Cinderella.Com: A Modern Day Cinderella Story Page 2

  “Yes.” I say the word at the speed of a bullet. Of course, I can work hard. I can work very hard.

  “And you are prepared to alter your appearance slightly and wear the clothes provided to you?”

  “No problem.”

  “Good. It looks like we have a deal.”

  “I may be having a blonde moment here, but if I learn to ride, how will Miss Honeywell ride for her father?”

  “Er…yes. I was getting to that. Miss Honeywell has a solution to that problem. Her plan is that you should pretend to fall and feign injury on the day before her father comes. While you are in a separate living accommodation, she will exchange places with you.”

  “She wants me to fall off a horse?” I ask incredulously.

  “Well…” Mrs. Carter begins.

  “I could break my neck,” I splutter.

  Mrs. Carter clears her throat uncomfortably. “Miss Honeywell suggested that you arrange to fall into bushes or a body of water. I suppose you could ride out on your own and pretend you have fallen off and sustained an injury.”

  How shockingly selfish and sick rich people are. But I need the money. I take a deep breath. “And then what?”

  “Then, Miss Honeywell will simply pretend that, as the result of the fall, she is too afraid to get back on a horse.”

  “And her father will buy that?”

  “Miss Honeywell is certain that he will believe that story. There is no reason for him not to because all the ranch hands would have seen you ride.”

  We are both silent for a few seconds while I digest this new requirement.

  “By the way, I didn’t mention it before, but there is an extra reward. If you stick the month out to the end, Miss Honeywell is prepared to pay not five hundred dollars, but one-thousand dollars per day.”

  A thrill runs through me. My God! At that rate, I’ll be able to pay off my entire loan. “A thousand dollars a day?” I echo.

  “Yes, but you will only get that sum if you stay to the very end and execute the fall in a manner that is believable to those around you.”

  I clutch my phone tightly. It sounds almost too good to be true. I don’t care if I break a bone anymore. “And that’s guaranteed?”

  “You’ll have it in writing. Miss Honeywell is my client. She is not your employer. I am. As soon as you agree to the terms of this assignment, the entire sum will be put into escrow for you. If you make it to the end of your assignment, my agency will release the payment into your account.”

  “Thirty days at a thousand dollars a day is thirty thousand dollars! That’s what I’ll get?”

  “That’s correct. You’ll have to pay taxes on that, obviously.” She pauses for an instant. “Will you do it?”

  “Yes. Yes, I’ll do it,” I respond instantly. My head is swirling with excitement.

  “Fantastic. Miss Honeywell will be pleased to hear that. Can you leave for LA tomorrow?”

  “Er…I don’t have any money,” I admit quickly.

  Her voice softens; loses that professional edge. “I’ll send you some pocket money with your ticket. We’ll put it under expenses. She can well afford it.” For the first time, I hear a sarcastic, disapproving tone creep into her voice.

  I sigh with relief. “Can I also have a small advance? I need to pay my rent.”

  “Certainly,” she says immediately.

  “Thank you, Mrs. Carter.”

  “Don’t mention it.”

  “What do I need to bring?”

  “Nothing. Just yourself. Someone will pick you up at the airport and take you to Miss Honeywell’s home and her PA, Ms. Nora Moore, will take over.”

  That afternoon, I go to the diner where I work. The manager, who knows my dad and understands my financial situation, agrees to hold my job for a month. Nonetheless, I have no choice but to give up my second job stocking shelves at Target.

  Afterward, I go to visit Dad at the hospice. He is sleeping soundly, so I don’t wake him. When he is awake, he’s in pain, so sleep is a good thing. I sit silently by his bedside until it’s time for me to leave. As I’m leaving, a woman from the office runs up to sternly remind me that another bill is already overdue.

  “I’m sorry. I’ve had some problems, but I’ll settle it at the end of next week,” I promise.

  When Chips-R-us calls to say I’ve got the job, I respectfully turn it down. That evening, before I leave to have dinner at Jesse’s, I pay my landlord. He snatches the money from my hand grumpily and stalks off. Behind his back, I flip him the bird.

  At Jesse’s apartment, for the first time in a long time, I feel no stress. I relax and taste the food I am eating. Pasta with meat sauce. Jesse is a truly terrible cook. The meatballs are green and she doesn’t know how they got to be that color, but I can’t stop smiling. When the evening comes to an end, Jesse kisses me on the cheeks and wishes me luck.

  The next morning, I hop on a flight to LA.

  Chapter Four

  Cass

  I get out of the cool, scented limo air into the fiery heat of LA’s sun. Standing on the wide driveway, I look up at Miss Honeywell’s ginormous white mansion. Wow! What a place. It’s more like a palace than a house. I’ve never been inside such a majestic building.

  The driver closes the door and indicates that I should walk up the steps to the house. I ring the doorbell, suck in a breath of scorching air, and straighten my spine. One of the tall double doors opens and cool air-conditioned air pours out. The round, middle-aged, Mexican-looking woman standing at the entrance widens her eyes in surprise at the sight of me.

  “Santa Maria, you’re prettier than her,” she cries gaily.

  Slightly embarrassed, I smile politely. “Hello, I’m here for my meeting with Ms. Nora Moore.”

  She moves back to allow me access into the house. Above us, there is a massive chandelier hanging from the tall ceiling, and beneath my shoes, the granite floor gleams like a mirror. A few yards in front of me is a sweeping, white marble staircase. Amazing. All this to accommodate just one person.

  “Come in, chica. Ms. Moore is not here yet, and Miss Honeywell has company, but she asked me to take you up to her when you arrive.”

  I take a small step forward. “Company?”

  “A man,” she stage-whispers. “And I should warn you that she’s been drinking.”

  “It’s ten o’clock in the morning,” I blurt out.

  “Miss Honeywell likes bubbles for breakfast, but today she’s had a bit more than usual, so be careful,” she confides.

  A chill runs up my spine. “Is she…drunk?”

  “A little bit.” She smiles apologetically.

  “Do you think she’ll remember that I’m supposed to be here?”

  She rolls her eyes heavenward. “God only knows. But don’t worry. Ms. Moore will remember and she’ll be here soon.”

  “Well, shouldn’t I just sit somewhere and wait for Ms. Moore to arrive then?” It seems like the most logical solution to me.

  She ushers me further into the house. “No, no, my orders are to take you up as soon as you arrive.”

  I hang back. “But don’t you think it will be better if we just wait for Mrs. Moore?”

  “Do you want me to lose my head?” she cries dramatically.

  My mouth drops open. “What?”

  She laughs uproariously. “I was joking, chica. This is a madhouse you have come to and without a sense of humor, you won’t survive it.”

  I stare at her.

  Her face suddenly becomes serious. “What’s your name again?”

  “Cass Harper.”

  “It’s not as bad as it looks. If you agree with everything she says and treat her like a princess, there should be no problem.” She shrugs. “After all, you only have to deal with her for a month.”

  “Okay,” I agree with a nod.

  She puts her foot on the first step of the marvelous white staircase. “Don’t take her insults to heart. She belittles people to seem superior to everyone, but you’re a v
ery beautiful young lady. Don’t let her bring you down.”

  “All right,” I mumble, reluctantly following her up the stairs.

  “You need anything at all, you come and see Maria, okay?”

  I nod again, glad to have found a friend in that vast, cold house. “Thank you.”

  She grins widely. “Don’t worry, you’ll be fine.”

  “How do you do it?” I ask. I can’t imagine that her job is simple, especially working for such an egotistical rich girl.

  “Chica, I have two boys at home. They need a roof over their heads and food in their bellies. Miss Honeywell’s father pays better than anyone else. Once you learn to be lower than her, it gets easier,” she explains gently.

  She leads me down a large landing toward a gilded door. I’m not sure if I’m nervous to meet Tamara Honeywell because she’s drunk, or because of what I know about her, but either way, I’m not looking forward to meeting her. A door is slightly ajar at the end of the hallway and there are strange grunting noises coming from inside the room. Maria stops outside it.

  “Good luck, dear,” she says, patting me on my back.

  I push the door fully open, walk into a pink and gold room, and come to a complete standstill.

  What the…

  Chapter Five

  Cass

  I stare at the scene in front of me with shocked, disbelieving eyes. A buck-naked woman, presumably Tamara Honeywell, is bouncing on the erect shaft of a beefy man double her size while his hands squeeze her extremely endowed breasts.

  “Oh, I’m sorry,” I exclaim, immediately turning away.

  “Don’t go,” the man’s voice orders.

  I freeze in my tracks.

  “Watch us,” he says, his voice deep and persuasive.

  My jaw drops. I couldn’t possibly have heard that right. That would be too weird. And gross. Sick bastard.

  “Is she watching yet?” a woman’s voice pants.

  “Not yet, baby,” the man says.

  Oh, my God! Tamara Honeywell wants me to watch her having sex! What the hell have I gotten myself into? I feel as if I have fallen down a rabbit hole. Think of the money, Cass. Think of the money. If I leave now I’m in a worse position than I was two days ago. Not only have I said no to Chips-R-Us, I’ve even given up my Target job. So what if she wants to be a mini porn star, or have people ogle her while she’s doing the dirty. As long as I don’t have to join in, what does it matter? I’m not going to turn tail and run just because she has no shame. I take a deep breath and whirl around slowly.

  “She’s watching,” he tells her.

  “Do you think she’s jealous of me?” she grunts.

  “Yeah, baby.”

  “Her panties must be soaking wet watching us fucking.”

  “Yeah, baby.”

  “Do you think she wishes you were fucking her up the ass while she sucks me off?”

  “Yeah, baby.”

  Yuck! More nasty and vile things come from her mouth as she bobs up and down on the man, but I tune out and stop hearing them. I let my mind wander off to that day three weeks ago, when in a rare moment of lucidity, my father opened his eyes and recognized me. I stroked his thin hand and he whispered that he loved me. I leaned in and listened to his hoarse murmurs. He thought Mom was still alive, and I pretended she was. He was happy that day.

  A shrill scream pierces the bittersweet memory and I return with a jolt to the sight of Tamara Honeywell pulling herself off the man. His dick is thick and red and flops onto his belly like a wet fish. While she wraps herself in a silk gown, he leans over and takes a cigarette out of a silver box on the bedside table. He flicks open a lighter, lights it, and holds it out to her. She knots a tie in front of her gown and plucks the cigarette from him. Putting it to her lips, she takes a deep pull.

  “Get out,” she tells him rudely, exhaling smoke from her mouth.

  Without a word, he jackknifes off the bed and walks naked to the door. As he passes me, our glances touch briefly and he winks at me. I look away quickly. The door closes behind him with a soft click.

  “So, who the fuck are you?” she slurs.

  She’s drunk and I’m not good with drunk people. “I’m, uh, Cass. Cass Harper.”

  “That doesn’t tell me anything. The question was why the fuck are you in my house?”

  Jesus! Where the hell is Mrs. Moore? “I’m your body double. I’m supposed to go to Montana in your place,” I say slowly.

  “Montana?” She scowls.

  “One month on the ranch,” I remind.

  She grimaces. “Oh, fuck, that.”

  She starts walking in my direction, swaying drunkenly, and I feel like I’m staring at one of those appearance-warping mirrors. She is the version of me without errors. The Barbie version. Her hair is platinum blonde, her lips are two times plumper, her nose is perfect, her boobs are bigger, her waist is about a mile smaller, and her skin is a lovely Californian golden brown.

  Standing in front of me with her head tilted to one side, she lets her glazed eyes rove my face then down my body. I’m wearing my best button-down white blouse and black skirt, but by the look in her eyes, I don’t come up to scratch.

  “You’re too fat,” she spits spitefully. “And you look nothing like me.” She takes a long drag from her cigarette, her critical eyes locked on mine. “I can’t have people looking at you and thinking that you’re me.” She shakes her head decisively. “No. The agency must send someone else.”

  The hairs on the back of my neck stand. I can’t have come all the way here for her to send me back with nothing. “I’ll look more like you once they get the hair and the make-up going,” I say desperately.

  She walks around me. “Great hair and make-up are not going to cover that enormous ass of yours.” She comes back to stand in front of me and peers into my face. She is so close I can smell the alcohol on her breath. “Is your nose deformed or something?”

  I’m usually quite good at defending myself, but I need this job, so I resist the instinctive urge to say something equally nasty. “It’s just a nose.”

  She looks scandalized. “Have you looked in a mirror? Fuck, if I had a nose like that, I’d fucking throw myself under a bus.” Her lips curve upwards maliciously. It is clear that she is thoroughly enjoying herself.

  It’s a good thing I’ve never been self-conscious about my nose, or given it a second thought, because this woman is so wealthy, so beautiful, and so confident that she can totally rob someone of their self-esteem and make them question their own self-worth. I remember Maria asking me to appease her.

  “You’re right. I’ll consider getting a nose job,” I say monotonously. If I agree with everything she says…

  “Are you like a robot or something?” she screeches suddenly, her eyes flashing.

  Whoa, she just flipped into fury mode without any warning whatsoever.

  “Why are you agreeing with everything I say?”

  I realize that I’ve tackled the situation the wrong way. Maria said make her feel superior. She cares about being better than me. To her, I’m a bit of gum at the bottom of her shoe and she wants me to act like that. “Because you’re right. I am very unhappy with my appearance.”

  “You should be disgusted by your appearance.”

  I put on a sad expression. “I know I have many flaws.”

  “How dare you patronize me? You’re intolerable,” she shouts, shoving me backward.

  I usually have good balance but I was not expecting the push, so I fall straight into the door and crash to the floor. My elbow and hip hurt. Her spitefulness toward a total stranger who has never done her any harm is shocking, and I clench my fists in anger but quickly release the tension. I must try my hardest to ignore it and concentrate on not saying anything else to piss her off. I can’t lose this opportunity, and that’s exactly what will happen if I get into a fight with Tamara Honeywell. I’m too poor to walk away, and I’m not too proud to beg. This round can go to Miss Honeywell.

 
I only have to survive until Ms. Moore comes.

  “Miss Honeywell, I know that you are far more beautiful than me, but it won’t matter because I’m just going to be on a ranch. The only eyes looking at me will be workers and the animals,” I say from my position on the floor. I keep my voice low in the hope it will ease the tension swirling around the room.

  It works. The fury drains out of her. She slouches, turns, and walks to a table where there is a bottle of champagne in an ice bucket. Idly, she picks up a glass and fills it. Bubbles overflow down her fingers.

  Without bringing too much attention to myself, I pull myself to my feet and stand awkwardly. What exactly am I supposed to do? Stay? Go?

  “Well,” Tamara says, sucking her fingers, “do you know what you’ll be doing in my place?”

  “I’ll be working hard on a ranch.”

  She whirls around and almost loses her balance. Righting herself clumsily, she raises her glass in a toast. “That’s right. You will be,” she makes air quotes with her fourth and fifth fingers, ‘learning responsibility’ as Daddy Dearest puts it. Cleaning up after dumb animals and working alongside a bunch of illiterate, filthy workers.”

  I rack my brain to say something neutral that will not make her fly off into another rage. “I’m not a stranger to hard work.”

  “And while you’re learning responsibility, I’ll be topping up my tan on a friend’s private island,” she announces gleefully.

  “You deserve it,” I say quickly.

  She frowns. “I know I do. The last few months have been so difficult. With all the stress of my new movie being released next month, I can’t believe Daddy would try to do this to me.”

  She sounds like a caterwauling cat, and I cannot understand how this whining, self-pitying woman came to be so famous. She’s horrible. “I know. It must be so hard,” I commiserate.

  She nods her head solemnly.

  Thank God I am spared from spouting more insincere remarks about how difficult her situation is by a soft knock on the door.