Page 9 of Cinderella's Fling with the Off-Limits Billionaire

“And you’re not wearing a shirt because…?”

“Because I’m not.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Whatever. I don’t care. That’s not why I’m here.”

“Then why are you?” He glanced at the clock on the wall. It was almost midnight. What time did Skye’s shift finish?

“Because you ghosted your own brother’s wedding, and you haven’t come to a single family thing since.”

“I’ve been busy.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know. Running the business while Max is on his honeymoon. But that’s no excuse. We’re flying back tomorrow—you should have been at dinner.”

“I didn’t feel like it.”

“Really? You weren’t hungry?” She scoffed, gesturing to the mountain of food. “You sure about that?”

He grunted.

“Look, it’s your life,” she said, lifting her hands in the air placatingly. “But if you want my advice, call our mother. She’s miserable, and clearly worried about you. I don’t like seeing her like that.”

His brow furrowed. He ignored the instant inflection of concern. Of guilt. He didn’t particularly like to think of Patrizia like that either. It had been a long time of considering her to be his mother, the woman who’d held his hand on the way to school and always made sure his favourite cookies were in the kitchen, who’d sat in the audience at every speech night, come to his university graduation and cheered louder than anyone when his name was called, who was his champion no matter what his success. She was the woman who’d raised him, but somehow, the fact that she’d been such a great mother, and that he loved her so much, trusted her so implicitly, made the dishonesty hurt all the worse.

“I’ll consider it,” he said.

Emme swore softly and Leo chastised her.

“You’re just being such a bastard,” she said with a shake of her head. “I don’t know what’s going on, but I suggest you sort yourself out, and fast.” She stalked towards the door. “And try not to sleep with everything in a skirt while you’re staying at the hotel, okay? We don’t need the HR mess—or PR mess, for that matter.”

Alone in the staff elevator, Skye went to scrunch the hundred dollar bill into the palm of her hand, but it wouldn’t give. She unfurled it to discover a crisp white business card in the centre with strong gold lettering.

It said only two words and then a string of numbers.

Leandro Valentino. And going from the country code, a landline in Italy.

Her heart pounded. Her stomach dropped, independent of the way the fast-moving elevator carriage always threatened her sense of spatial awareness.

Leandro Valentino.

As in the Valentinos. The multi, multi billionaire family that owned, amongst other things, this hotel. And a heap of hotels around the world.

The Valentinos who’d just been in New York for a high-society wedding.

“Oh, God,” she groaned, keeping her head dipped forward when the elevator opened into the kitchen, and she could dispose of the trolley. She returned to her station, grateful to see a message from her boss asking her to arrange the following day’s sightseeing for another one of their VIP suites. A music studio executive, his lingerie model wife and their four-year-old daughter wanted to do something ‘fun’, that included animals, pizza, a baseball game and some cocktails.

She booked a limo to take them to the zoo first up, including a private feeding of the lions, then lunch at a pizzeria just over the other side of the Brooklyn Bridge. Not only did it have the best pizza in New York—in her opinion, anyway—but the view back towards Manhattan was amazing from there. The hotel routinely had tickets reserved at some of the best ball parks in New York; she chose the game at Yankee Stadium, added in a selection of VIP snacks and some activity packs for the four year old, as well as team merchandise, then booked a sitter at the hotel and a place at one of the hottest rooftop bars for the parents to enjoy later in the night. All in all, a walk in the park for Skye. Sometimes she had to laugh at the ridiculously extravagant lives the hotel’s guests led, while she was struggling to make ends come close to meeting.

The tip from Leo burned a whole in her mind, right on cue. She’d have loved to rip the money up and throw in the nearest trash can. To hell with him and his generous ‘tip’. As if she wanted to be tipped after what they’d just almost done! But even when her pride was dented, she couldn’t waste the money. She wouldn’t.

Every last cent she received was for Harper. So Harper would never, ever wind up in the same position Skye had been, making the same choices. No. Harper was going to be financially independent. She was going to know she could go to college if she wanted to. She was going to have as much of the damned world at her feet as Skye could give her.

She jammed the money into the small pocket of her skirt, ignoring the business card that it was still wrapped around. She’d throw that out—later. At home. Not here, where anyone might see it and wonder how Leandro Valentino’s business card had ended up in the staff area.

Her feet hurt and she was tired, so when her boss came into the nook she was working from, Skye kept her fingers crossed that the shift wouldn’t end with another request. She’d had a busy few hours despite the fact it was the small hours of the morning. For their clientele, that was when things really got started.

She’d taken up food, made last minute reservations at clubs, basically seen to whatever whim the VIPs had, and she was exhausted.

Not just exhausted.

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