Page 3 of Cinderella's Fling with the Off-Limits Billionaire

“Room service,” she reminded him, eyes dropping to the glass of red wine in his hand.

He looked at the trolley as if seeing it for the first time, then nodded a little jerkily. “Right. Come in.”

He gestured into the room. As she walked past him, she caught a hint of his cologne. She couldn’t identify any of the flavour notes but it smelled expensive, just like he looked. Just like she knew this room was. One night here cost more than a month’s rent for most people.

And while it was a very beautiful, spacious hotel suite, with stunning views of the city she loved so much, she couldn’t imagine anyone being content to waste that kind of money on a place to sleep.

Then again, he was probably entertaining. There was enough food on the trolley for multiple people, and a full thousand dollar scotch bottle with four cut-crystal tumblers.

“Where would you like this, sir?”

The man—not a celebrity, though undoubtedly some kind of highflyer—was in the kitchen now, one hip propped against the counter, his eyes resting on Skye’s face.

“Here’s fine.” He gestured to the benchtop.

She frowned. “All of it?”

His eyes moved to the trolley and he grimaced. “Did I order all that?”

“I presume so.”

He winced. “Va bene. Sure. All of it.” He finished the red wine. “Start with the scotch.”

She had been about to lift the pizza off the tray but instead switched to the alcohol, carrying it straight to the man and placing it in front of him, before retrieving four glasses.

“I just need one,” he muttered. “Unless you’d care to join me?”

Her eyes widened. She’d been hit on by guests before. It was a bit of an occupational hazard, and she’d always been able to handle herself in those situations. It was usually harmless flirtation, men who were used to calling the shots in their lives thinking a bit of harmless fun with a hotel staffer would idle away a bit of time.

Skye intentionally downplayed her looks when she came to work, wearing minimal make up and scraping her loose, honey blonde hair back into a tight braid, but nothing could hide the fact she had the kind of face women envied and men stared at—with high cheekbones, wide-set crystal blue eyes, naturally pouting lips, and clear, flawless skin. While she’d personally always hated how curvaceous she was, she knew that her hourglass figure was something men seemed to fantasise about, so she kept the stuffy work shirts buttoned all the way up to her neckline, and opted for a skirt rather than trousers, which might have drawn attention to her rounded bottom.

What Skye had never realised though was that downplaying her looks was a bit like trying to dull a star with a permanent marker: it just wasn’t possible. So, she’d become practiced at the art of deflection, at polite demurral, resisting without being rude.

But this didn’t feel like she was being hit on.

It felt like he was offering her a drink because he was…lonely.

Or, something.

She frowned a little, shaking her head. “I’m working,” she explained.

“So?”

“Pretty sure the boss would look down on me drinking that in the middle of a shift.”

His frown deepened. “What if he didn’t?”

“She,” Skye corrected. “My manager is a woman. But it doesn’t matter. I can’t.”

She returned to the trolley, and her mode of polite silence, lifting things off one by one, placing them down, removing the stainless steel lids and stacking them neatly to the side.

She was conscious of him watching her as she worked, but it wasn’t creepy. It wasn’t like with some of the other guys she’d served, who’d found it hard to accept her demurral.

“Are you close to your parents?”

The question caught her unawares. His voice was thick and husky, his accent European.

She glanced at him, then looked away, her tongue moistening her lower lip as she thought of how to answer that. At the moment, she was so close to them that she lived in her old childhood bedroom. Their help had been essential these past two years. She couldn’t have done it without them. Not become a mother; she was naturally good at that stuff.

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