Page 40 of The Billionaire's Cinderella

So I take a deep breath and lay it all out there.

“I just want to prepare you. This isn’t the Hamptons. I don’t have a great apartment—”

His expression clears. “Ella…”

“No. Let me get it out. My elevator is always out of service, so I hope you have good knees and good shoes when you show up at my place. Oh, and my entire apartment is smaller than your closet in the Hamptons, so you’d better brace yourself for that shock. I don’t have a great car like you do. I don’t have any car. I don’t have great clothes. Well, I do have great clothes, but they’re great clothes that come from vintage stores, because that’s what I can afford. I saved all my money and worked my ass off to get through school, so I’ve never traveled anywhere. I don’t even have a passport. I don’t get my hair and nails done every week. I don’t Botox. Don’t get me wrong. I’m happy with my life. Really happy. I’m proud of myself and what I’ve accomplished. But I’m not special. I’m just a standard girl.”

He seems spectacularly unmoved by my little speech.

“There’s nothing standard about you,” he says, unsmiling. “Let me assure you.”

“Will you listen to me? I’m just trying to temper your expectations.”

“I’m listening very closely. I’m hanging on your every word. So you think I’m with you because, I don’t know, I was hoping I could borrow your car?”

“What?” I scowl. It sounds ridiculous when he says it like that. “No. Of course not.”

“You think I only date women who fly to Paris every spring to have their clothes made for them. And all other women are invisible to me. Maybe you think my eyes refuse to perceive them. Oh, and that I’m too delicate or decrepit or snobbish to climb a few stairs to see you.”

“Come on. You know what I’m saying.”

“I really don’t,” he says, his eyes flinty now. “It must be about your toenail color. Right? If you’re mentioning getting your hair and nails done every week, you think I award women points if they hit the exact shade of red that I prefer?”

“Stop acting like I’m a jackass for raising an important issue,” I say with growing annoyance. “You and I come from different worlds. That factors in. That matters.”

“Other things matter more.” His face is all hard lines now. A hundred percent intransigence. “And evidently, I’m the jackass in the scenario. Because you think I’m shallow enough to care about any of that bullshit.”

“I really didn’t intend to get into this on my stoop in the middle of a rainy evening,” I say, frustration making my voice pitch higher.

“That makes two of us. Because I thought we’d covered this already.”

“But you need to understand that my father chose to stay with his rich family. Which meant that my lowly mother was only ever good enough to be his mistress. And my ex-boyfriend’s parents always treated me as though I had a fuzzy green fungus growing all over my skin because I wasn’t a Boston blue blood like they were. Where I’m coming from? My background and economic status matter. A lot.”

“Thanks for clearing that up for me,” he says coldly. “Now clear this up for me. Do I look like your father? Or is it that I look like your ex?”

“What? Of course not! Why are you making it so hard for me to make my point?” I say.

“Because you don’t understand that there’s a long list of things that I don’t give a fuck about. Your hair. Your toenails. Your clothes.”

“Ryker…” I say, feeling sheepish and unbearably happy now.

“I’m not done.” He holds up a hand and ticks things off on his fingers. “Your apartment. Your lack of a car. Your passport status. Your job. There’s only one thing that matters between us.”

“What’s that?”

“How do you feel when I walk into the room?”

I’m sure I don’t need to tell you that this question makes me melt into a simpering pile of goo. I blush until my ears sizzle as I try to control my smile while also putting the feeling into words. How do you describe a day filled with all the fuzzy puppies and kittens, beaches, rainbows, laughter, pepperoni pizza, gelato, pastries and sex you can handle?

“Careful,” he warns me, his avid gaze steady and warm in my face. “A response like that is the kind of thing that’ll make me fall in love with you.”

“It was an unfair question,” I say, still grinning.

“I disagree.” He pulls me in again and kisses my forehead. “It was an excellent question because it cut through all the bullshit. It told me everything I needed to know. Can we go inside now? While we’re still young?”

“Let’s. But you should grab your overnight bag from the car, right?”

“Good point.”

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