CHARMING CINDERELLA

  A BBW & BOSS FAIRY TALE VALENTINE’S ROMANCE

  LANA LOVE

  LOVE HEART BOOKS

  Copyright © 2021 by Lana Love

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Also by Lana Love

  For even more books, please visit my website at:

  https://www.loveheartbooks.com

  Created with Vellum

  CONTENTS

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  CHAPTER 1

  ABBY

  I walk through the office, holding my breath, scared that if I exhale, I’ll wake myself up from a dream. Walking through the office of Ace Records is something I never thought I’d do. Despite everything, I can’t help but be excited about this job. If only my mom could see me!

  A girl name Cheyenne leads me down the edge of a large, open-plan office. Gold and platinum records are framed in orderly lines on the walls, representing bands and musicians that the whole world listens to and worships. Even without seeing a famous musician, it’s hard not to feel starstruck just being here.

  When my temp agency called with this job, I swear on everything that I thought the recruiter was playing a cruel joke on me. They know about my mom, because, well, everyone knows about my mom.

  “It must feel glamorous to work here, right?” I ask her as she me to the desk I’ll have for the next few weeks. My agency was vague on who my boss would be, just saying they needed an admin assistant to come in.

  Cheyenne turns her head to me and narrows her eyes, giving me a withering look as she pointedly looks up and down my body and visibly cringes at my curvy figure. I get that she’s skinny and pretty, but I don’t get why she looks at me like she hates me.

  “You get used to it,” she says, her voice bored and impatient.

  I shut my mouth and hope that the other people in this office aren’t as rude as her. There’s loud music coming out of offices and people laughing or yelling as they talk on the phone. There’s an urgent energy flying around the office, and it makes me want to dive right in and help this company succeed.

  “Is this the new…girl?”

  I turn and see a woman who could be Cheyenne’s sister. Same underfed body, same pin-straight hair, same clothes that cost more than I made last month. Without even thinking about it, I find myself sucking in my stomach to try and look less out of place as I feel. It’s not like seeing girls like them is a surprise – not working for a record label – but this is more…more than I expected it to be.

  “Hi! I’m Abby!” I try and keep my voice bright and light, but when the second girl rakes her eyes over me and winces, I seriously consider turning on my heel and walking out, even if it meant the agency would drop me. There are limits to what I will put up with, even for a job. If I don’t raise the money I need in the next few months, I’m going to lose my last chance to make things right for my mom.

  “Lisette,” she says, limply holding her hand out to me. Somehow, she makes shaking her hand to be both unpleasant and leave me feeling like I should be kissing her ring finger. God, I hope I don’t have to work with either of them.

  “Do you think?” Lisette smirks at Cheyenne, as they both share some joke which I am definitely not privy to and which they are in no hurry to share.

  “He has more pride than that.” Cheyenne sniffs, again casting a disapproving glance at me. She closes her eyes when Lisette opens her mouth, then holds up her hand. “I know, I know. He always takes his assistant. Do you really think that’s going to happen this year, now that Melody’s gone? Of course he’ll take you or me!”

  “What are you talking about?” Memories of high school flood back over me – mean girls intentionally leaving me out of events, acting like I didn’t exist when I was in their presence. I bite my lip and remind myself I won’t be here that long. I need the money and I need to do this for my mom. If she was still alive, she’d have so much to say about me being here, even if just as a temp.

  “Nothing,” Lisette says, then they both collapse into giggles.

  “Come on.” Cheyenne says after she agrees to meet Lisette for lunch. Like they’re really going to eat more than a rice cake… “Here we are. And don’t make a fool of yourself,” she adds, a look of murder in her eyes.

  Great. She’s that kind of passive-aggressive co-worker. I cross my fingers and hope that I don’t have to work with her too much. I mentally remind myself to be extra careful around her, because if she’s the kind of person she’s leading me to believe she is, she’ll undermine others as much as possible just because she thinks it’s fun.

  I really wish I knew what was going on. They’re treating me like I’ve stolen something from them and I’ve only just arrived here. What could I possibly have that they even want?

  Cheyenne pushes open a set of double doors that open onto an office that is bigger than my apartment.

  “Mr. Bryant? So sorry to interrupt, but this is Abby. The temp?” Her voice goes up into a singsong pitch, making the statement a question, and it irks the daylights out of me. She makes herself sound like a clueless high schooler, when she is clearly anything but. Yet, girls like her always have dates and boyfriends, so clearly she knows something I don’t.

  Said Mr. Bryant is in a large executive chair that is facing a floor-to-ceiling window with the most stunning view of the city I’ve ever seen. Cheyenne flicks her shiny blonde hair and bats her eyelashes as he turns around to face us, feigning kindness and charm, masking how nasty she just was to me.

  But when he’s facing us and I get a good look at him, I instantly understand why. Mr. Bryant is Aaron Bryant – the most famous entertainment executive in the country. I’ve seen his pictures in magazines and online, but none of those pictures captured how piercing his green eyes are, how chiseled his cheekbones are, the way his hair curls around his face, and just how drop-dead sexy he is.

  And then a wave of quiet fury builds in me. Never in a million years did I think I would come face to face with the man in charge of the company that took everything from my mom.

  * * *

  “What’s that song you’re humming?”

  I’m startled by the sound of Mr. Bryant’s voice beside me, as we ride the elevator back to the office. He sounds so casual, but it makes the lunch I just finished sit heavy in my stomach. How can such a despicable man have such a sexy voice?

  “Oh,” I say, turning to face him. I force myself to smile before I turn to him. “It’s just something my mom used to sing to me. It’s nothing.”

  That last part is a lie, but I need this job more than I need to tell Mr. Bryant off for what this record label did to my mom.

  “Interesting. It’ll sound cliché, but somehow it’s familiar. I pride myself on remembering everything I’ve heard, so this is unusual for me.”

  “Is there something you need me to do, back in the office?” It hurts to smile this much, but I’m scared I’d look murderous if I don’t. He arches his eyebrow at me as I so blatantly change the subject, but…I just can’t talk about my mom with him.

  “You can follow Cheyenne’s lead for now. It’s all hands on deck as we get ready for both the Rockin’ Hearts Ball and for the next Pink Tango launch. They have a silly name, but they sell a sinful number of downloads.”

  I look away from him, resentment brewing in me. It’s my mom that should have been getting a launch like I’ve seen Pink Tango is getting. The elevator dings as we reach the top floor of the skyscraper. Assuming there’s nothing else, I start to walk back to my cube and the inevitable long list of menial tasks that Cheyenne has been throwing at me.

  “You’re available for two months, Abby, correct?”

  I freeze, then turn to see Mr. Bryant’s crystal green eyes staring at me, leaving me both a little frightened at his intensity and more than a little turned on. As a temp, I’ve never met an executive who unsettles me as much as this man does. Anger and lust churn inside my heart, and it takes all of my willpower to both not tell him off and to erase a fantasy of what his tall, muscular body would feel like between my legs.

  “Of course, Mr. Bryant.” I have no idea how I’ll make it through two months here, but I don’t have the luxury of not needing the job. “That’s what the agency said when they sent me. Do you need to change that?”

  “No. It’ll take that long to hire someone full-time. My last assistant eloped. Highly unprofessional to leave me high and dry. Cheyenne is filling in until I find someone new.”

  “Oh. I thought she was your assistant.”

  Mr. Bryant looks more than a little amused as he smiles. He genuinely looks nice and approachable, which is completely not how I imagined him. In pictures, he always looks severe, his mouth closed tightly as he glares at the photographer.

  “She’d like to be,” he mutters. “Do you have experience as an executive assistant?”

  I catch my breath as I look at Mr. Bryant. It’s true I’m looking for a full-time job, but it’d be a lie to say that I particularly want to work here. Being a permanent employee here would be a knife through my heart, each and every day.

  “A little,” I finally say. “I’ve done a lot of admin. Can I can speak frankly?”

  Mr. Bryant n ods.

  “Admin work is admin work. It’s not much different just because of a title. Someone needs an assistant so they can do their job better and not deal with certain details. I have tons of experience like that.”

  Throughout all this, Mr. Bryant hasn’t taken his eyes off of me. A wave of awkwardness comes over me as I stand in front of him, unsure if I should say something more or if I should just slink off to the dusty cubicle I’ve been assigned to.

  “Fair point. We’ll see how you do here, then maybe you can interview for the job.”

  “I’d really appreciate that.” I feel ashamed that I’m trying to sell myself – even a little – for this job. What the hell is happening to me? But the prospect of a full-time job is exciting. As much as it’d be weird as hell to work here, full-time jobs with benefits are scarce these days and I’d be a fool to decline a job here if I was offered one.

  I’d figure out a way to make it work.

  “Good.” I stare at Mr. Bryant’s ass as he turns back to his office. He’s wearing a tailored suit that fits his body like a glove and, despite loathing him, I want him more than I’ve ever wanted a man in my life.

  CHAPTER 2

  AARON

  There’s something about Abby. She’s the first woman to come through this office who isn’t willing to do anything to be close to me. Cheyenne and the other girls throw themselves at me daily, every word out of their mouth simpering or a crude double entendre. They’re the kind of girls who are interested only in how rich and famous a man is. Me? I prefer a woman with more substance than that – a lot more substance.

  Abby has a fire to her. She looks at me like she hates me, but she doesn’t even know me. Her attitude makes her more deeply compelling than any other woman I’ve met. Doesn’t hurt that she has the curves of a banging pinup model.

  “Where’s Abby?” I ask Cheyenne in my outer office. For once, she actually seems to be working. That’s a change.

  “Mr. Bryant! What can I do for you? I’m more than happy to help you with whatever you need…” Cheyenne bats her eyelashes at me, for maybe the millionth time this year.

  “I’m sure you could, Cheyenne. However, I specifically want to talk to Abby. Where can I find her?”

  “She’s in the copy room. I have her making copies of the contracts for the Rocco Vincent deal.”

  I turn and leave a pouting Cheyenne behind me. More than once I’ve longed for the days when we hired people for skill instead of looks, but this business is what it is. When she works, Cheyenne does a good job and she sure as fuck knows how to work a room and convince men to follow her – or my – agenda.

  As always, a sense of pride and accomplishment overcome me as I walk past the long line of gold and platinum records that line the walls of the office. It’s been years since I was actually in the copy room, but Abby is more than enough reason to go to this part of the office.

  Since the moment she came into my office, I’ve been consumed with desire for Abby. These urges are distinctly inappropriate for me to have for an employee – even if she’s a temp. The Board would have my ass if they knew what I wanted to do with Abby.

  * * *

  “Are you settling in okay?” I smile at Abby, cursing myself using such a lame line to talk to her. But damned if I don’t feel like a teenager around her. I don’t even know the last time a woman had this kind of effect on me, especially one who’s a virtual stranger.

  It's a long moment before Abby turns to me and her cheeks are flushed when she does. She smooths her hands over the waist and hips of her dress, and an animal desire unleashes inside of me. I need to claim Abby for my own.

  “I’m fine, yes,” she says, though her voice sounds strained. The copy machine stops its grating noise and she picks up a large stack of paper. “Is there something you need?”

  What I need would make HR scream…

  “I don’t have a new task for you. Seems Cheyenne has you covered on that front.”

  “She does, yes.”

  “Abby, I’m going to come right to the heart of the matter. You have this air of…combativeness. It’s is crystal clear there is a lot you’d like to say, but aren’t. What’s going on?”

  “Sir, I’m sorry,” she says in a rush, her blue eyes blinking rapidly. “I haven’t meant to offend. What did I do?”

  “Don’t worry, you’re not fired or anything like that.” I smile at her, but that doesn’t seem to put her at ease in the slightest. “It’s more what you haven’t done. Walk with me back to my office.”

  When we’re back in my office, Abby stands in front of my desk, holding the contracts tightly against her spectacular chest. Fuck. What I wouldn’t do to get lost in those amazing tits of hers.

  “Have a seat, please. Actually, let’s sit on the couch – it’ll be more comfortable.”

  Abby arches her eyebrow at me, then sits at one end of the couch. Wanting to respect the boundary she’s set, I sit with plenty of space between us.

  “Is this going to take long? I think Cheyenne will kill me if I don’t finish her list by five o’clock.”

  “Cheyenne can wait. If she wants to take issue with your work today, she can talk to me.” I pause, hearing the harshness in my voice. “Let me be clear. I know Cheyenne can be…demanding. You have nothing to worry about, I promise.”

  A sound like a choked laugh comes from her and for a moment, there is amusement on Abby’s face.

  “If you say so.”

  “Abby, what’s going on? It doesn’t take a genius to see that there is a lot that you’re not saying.”

  “Do you really want to know?” Now, Abby looks at me and the raw fierceness in her eyes makes me pause. Something says that I might regret asking, but I have to know.

  “I do, in fact. Yes.”

  “First of all,” she says, turning and pointing to the platinum record for the song Pussycat Royale above the couch. “There is someone missing from the credits on that.”

  “What?” Pussycat Royale was an unexpected hit by one of the first women-led bands in the 1980s. The song was the first single by Ace Records to reach the top of the charts. Pussycat Royale was conceived as a novelty, and a definite one-hit wonder, but it made the women very famous and very rich.

  “It’s missing the name Ophelia Moore. She’s the one who wrote the song.”

  “What? No. It was the producer who wrote the song.”

  “The hell it was!” Color rises in her cheeks and Abby stands, then starts pacing my office. “My mom wrote that song! She wouldn’t sleep with the…producer,” she says the word like it’s poison, “and so he stole the song from her. That bastard completely destroyed her career and wiped her from the fame she earned.”

  For once in my life, I have no idea what the fuck to say. Dealing with angry people isn’t fun, but I know how to do that. Most people are angry for the wrong reasons and it doesn’t take much to handle them. But this? There is a palpable fury coming off Abby. Worse, I’ve heard rumors about what she’s claiming, so I know she’s not lying to get attention.

  “Fuck. Abby. I’m sorry. I really am,” I add when she huffs and then walks over to the window behind my desk and stares out into the city. “I’d heard the rumors, but they were before my time. I’m not even sure Morris Orange is still around anymore. He went reclusive in the nineties.”

  “He’s still around. Pardon my language, but that motherfucker owns the rights to a full album of songs that my mother wrote. He promised her the world, got her to sign a contract giving this label the exclusive rights to those songs, and then he reneged when she wouldn’t sleep with him. I’ve been trying to get those songs back since…” her voice catches, fury giving way to sadness, “since she died last year. He’s said he’ll sell them back to me if I come up with fifty-thousand dollars.”

  “Do you trust him?”

  “No. I know better than to give him the money unless he signs a contract and puts the master recordings in my hand. I loved my mom more than anything in the world, but she was too trusting and completely not business-minded in how to manage her creative career. Because of that bastard, she barely made ends meet by doing shift work in a factory and then singing in lounges at night.”

 

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