Cinder's Wolf: A Shifter Retelling of Cinderella (A BBW Shifter Fairy Tale Retelling Book 2) (21 page)

The heat between her legs when he’d tied her down and fucked her.

The fun of him dabbing the bit of barbecue sauce on her nose.

How she had started to fall in love with him not when he took her back to his perfect penthouse, but bent her over his office desk and slammed her silly.
“Sometimes, getting dirty can be the fun part,” she mumbled to herself.

“What, darling?” Rex asked.

“I think I know how to save my company.”

T
he conference room
of the Plaza Hotel was booked, but not for a ball this time, and no one was wearing masks. Standing on stage, Cynthia fondled the remote in her hand as she stared out at the crowd. It was mostly men and women in suits as she had predicted, possible investors. Unlike the ball, she made sure to keep this gender ratio even.

The first row was full of familiar faces. There was Bel, of course, more than slightly pregnant, holding hands with Samson—the only man in the room wearing flannel along with a semi-permeant scowl. Next to Bel was most of her staff—Emma, Hikari, and Marian, the latter of whom kept turning around in her chair to glare at Loxley. Beside them, in the seat closest to her, was Rex. He smiled at her when she met his eyes and mouthed a phrase that had become commonplace for the two of them in the last year.
“I love you.”

Cynthia smiled back, the rest of the crowd blurring away behind her. She could do this.

She flicked on the presentation, the lights of the conference room dimming. “Hello, everyone. My name is Cynthia Cinders, the CEO of Boxes & Broom, and I’m here today to talk to you about personal organization.”

Cynthia flipped the slide to show a picture of her desk from last year. “Pretty, I know. But not the sexiest topic, and a year ago, most investors agreed with you.”

Her eyes slid to Rex again. This time not for support, but because she liked the smile curling at the edges of his lips. He was proud of her. She wasn’t just doing this. She already had.

“But something changed in Boxes & Broom, as I’m sure you can see by the graphs behind me.” Cynthia didn’t need to turn around to see the infographic Emma had specially designed behind her. In the last months as she prepared the pitch, she had spent hours poring over every detail.

The cartoon animals were gone, and in their place was a sleek graph showing their net revenue. It was a curve sharp as a cliff face. Going up.
Cynthia clicked the presentation again. “We updated our model to cut down the time it took for our employees to clean and organize the house by half, while doubling customer satisfaction and retention rates. Last month, we gained five thousand subscribers alone and have begun expanding to markets outside of New York City. But how did we do this?”

Even in the dim light, Cynthia could see the men and women bending their heads, whispering and asking questions. They had probably thought the only reason Cynthia was being allowed to pitch was because she was Rex West’s girlfriend. Maybe that would’ve been true if she had gone a year ago, when Rex gave her the needed capital to buy time to try out her new strategy. But it wasn’t true anymore.

Cynthia smirked, catching a similar expression on Rex’s face.

Underestimate us at your stock portfolio’s peril.

“We did all of this by realizing that sometimes, you have to make a mess of things to get them clean. Sometimes, that can even be the fun part.”

Cynthia’s smirk opened into a grin as she flipped to her favorite slide, a picture of Bel’s bedroom at the farmhouse, all of her books, knickknacks, and clothes pulled out into the floor at the center of the room. Bel stood, one foot on the stack of books, looking proudly around at the chaos.
“We have our customers work with our organization specialists to deconstruct their rooms, putting everything into piles by object. This activity takes up the bulk of the time, but according to our studies, this is actually the most satisfying part of it. Customers get to empty out their cluttered spaces, without the hassle of having to try to figure out where to put everything back in.”

From there, the presentation dovetailed back into numbers and future plans, but Cynthia knew she had them hooked. After the lights went back up, only a few audience members ducked out of the room. Most cued up in line to talk to Cynthia about investing opportunities. At the front of the line, of course, was Rex.

His usual composure was completely shattered, and he was grinning like a buffoon. He waved at the line. “Sorry gentleman, this one’s mine.”

He didn’t sound sorry. And, as he dragged her behind the curtain of the small presentation platform, he didn’t kiss like it either. His mouth met hers in full passion, made even richer because now they knew each other’s bodies completely. Cynthia didn’t bother to protest that it was unprofessional. She had more than proved her worth today. She had earned that damn kiss.

Still, when they parted, she pushed him lightly right in his silk-blue pocket square. “We’re not accepting kisses for investments at this time.”

“What about something else?” he said quietly.

“Rex, I told you. I can give you some percentage points, but I want to give everyone else a fair shot too.”

“That’s not what I mean.” He pulled out the pocket square, unfolding it in his hand. Cradled in the ripples of blue silk was a ring. “It has no diamonds. I know how you feel about those. And I’m not too fond of things that falsely promise forever either.”

“Oh my God,” Cynthia exhaled more than said. She knew it was a cliché, the gasping girl at her proposal. Because this was what this was, even if Rex was too proud to get down on one knee. But she was glad. No, more than glad.
Ecstatic
. Over the past few months, she had found herself wondering more and more about what would happen if they turned their precious stolen moments into promises, but had been worried that if she said it aloud, she’d jinx it.

Rex’s smile was rueful. “I knew you’d like it.”

Cynthia half laughed, half cried. “You haven’t even heard my answer yet.”

“I haven’t even asked the question.”

“You do like to do that, don’t you?” she asked. “Just command instead of ask.”

“Marry me, Cynthia Cinders.” He held up the ring in a gesture that had the same elegance his hand had all those months ago when he had offered her their very first dance.

Cynthia’s heart warmed. As she peered closer at the ring, she noticed that there were no stones inlaid in it. The entire thing was made of rose gold, and where a diamond might’ve been sprouted a beautifully sculpted flower, with petals that looked liquid and smooth.

“It’s a rose,” he said, and then he slipped the ring onto her finger. “They were my mother’s favorite flower.”

She pressed it to her chest, the coolness of the metal, quickly heating against her skin. “Yes. Yes, I’ll marry you.”
He gathered her up in his arms, pressing kisses to every inch of her face. Cynthia reveled in his attention, her happiness making her heart beat so hard it ached. This was perfect.

Behind her, someone began to clap. Slowly.

Slap by slap, Cynthia’s stomach dropped, and Rex lowered her back to the ground. Bile turned in the back of her throat.

“What a beautifully lovely couple,” said a clipped English accent. “Such bliss.”

At the same time, Cynthia and Rex turned from each other to notice a man standing up against the black curtain. Dressed as he was in midnight tuxedo, he seemed to melt out of the rippling folds of the curtain.

“Bane,” Cynthia said cooly. Rex had informed her of the debt he owed Bane due to finding her shoe, and how close Rex had come to being lost forever to his wolf after she ran away. She hadn’t been looking forward to seeing Bane again because they both knew it would mean he was calling in the favor.

“Oh, you do know my name, Princess. I’d thought from the way you’ve both been avoiding me at every social,” Bane gestured vaguely, “event we’ve attended, that you’d forgotten all about me.”

“My mate doesn’t like to be called princess.” Rex made a sound low in his throat that only Cynthia knew was a growl. While Rex had been teaching her to raise an eyebrow—mostly unsuccessfully, she had been teaching him to not sound like he escaped from the zoo.

Bane clicked his tongue, tilted his head, and gave another of his razor-edged smiles. “Compliments on the ring.”

“What do you want?” Cynthia placed a hand on Rex’s shoulder

“I’m so glad you asked, Cynthia.” Bane spat out her name like it was a curse and nodded in false deference to Rex. “Because I have a little problem, you see—”

“Cynthia?” The curtain behind Bane ruffled, and someone stuck their head between the edges of it. Cynthia recognized the face immediately, even though it had been a couple of months since she had last seen it after moving in with Rex.
Reagan
.

Her stepsister was looking well, hair slicked back into a bun, mascara and eyeliner applied liberally around her dark eyes. It gave her an overall Cleopatra style, which was enhanced by the shimmering golden shirt she wore tucked into a floor-length black skirt that moved like a shadow. If Cynthia were still into fashion design, she would’ve certainly put Reagan on the cover of something.

A year ago, Reagan had gotten a job at as a freelance investigative journalist and while she had been too busy to even meet for coffee, she was clearly doing well if she could afford these kinds of clothes from just her blog’s ad-revenue.

“Reagan!” Cynthia said, glad for an excuse to break the tension.

Except the tension hadn’t broken. Reagan wasn’t looking at her at all, but staring at Bane like time itself had frozen. She looked suddenly pale, even though her lips were parted, her hands slipping down the curtain. Her expression was impossible to read.

Bane’s was even more confusing, the harsh lines of his face smoothed, but his fists clenched.

“Hello, Reagan,” he said softly with a kind of emotion in his voice that made Cynthia feel like she should vacate the room.

“Stilskin,” Reagan said through clenched teeth. “What are you doing here?”

“Oh,” Bane said slowly, savoring the syllable, “just collecting a favor.”

Cynthia shivered in empathy for Reagan, although Reagan still seemed too surprised to actually show any emotion. There was definitely something going on between those two. And it might end in murder. Or worse.

“Not today you’re not,” Reagan said firmly. “I have business with Cynthia.”

Bane shrugged. “Well, I suppose there’s always tomorrow.” He gave Rex a sarcastic salute with a single finger to his forehead. “Til then.” Bane flicked back the curtain, prowling past Reagan without so much as a look backward. As if she meant nothing to him at all.

Reagan flinched.

After Bane was gone, Cynthia rushed toward Reagan, half tempted to check her vital signs. “Reagan, are you—?”

“Don’t mother me. I’m fine. Stilskin is just a pain in my ass lately.”

From the way Reagan’s whole body language was still pointed in the direction of Stilskin’s exit and the pallor of her cheeks, Cynthia was pretty sure it was more than that. “Are you sure there’s nothing I can do?”

“Actually,” Reagan said, holding up a finger thoughtfully, her hoop earrings swinging with the motion. They were even bigger than the ones she used to wear. “There is one thing.”

“What?”

Reagan glanced ruefully at Rex, as if he could help support the point she hadn’t even made yet. “Well, there’s someone here who’s looking for you.”

“Reagan, out with it,” Cynthia said more sharply than she meant to.

Reagan grimaced and again drew back the curtain, revealing a woman wearing a surprisingly restrained pantsuit.
“Hello, Cynthia.”

It was Lucille.

Cynthia exhaled through her nose.

Lucille, like Reagan, was looking well. She had moved forward a few years in her fashion sense, her hair shrinking to a sleek bob and her clownish makeup restrained to light lipstick and eyeliner. What mascara she used didn’t clump.

“Hi,” Cynthia said curtly.

Lucille opened her mouth and then closed it again.

“Can I help you with something?” Cynthia put her hands behind her back, resisting the impulse to cross them. She didn’t want Lucille to see her engagement ring. Lucille didn’t deserve the right to smirk and attribute all her success to Rex. And that was what she’d do. Cynthia wouldn’t be naïve.

“It’s been a while,” Lucille said. “Could we talk alone?”

“The last time we talked alone, you told me I was a slut that my father would be ashamed of.”

Not decked out in her giant hair and garish patterns, it was somehow easier to read her expressions. A twitch of her lips that might have been remorse. The fidgeting of her hands. “The things I said about you. They weren’t true.”

“Why? Because I have Rex now?”

“No.” Lucille shook her head once. “I was always wrong. I was,” a regretful smile, “caught up in my own past. Putting my troubles on you.”

“What do you want?”

Lucille’s laugh was sharp. “What do I want, or what do I deserve? I want to be a part of your life again. I want you to forgive me. What I deserve… Well, I guess that’s your choice now, honey.”

Cynthia sighed. Lucille’s openness should’ve made her feel more in control; instead, it made her feel vulnerable too. It was funny, with her grandmother haircut and elder statesman wardrobe, Lucille should’ve looked older, but there was something in her lack of sureness that reminded Cynthia of that young woman who had come to her ballet recital all those years ago. The woman who had cried in her bedroom when no one else was looking when her dad took a business trip on her birthday. Just like Cynthia had cried in hers.

“Maybe,” Cynthia said.

Reagan nodded encouragingly on the edges of Cynthia’s peripheral vision.
“Maybe,” Lucille repeated. “I have tickets to the ballet. Maybe we could go together.”

Cynthia nodded, pressing her lips together and raising her eyebrows in her own tentative smile. “Maybe I’d like that.”

“Good.” She nodded, mirroring Cynthia’s expression. “I know I would. Well…” Lucille bobbed her head and gestured to the crowd of investors milling around the stage. “I think you have more important people to talk to than me. So, I’ll be going.”

“Okay,” Cynthia said. Other words tumbled around in her mind, but by the time she had pinned any of them down, Reagan and Lucille had both slipped back behind the curtain and joined the crowd. Christine had decided not to come as she was preparing for her audition for a seat in the New York Opera’s pit orchestra.

The curtain fell back around them, hiding her from the rest of the world once more. Lucille was right. She did have to meet with the other investors and soon. She looked down at her hand and fondled the ring, a smile creeping on her lips, banishing the sour taste thinking about Lucille left.