lavender flowers, combined elegance with the soft color palettes of spring. Not too over-the-top that it would distract from the important business being conducted, but unique enough to generate conversation and show that Pearson could be both traditional and innovative.
She reached out and ran a finger over the velvet petal of a rose. The delicate, silky texture stirred a memory, one filled with the scents of violets and cedar entwined with amber. When she’d opened her eyes, nervous butterflies fluttering through her veins even as her body grew heavy with desire, it had been to see his face inches away, his full lips hovering over hers.
“Do you want this?” he’d asked, the growl in his voice betraying his desire. But still he’d held back, not wanting to hurt her, not wanting to pus
And she’d loved him for that. She hadn’t thought it possible to love him any more than she already did, but she’d fallen so deep in that moment that she’d given in to the sudden burst of confidence, leaned up and kissed him, her fingers tangling in his thick hair as she’d arched her naked hips against his.
She jerked her hand away from the rose. Eight and a half years. Nine in September. She usually did a better job keeping his memory at bay.
Maybe the roses were a bad idea.
Before she could do something foolish, like try to rearrange the flowers and toss the roses in the trash, the door to the conference room opened. The willow-thin woman in the black pencil skirt and red silk blouse, who had led her into the conference room, stood in the doorway. Silvery blond hair hung down her back, straightened and cut perfectly to frame her face. Alexandra nervously tucked a stray brown curl behind her ear. When the Waldsworths had been the Waldsworths of Lower Manhattan, her father and his third wife, Susan, had pressured her to get her “plain brown hair” touched up with golden highlights to bring out her hazel eyes. Nowadays, getting anything more than a trim was beyond her budget.
But she should have splurged on a little more self-care before coming unannounced to a building like the Carlson and asking to speak with the events manager of the newly-formed Pearson Group. The company website had listed an official launch date two weeks from now, with interested parties encouraged to contact the CEO’s executive assistant, Jessica Elliott. Fortunately, Pamela had been working with the Pearson Group’s events manager, Laura Jones. It was easy to find Laura Jones, corporate event planner to the wealthiest companies in the Big Apple. Her feature in Fortune magazine and glossy images from past events she’d organized for other high-profile companies had shown an impeccably dressed woman with a stylish red bob, a brilliant white smile and a closet full of the latest couture.
Alexandra’s throat tightened. She should have put more effort into her wardrobe, splurged on a name-brand outfit.
“The CEO will see you now.”
Her heart skipped a beat. She swallowed past the baseball-size lump that suddenly rose in her throat.
“CEO?”
“Yes.”
“What about Ms. Jones?”
Jessica’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Have you spoken directly with Ms. Jones?”
No. After her emails, phone calls and attempts at booking in-person appointments with the other companies on Pamela’s list, she’d decided to go all in on the Pearson Group and show up with an arrangement that would show Ms. Laura Jones what she was capable of. Better to make one final attempt and close her shop knowing she’d given it her all than to always wonder what if.
She just hadn’t anticipated having to make her pitch to the mysterious CEO.
“I assumed with her being the events manager—”
“The majority of our staff are at a corporate training seminar in Shanghai this week.”
Okay. She could handle this. Though why the CEO would have any interest in meeting with a struggling florist was beyond her. But instead of questioning her good fortune, she needed to grab the opportunity with both hands.
“All right. It’s kind of him to make time for me.”
A perfectly-tweezed eyebrow arched upward as something akin to amusement crossed Jessica’s face. “It’s not kindness. You piqued his interest.”
“Hopefully in a good way.”
A pale shoulder moved up and down in an elegant shrug. “That remains to be seen. He has five minutes.” She glanced at her watch, silver and trimmed in diamonds judging by the way it glinted in the light. Probably Cartier. “Starting now, not a second more. Follow me, Miss Moss.”
Steeling her spine, Alexandra tucked the portfolio under one arm, picked up the arrangement and followed the secretary out the door.
This is further than you’ve made it all week. Don’t give up now.
The inner pep talk did little for the sudden light-headedness plaguing her as she tried to keep up with Jessica’s rapid pace down a hall enclosed by glass, empty offices on one side and views of New York’s impressive skyline on the other. How the woman managed to walk so quickly when she was sporting four-inch stilettos was beyond Alexandra. She could barely keep up in her plain black ballet flats.
Her nervousness reached a fever pitch as the secretary turned a corner and stopped in front of double mahogany doors polished to perfection. Was it possible for one’s heart to beat so fast without passing out? The entire future of her company was riding on how she conducted herself in this meeting.
No pressure. None at all.
“He’s waiting.”
“Okay. Thank you. And his name?”
“He’ll tell you.”
Alexandra blinked. “What...”
Jessica gave her another look, one that was almost pitying, before she brushed past Alexandra and walked back down the hall, her heels clicking ominously against the floor as she disappeared around the corner.
Slowly, Alexandra turned back to the double doors. She’d met plenty of eccentric and egotistical millionaires in the twenty years she’d been known as Alexandra Waldsworth. The man waiting for her behind the double doors probably just enjoyed being the one in power.
The rational excuse didn’t dispel the tension that tightened around her spine with a vise-like grip as she knocked on the doors.
“Enter.”
The muffled voice, deep with the faintest of accents, wrapped around her. It almost sounded like...
Focus.
She pulled up the memory that had pushed her to succeed all these years: her father in his orange prison uniform glaring balefully at her from behind the glass of the visitor’s booth. A moment later she’d stood and walked away as he’d hurled one final insult at her:
You’ll never succeed. Not without me!
He’d thought to shred her confidence, to make her turn around and come crawling back. But it had done the opposite. It had released the shackles around her spirit, set her free as she’d walked away with the resolution to prove him wrong thundering in her veins.
That she had come to that realization a little over a year after she’d hurt the man she’d loved had come with its own pain, one that had faded over time but still kicked up every now and then.
Focus on the future. Focus on now.
She squared her shoulders and raised her chin. No matter what happened in the next five minutes, she could walk out with her head held high, knowing she’d tried.
She opened the door, a welcoming smile on her face.
“Good morning. Thank you for seeing me...”
Her voice trailed off as her steps faltered. She blinked several times, hoping against hope that she was just imagining things.
But the image stayed firm. A tall, broad-shouldered man dressed to perfection in a black Armani suit and red tie was seated behind one of the largest desks she’d ever seen. His face had hardened over the years, the lack of beard emphasizing the angular cut of his chin and the long, elegant line of his nose. His hair had been cut short on the sides and left longer on the top, swept to the side and styled so perfectly that not even a wisp dared to be out of place. He leaned back in his chair, his amber eyes sharp and focused on her with a cold intensity that made her feel like she was being examined under a microscope.
“Alexandra Waldsworth.”
The rich timbre of his voice washed over her, sank beneath her skin and ignited a simmering warmth deep in her veins even though each syllable of her name was coated in icy disdain.
She glanced down, saw her business card sitting in the middle of the perfectly organized black walnut desk trimmed with glass edging. He must have looked her up, she realized as she tried to tamp down the nausea rising in the pit of her stomach.
Her eyes snapped back up to his and she barely kept her composure as she met his condescending stare. Why had he agreed to meet with her instead of having Jessica kick her out? Or even call the police to have her removed? Perhaps he had wanted to tell her to her face to never walk into the gleaming halls of the Pearson Group again.
“It’s Moss now,” she replied, proud that she managed to keep her voice steady.
