Stroke of Midnight (Cinderella 1)

“Can I help you?” I ask through the door, slowly turning the lock to engage.

Nate chuckles. “You could let me in.”

“Winston doesn’t want visitors,” I say in a tight voice. “Sorry.”

“Then why would he give me a key?” He holds up his keys, jangling them in front of the peep hole. “I could let myself in. I’m being polite.”

“It’s just that Winston just told me—”

“I understand. The Morellis are all over his ass right now. You have every right to be afraid, honey. But I just left the office where Winston told me to come here and wait for him. Trust me, Winston is going to be in a shit mood when he gets back. Don’t give him one more thing to chew our asses out about.”

He does have a key . . .

“Fine, but I’m going to text him to be sure.”

“Whatever makes you happy,” Nate says as I disengage the lock and open the door.

His gaze sweeps over me, and he beams. Still the same friendly guy as last night. And Winston’s friend. I’m being paranoid, thanks to Scout and the Morellis.

“Come on in,” I grumble. “Do you want something to drink?”

A laugh barks out of him as he enters. “No, honey. And don’t let Winston catch you playing hostess. I don’t think that’s what he’s hired you to do. I know where he keeps his liquor. I can serve myself.”

I shut the door and follow after him. He strolls into the space like he’s been here a hundred times before, making a beeline for Winston’s bar area across the living room. I relax a little knowing he’s used to hanging out here. Pulling out my phone, I start to text Winston but then worry I might distract him from his meeting. I’ll see how this goes with Nate and then decide if I need to text him. Surely, I can handle his friend all by myself.

Nate pours himself a tumbler of amber liquid and then holds his glass up. “Can I offer you one?”

“No thanks. I’m supposed to be working.” I give him a curt smile.

“Take a break and indulge me in small talk.” He walks over to the sofa and sits down. “Do you live here now?”

I scoff at his words. “No. I’m his maid, not his girlfriend.”

“Hmm,” is all he says, winking at me over the top of his glass as he sips it. “You’ll have to pardon me. Winston is a mysterious man. We’ve been friends for years, and I’ve never seen him so . . . smitten.”

Smitten seems like such a trivial word for Winston.

Obsessed. Consumed. Paralyzed by the need to throw money at me. That’s more the Winston I know.

“He’s a complicated man,” I agree as I pick up my duster. “Now, if you’ll excuse me.”

I stick to dusting in the same room as him so I can keep an eye on him. He messes with his phone as he drinks, clearly already bored at having to wait for his friend. Good. Maybe he’ll leave soon.

The doorbell rings, and I jump. Why are all these people showing up? Nate stands, a frown of concern painted on his face.

“Are you expecting someone?” he asks.

“I wasn’t expecting anyone, but you people keep showing up,” I grumble.

He prowls after me like he thinks he needs to protect me. I do relax a bit knowing he’s here. If it’s Scout, I don’t think Nate would allow him to hurt me. I peek through the hole and let out a relieved sigh.

“It’s just the doorman,” I murmur.

“Good. I’ll enjoy my drink then.”

Nate walks off, and I answer the door. The doorman smiles at me. He has a cart loaded down with boxes and garment bags.

“These are from Mr. Carly. He said it’s all he could do in a pinch, but he’s working on a more extensive wardrobe. May I come in and unload your things, Miss Elliott?”

I nod, shocked that not only does he know my name, but that Carly managed to get me clothes already. The doorman drags the cart inside, and I usher him down the hall to the guest room I’ve come to think of as mine. He puts away each item in the closet and the dresser drawers. As he turns to leave, I stop him.

“Wait, I uh, let me get some cash for a tip,” I blurt out.

He chuckles. “Don’t insult Mr. Constantine, Miss Elliott. He pays me well enough that I never need accept any tips from this condo. Have a great day.”

As soon as he leaves, I make my way back into the living room, but Nate isn’t there. Nerves shoot through me, making me tremble. I hurry down the hall, peeking in each room, looking to see where he went. When I come up empty, I start for the stairs. He appears at the top, a mischievous grin on his face.