The Glass Slipper (Cinderella 3)

At this, I laugh, genuine and loud. “The only jealous girl right now is Manda’s stepdaughter.”

“The teenager you corrupted according to the news?”

“That one.”

“You knew this wasn’t that sort of lunch, didn’t you?”

“Yes. You’re still grieving. I’m not an asshole. Besides, guys don’t go on that sort of lunch when they have a jealous teenage girlfriend sending them selfies every ten minutes. That’s just begging for drama.”

She relaxes at my honesty. “Now that we’ve cleared that up that I’m not trying to date anyone, can I be frank with you?”

“Of course.”

“That whole encounter just now was really strange.”

“Can’t agree with you more.”

We move the conversation on to other things. She circles back to her husband she lost and I divulge bits of the loss of my father as well. Layla isn’t that bad, but she’s no Ash. Even if I were in the market and Layla wasn’t still aching over her husband, we still wouldn’t be a match. On paper we’d look good, sure, but there’s no fiery chemistry like what I have with Ash.

No one has ever gotten me so riled up the way Ash does.

Not even Meredith.

Ash is everywhere all at once. There’s no escaping her. I’m not sure I even want to.

After a pleasant lunch, I find myself once again distracted by texts from Ash, this time smirking at her most recent one.

Ash: If you don’t respond, I’ll be forced to take your brother hostage in an Uber.

Me: Who’s the villain now, evil one? I’m practically the hero from saving the little prince from certain death by communicable disease picked up in a petri dish Ford Focus.

Ash: You and hero don’t go in the same sentence. Nice try. Did you have to google “normal people” cars? I’m a little shocked you even know what a Ford Focus is.

Me: You’re distracting me from my lunch date.

Ash: With Layla (said in the same voice Perry says Tate). Are you halfway to Vegas with your future Stepford wife?

Tate. I’m pretty sure I say it in my head in the same voice as Perry. Like it tastes like sour lemons or earwax or something equally cringe-worthy.

Me: Yes, I’ll send you a postcard from my honeymoon.

Ash: Just think of my mouth when she gives you a boring blowie so you’ll actually come.

Me: Awfully sure of your blowjob skills.

Ash: If you need a reminder, you know where the whore apartment is.

Me: You reek of desperation, Cinderelliott.

Ash: I know what makes you hot, Win.

She sends me a winky-face emoji. I send her back the middle finger.

“I really hope it works out for you,” Layla says. “I can tell you’re smitten.”

I shove the phone in my pocket and pull out my wallet, ignoring her assumption. “Lunch was nice. Let’s do it again sometime.”

“Bring the girlfriend next time.” She stands and offers me a smile. “I miss that kind of easy love. It’s refreshing to see again. That doesn’t always happen in our world.”

With those words, she leaves me dumfounded at the table.

Girlfriend. No.

Love. Not just no, but fuck no.

Then explain the stupid thumping in your chest from just a few playful texts from that crazy, beautiful girl.

I can’t explain it.

After dropping a wad of cash onto the table, I stride out of the restaurant. I’ve just made it outside when someone calls my name.

Meredith.

“I wanted to catch you alone,” she says, her paid-for tits bouncing as she rushes my way. “How are you doing? Really? The news is horrible.”

The predatory glint in her eyes says she’s waiting for me to show some sort of weakness so she can sink her teeth into it.

“I’ll live,” I clip out.

“If you ever need to talk,” she starts but then frowns at something behind me. Her face blanches and then she hugs me.

I try to crane my neck to see what it is she’s looking at but by the time she releases me, I don’t see anything but hurried people rushing by along the sidewalk.

“What is it?” I demand. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

She drops her gaze to the concrete at our feet. “It’s, uh, a stalker. I’m so embarrassed.”

“You’re embarrassed about having a stalker,” I say slowly. “As though you have any control over that.”

But we both know she’s a liar.

I play along because that’s the name of the game.

“Want me to call your husband?” I offer, reaching into my pocket for my phone.

“Oh, God no,” she hisses, her face scrunching up in disgust. “He’s worthless. He’d probably sell me to my stalker if he thought he could turn a good profit.”

Poor, pitiful Meredith.

“Best run back inside where it’s safe, then.” I give her a nod of my head. “I’m sure I’ll see you around.”

I disappear into the crowd bustling by. On the way to where my driver will be waiting, I call Ulrich and put him on one more task.