Page 4 of Cinderella's Fling with the Off-Limits Billionaire

But leaving Jay…he’d made it almost impossible. His control of their finances, her emails, everything, like tentacles that had become intrinsic to her existence. It was only with her parents’ support and help that she’d been able to break free, but it had left her penniless, jobless, and friendless, with a heap of hospital debt from Harper’s premature delivery and a week spent in NICU afterwards.

“Yes,” she answered. For even though the relationship was not without complexity, she’d always be grateful to them for what they’d done for Harper and her. She wanted to say something to him, like, ‘why do you ask?’. She was curious. Curious in a way she wasn’t usually with her well-heeled guests.

But she was a professional, and she needed this job. She wouldn’t do anything to risk it, so she offered a courteous smile, took a step backwards and nodded crisply.

“Do you need anything else, sir?”

Two

HE LOOKED AT HER as though he wanted to say something else, to unburden himself or ask her a burning question. She waited, breath held for no reason she could think of.

“What do you think of this place?” He asked with a hint of bitterness in his voice that she didn’t understand.

Her eyes swept across the room. What could she say to that? It was the last word in sophisticated luxury, from the plush carpet to the subtle paint colours, the gold light fittings. There was even a baby grand piano in the library. Of a hotel suite. Just in case the guests were on the road and got a fervent need to start tinkling the ivories.

But then, her eyes dropped properly to the carpet and she saw an enormous crimson stain. At first, she mistook it for blood and—courtesy of watching way too many late night police procedural shows when she was feeding baby Harper—she wondered if this ridiculously handsome guy was actually some kind of axe-murderer. But with a quick reattachment to reality, she recognized it for what it actually was: wine.

Wine in the super expensive, premium quality wool carpets.

Wine that was going to cost him a fortune if it didn’t get out right away.

She wasn’t a housekeeper, but she was so much more. Anyone who worked on this level was expected to move heaven and earth for the guests, to do whatever was required, and it was clear that this guest needed the red wine out of the carpet. Her manager would be furious.

“Sir, there seems to be a stain over there,” she said, gently, wary of making it sound like it was his fault. “Do you mind if I take a look at it?”

His features darkened into a thundercloud. “Leave it.”

“I’m afraid I can’t,” she responded, moving to the mark and crouching down. “It’s hotel policy. Any damage has to be reported straight away.” She touched the wine: it was still wet. Good. There was a chance it might lift. “It won’t take me long.”

“Fine,” he reached for a chip, shrugging. “But I wouldn’t worry. I’d already accepted that I’d have to replace it.”

She dipped her head forward to hide her gasp. Imagine having such money at one’s disposal! She couldn’t even imagine. What comfort that must bring, to know that no matter what, you could just pay to fix any mistake, no problems.

Skye had lost sleep over her debt, her bills, the hole she’d found herself in.

Not this guy.

“Don’t worry. It still might come to that,” she responded after she’d got the whisper of injustice under control. She stood with an unconscious elegance, moving to the bathroom. The smell of him in here was even stronger. The mirror had the last remnants of steam, hinting at a not-too-long-ago shower, and a towel had been messily draped over the hook. She ignored it, reaching for a cache of fresh towels and carrying them out with her.

In the hallway outside the bathroom, she called down to concierge, requesting a cleaning kit for the carpets be sent up. This wasn’t the first time she’d had to work her magic with an emergency repair, but it had never been quite such a large stain, nor treated with such casual indifference as by this guest.

She hung up the phone and pressed a towel into the carpet, pushing down on it with her hand to soak up as much of the wine as she could. A satisfying red appeared. Good.

“You don’t have to do that.” Now there was irritation in his voice and when she looked up, it was to see him coming out from behind the kitchen.

“Actually, I do,” she said, unaware of the way her bottom perched in the air, so round and taut. “It’s literally in my job description.”

“It’s my fault,” he muttered, crouching down opposite her and pressing his hand just to the left of her own. “It’s my responsibility to fix it.”

“Your solution was to replace the carpet.”

“So?”

“That’s a bit drastic, isn’t it?”

His response was to move his hand, pressing harder, releasing more wine.

Skye couldn’t help looking at him. Up close, she noticed things she hadn’t at first, like the hint of freckles on his cheeks, or the slightest breath of gold in amongst his dark hair, as though he’d spent the summer in sunny, exotic locations, doing sunny, billionaire things like watersports and getting a tan at beachside bars.

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