The Glass Slipper (Cinderella 3)

Her brows furl together, a frown marring her teary face. “Win—”

“I’m not done talking,” I clip out, “and you’re not done listening. You can have your sobfest when you’re alone. Not while you’re out with me. Whatever it is Leo thinks he’s going to do, let him. I don’t give a fuck about his threats.”

She purses her lips together as if fighting not to argue. Pity. I prefer it when the kitty pulls out her claws and tries to take a swipe at me. This meek, broken woeful act doesn’t suit her.

“This is how this is going to go down,” I explain, sweeping my gaze across the crowded restaurant. “You’re going to watch my show I had planned, play the part of willing accomplice, and walk out the door as if you don’t give two flying fucks about Morelli.”

“Okay.” Suspicion laces the muttered word.

“You’ll get into the car with me and we’ll leave.”

“Then what?”

Hope glitters in her eyes. We can’t have that now, can we?

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, Miss Elliott.”

Before she can respond, I wave over the waiter. “Please let Mr. Stevens know I’m ready to finalize our deal.”

The waiter hurries off to pass on the message to the restaurant owner. I ignore Ash’s imploring gaze as I wait. Glancing over at the Morelli table, I notice how Leo is tense while his older brother, Lucian, is relaxed, ready to enjoy a juicy filet at one of the best steakhouses in the city.

While I wait for Mr. Stevens, I text Deborah with a task that requires immediate attention. It’ll earn her the new Lexus she’s been hinting at. My employees do love a good bonus. Then, I text my doorman because teamwork makes the dream work.

Mr. Stevens emerges from the back, a nervous smile on his face as he approaches our table. I rise to my feet, offering my hand.

“Lovely doing business with you.” I shake his hand. “Drop by Anthony’s office in the morning. He’ll have all the paperwork drawn up for you.”

“Thank you, Mr. Constantine. This is incredibly generous of you.” He chuckles, his laughter dying when he glances over at the Morellis. “Though a little vicious if you ask me.”

“I think I paid enough not to have to ask you.”

He withers under the warning of my glare and gives me a quick nod. “You’re very right, sir. Good evening.”

Then, just as I ordered, like it was an item on a very expensive menu, the owner and his staff begin filing out the front door in a procession of apron-clad soldiers fighting in a battle that’s already been won by yours truly.

“Win,” Ash croaks out.

I don’t answer her because my stare is on the Morelli table. It takes them all of three seconds to realize what I’ve done, each of them tensing almost simultaneously with fury.

Yes, assholes, I bought out your fancy little steakhouse and paid handsomely for every damn employee to walk out before you even had a chance to order. Looks like it’s Chinese takeout for dinner instead of steak.

“I’d love to stay for the fireworks, but I have an early morning. Today, Miss Elliott.” I offer my arm. “Time to leave.”

She stands up, tosses her phone into her purse before yanking it off the table, and hooks her arm with mine. Her scent teases and taunts me. I’m annoyed she smells so good. Right now, I don’t want to smell her. Hell, I can barely look at her.

The restaurant is still full of patrons. Everyone’s faces are a sea of confusion as they wonder why the employees have left. But not the Morellis. They know they’ve been publicly fucked and now they’ll have to do the walk of shame.

I stop in front of their table, flashing them a wolfish grin. “Ahh, well, if it isn’t the infamous Morellis. Coincidence running into you all here.”

“Unlikely,” Lucian says, disgust written all over his face. “Nothing is ever coincidence where the Constantines are concerned. Especially you.”

“You give me far too much credit,” I say back in a smooth tone. “I must warn you, though. It doesn’t look like you’ll be dining here tonight.”

If looks could kill, I’d be a dead motherfucker. Luckily, their hate-filled glares glance off me without incident. Leo, however, is fuming with rage. The Beast of Bishop’s Landing. They call him that for a reason. Ash’s grip on my arm tightens, and though I’m pissed at her, I still won’t let that asshole touch one hair on her pretty little head.

“Didn’t you hear?” I continue, my brow quirking. “The building was overrun by rats. We can’t have that, now, can we? A little extermination is in order before we can set this building back to rights.”

Lucian stands up and glowers at me. His dark hair is impeccable, and his suit is pristine. But rats dressed in Tom Ford are still rats. Infesting the city as if money makes them royalty.