Cinderellie! Read online

  Cinderellie!

  By

  Carol Grace

  Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Epilogue

  "It's past midnight, Cinderella. Your dress hasn't turned to rags."

  "And the car is still intact," Jack said.

  Ellie turned to smile at him, grateful for his insisting she come tonight, grateful for his understanding and most of all for his behaving as if she was the only woman in the hall.

  She was with someone who could easily pass for Prince Charming, after an incredible evening.

  No wonder she felt like her world had been turned upside down.

  "Good night, Jack," she said. But before she could turn to the door, he'd leaned forward and kissed her. She didn't expect such tenderness. Such a light touch, a hint of what might come later. It was merely a brush of his lips against hers. Heaven help her, she wanted him to kiss her again.

  Beauty and the Big Bad Wolf (SR May 2005)

  Cinderellie! (SR July 2005)

  His Sleeping Beauty (SR November 2005)

  Dear Reader,

  It's two days before Christmas, and while the streets of New York City are teeming with all the sights and sounds of the holiday, here at Silhouette Romance we're putting the finishing touches on our July schedule. In case you're not familiar with publishing, we need that much lead time to produce the romances you enjoy.

  And, of course, I can't help boasting already about the great lineup we've planned for you. Popular author Susan Meier heads the month with Baby Before Business (SR #1774), in which an all-work Scrooge gets his priorities in order when he discovers love with his PR executive-turned-nanny. The romance kicks off the author's new baby-themed trilogy, BRYANT BABY BONANZA. Carol Grace continues FAIRY-TALE BRIDES with Cinderellie! (SR #1775), in which a millionaire goes in search of the beautiful caterer who's left her slipper behind in his mansion. A Bride for a Blue-Ribbon Cowboy (SR #1776) introduces Silhouette Special Edition author Judy Duarte to the line. Part of the new BLOSSOM COUNTY FAIR miniseries, this romance involves a tomboy's transformation to win the cowboy of her dreams. Finally, Holly Jacobs continues her PERRY SQUARE miniseries with Once Upon a Prince (SR #1777), featuring the town's beloved redheaded rebel and a royal determined to woo and win her!

  And don't miss next month's selection led by reader favorites Judy Christenberry and Patricia Thayer.

  Happy reading!

  Ann Leslie Tuttle

  Associate Senior Editor

  SILHOUETTE BOOKS

  ISBN 0-373-19775-6

  CINDERELLIE!

  Copyright © 2005 by Carol Culver

  Books by Carol Grace

  Silhouette Romance

  Make Room for Nanny #690

  A Taste of Heaven #751

  Home Is Where the Heart Is #882

  Mail-Order Male #955

  The Lady Wore Spurs #1010

  *Lonely Millionaire #1057

  *Almost a Husband #1105

  *Almost Married #1142

  The Rancher and the Lost Bride #1153

  ***Granted: Big Sky Groom #1277

  ***Granted: Wild West Bride #1303

  ***Granted: A Family for Baby #1345

  Married to the Sheik #1391

  The Librarian's Secret Wish #1473

  Fit for a Sheik #1500

  Taming the Sheik #1554

  A Princess in Waiting #1588

  Falling for the Sheik #1607

  Pregnant by the Boss! #1666

  **Beauty and the Big Bad Wolf #1161

  **Cinderellie! #1775

  *Miramar Inn

  ***Best-Kept Wishes

  **Fairy-Tale Brides

  Silhouette Desire

  Wife for a Night #1118

  The Heiress Inherits a Cowboy #1145

  Expecting… #1205

  The Magnificent M.D. #1284

  CAROL GRACE has always been interested in travel and living abroad. She has spent time in France and toured the world working on the hospital ship HOPE. She and her husband have lived in Iran and Algeria.

  Carol says that writing is another way of making her life exciting. In addition to her Silhouette titles, she has also written single-title romances for Pocket Books. Her office is her mountaintop home which she shares with her inventor husband. Her daughter has just graduated from law school and her son is an aspiring actor in Hollywood. Check out her Web site at carolgracebooks.com. Her fun-loving San Francisco-based critique group can be found at fogcitydivas. com.

  For the Kimpton sisters— Grace, Ruth, Esther, Pat, Mary, Alyce and Jane of 3040 with thanks and love from Carol Grace.

  Chapter One

  "Ellie, you're late," Ellie's stepmother said with a frown. Gwen Branson was standing in the middle of the Hostess Helpers office, wearing a rain jacket over her cocktail dress, her arms piled so high with tablecloths and boxes of candles that Ellie could only see her eyes shooting daggers. But she could imagine her mouth—turned down at the corners in her usual expression of long-suffering disappointment at Ellie's behavior and appearance.

  But then, Gwen was never happy with the way Ellie looked—whether she was playing Cinderella in full fairy-tale getup as she was now, right down to the glass slippers, or wearing no makeup while on the job in the kitchen, in loose comfortable clothes with her hair pulled back from her face. Whether Ellie was late, early or on time, she still couldn't please her stepmother.

  Gwen believed in manicures and facials and expensive clothes both for herself and her biological daughters. She'd given up long ago on her stepdaughter, letting Ellie do as she pleased, which suited Ellie just fine. Ellie wasn't beautiful; she'd been told that over and over by Gwen and her daughters since they came into her life. They hadn't actually said outright that she was the tall and awkward type, but Ellie got the message. At five-ten, she towered over her stepsisters, who actually envied her ability to eat anything she wanted and not gain a pound. They, of course, watched their calories and dutifully joined a fancy gym that Gwen paid for. But they seldom worked out, and even if they had they knew they would never achieve the svelte-model figure Ellie had developed late in her teens. And that annoyed them. And it annoyed Gwen, too, as she didn't want any competition for her daughters in the looks department, or any other department for that matter.

  "Sorry," Ellie said, shaking the rain off her skirt. "But the kids wouldn't let me leave. They wanted to hear Cinderella tell one more story and then one more. They were so cute, I couldn't say no."

  "You weren't paid to stay overtime. You were paid to run the games, feed them cake and ice cream and that's it. No stories. Because you couldn't say no, we're going to be late."

  "Just give me a minute to change clothes and we can leave."

  "We don't have a minute. April and May have gone on ahead to set up. The food will be there, all you have to do is put it together. I was just about to leave without you. I would have but…"

  She didn't finish her sentence. She didn't need to. Ellie knew why she wouldn't leave without her, why they wouldn't cater a party without her. She was the one who did all of the hard work in the kitchen. Although she'd organized everything earlier in the day, once she got to the site she would be baking, broiling, stuffing, chopping, spreading and filling trays with her own special creations such as miniquiches and filo triangles. Meanwhile her stepmother and stepsisters would be out circulating among the guests, passing the trays, filling the champagne glasses and smiling brightly, accepting compliments for the wonderful food they hadn't made.

  "Here," Gwen said
, handing Ellie the boxes. "You take these. Let's go." Before Ellie could protest that she was tired and hungry and the glass slippers made her feet hurt, Gwen had turned off the lights and locked the door behind them.

  Ellie drove while Gwen gave directions to an address in Pacific Heights, one of San Francisco's poshest neighborhoods. They turned into a courtyard where a valet parked their van, then helped them unload the boxes in the courtyard of the big stone house.

  Ellie whistled appreciatively as they walked around the three-story building, to the back entrance while rain continued to fall steadily on her head. "Whose party is this, anyway?"

  "A venture capitalist," Gwen said. "Very rich. Very eligible. This is an excellent chance for your sisters to meet him or one of his single friends. So don't screw it up." Ellie couldn't see Gwen's face, but her voice was as sharp as her pointed red nails.

  Screw it up? Was she referring to the time Ellie had dropped a carton of eggs on an Aubusson carpet just before the guests arrived at an anniversary bash at the yacht club? Or the time she'd blown a fuse by running the blender, the microwave and the convection oven all at once at a fiftieth birthday party? Guests were in the dark for a half hour and had to eat crackers and cheese until an electrician agreed to a house call, at an exorbitant fee, of course.

  Okay, so she'd made a few mistakes, but she was a cook, no, a chef! A graduate—with honors—of the Culinary Institute should be cut a little slack, at least by her family. But Gwen never cut her any. She had always had high standards, which were set even higher when Ellie's father died and Gwen had used the money he'd left her to start her own party planning business. The not-too-secret goal of which was to worm her way into high society so her daughters could marry well. So far it hadn't happened, but they hadn't lost hope.

  Ellie was so wrapped up in her thoughts she tripped on one of the flagstones, and several plastic containers of nuts and cheese toppled onto the rough walkway. She heard Gwen draw a sharp breath, but she was spared another of her brusque warnings when Ellie nimbly scooped up the containers, which were still intact and in pristine condition. The back door swung open, and Ellie's stepsisters called out in the dark to hurry it up.

  "Where have you been?" April demanded from the doorway where she and May stood waiting for them. "The guests are here. The host is fuming." She paused as Ellie and Gwen hurried into the kitchen.

  Before Ellie could answer, May got a look at her outfit. "Good grief, Ellie. What are you wearing?" she asked, stifling a laugh by pressing her hand against her mouth. She and April were both in black cocktail dresses with tiny white ruffled aprons, which they thought made them look like sexy French maids.

  At twenty-three and twenty-four respectively, they'd been actively husband hunting since they'd turned twenty-one, prodded by Gwen who had drummed it into their heads that it was just as easy to fall in love with a rich man as a poor one. So far, no one had turned up who was rich enough or good enough for either one of them. Ellie thought that once the girls had found suitable mates, Gwen might just pack it in.

  Ellie, at twenty-six, had no plans to get married. After taking over the household duties when her mother got sick, which meant years of cooking and cleaning for her father, then for his new wife and her daughters, she was no longer interested in running a household for anyone. Not even Prince Charming. She loved cooking, but she was tired of being taken for granted.

  If Ellie was ever tempted to get married, she would have to be swept away by a prince like Cinderella or Sleeping Beauty had been. She wanted passion and excitement or nothing.

  Naturally she didn't confide in her stepmother or stepsisters, who would have laughed themselves silly at the idea of Ellie being swept off her size-ten feet by some prince. She'd dated several guys from the Culinary Institute, but nothing clicked. She loved kids, but in her future life as a restaurateur, she would be working sixteen-hour days and have no time for a husband and family, so it was just as well she hadn't yet met Mr. Right, if there were such a person.

  "You look ridiculous," April said, shifting Ellie's thoughts back to the moment. "Who ever heard of a five-foot, ten-inch Cinderella in glass slippers making appetizers in a designer kitchen? At least we've gone to the trouble of looking our best. I guess it doesn't matter for you, seeing as you'll be out of sight in the kitchen."

  "Right." Ellie slipped off her faux-glass slippers and put them in the large butler's pantry. She tied on a large white apron and looked around at the copper pots hanging from the ceiling, the wide expanse of granite counters, the stainless steel subzero refrigerator and the huge butcher block in the middle of the room. What she wouldn't give for a designer kitchen like that! Never mind, she'd have her own kitchen some day, in her own restaurant, where she'd be in charge of hiring the help. No stepsisters need apply. Just as soon as she got some investment capital, she'd make it happen. "Now where is that filo dough?" she asked.

  A half hour later, she took tiny crab tarts out of the oven, then artfully stuffed little new potatoes with crème fraiche and caviar, and placed her three-cheese filo triangles on a large platter. Her sisters snatched them out of her hands and smoothly glided out the kitchen door down the hall and into the living room. Before the door closed behind them, Ellie caught a glimpse of tasteful paintings on the walls, hardwood floors, Persian carpets and tall ceilings. She heard music and laughter and a cacophony of voices. No time to think about what it must be like to be a guest at such a party. She had much too much work to do.

  Ellie breathed a sigh of relief at finally having the kitchen to herself. She pulled her hair off her face and had just taken a batch of shrimp puffs out of the oven when the door opened and a tall man in a dark suit, blue shirt and red power tie walked in. Ellie was stunned, recognizing the obnoxious man who'd killed her dream two weeks earlier. He didn't have a heart, only dollar signs blazing in his blue eyes. She was so shocked to see him she dropped the pan of puffs on the floor. But when she bent down to pick them up, so did he, and her forehead banged against his. She rocked back on her heels.

  "You all right?" he asked, reaching out to steady her with one hand on her arm.

  "Fine." Except for flashes of light in front of her eyes and the pounding headache.

  He didn't recognize her! She'd sat in his office for fifteen minutes a mere fourteen days ago. Tonight they'd banged heads, then he'd looked her over, and he still didn't know who she was! Sure, she looked like a refugee from a fairy tale, but still, she knew exactly who he was.

  He was the arrogant, self-centered bastard who'd turned her down for venture capital. He probably turned down hundreds like her, every week, whereas she only got in to see a handful of men in the business of investing in start-up businesses. So while he'd forgotten her completely, she'd never forget him. He'd been so smooth, so sure of himself…and so negative.

  She remembered every word. He'd said, "I'm in the business of taking risks, but I'm not in the business of throwing away my clients' money. No way would I invest in a restaurant. Do you know how many fail in the first six months? Ninety-nine percent. And even if I did invest in a restaurant, why should I invest in yours? You're not even a celebrity chef. You're nobody. You're doomed before you even start. I don't do restaurants, startups or sole proprietorships of any kind. I only take chances on ventures that have a chance of success. You don't. How did you get in here, anyway?"

  That was her cue to get out and get out fast, before he found out she'd posed as the delivery person from a nearby deli, with lunches for the workers. She'd never forget that intense blue gaze, the same blue gaze he had fixed on her now.

  He wrapped his handkerchief around his hand and picked up the dropped pan of puffs before she could do anything. He set it on the counter and held out his hand to help her to her feet. She felt the room tilt on its axis. Either she'd been injured worse than she thought or she was in shock over running into the one man she never wanted to see again. He, on the other hand, seemed oblivious to her state of mind and calmly helped himself to a
still-hot puff.

  "Not bad," he said, chewing thoughtfully.

  Ellie leaned against the counter and waited for the room to stop spinning around. Her face burned from the heat in the kitchen and from embarrassment. "Not bad?" she demanded when she realized he was referring to the shrimp puffs that had won her first prize in the appetizer division of a citywide contest. Had she lost her touch? Not likely. "Have you had better?" she inquired stiffly.

  He was still chewing, and he held up one finger. "I'll let you know in a minute. After I have another."

  She lifted one off the pan to give it to him, but his cell phone rang at that moment, and as he spat out questions and answers about ratios and percentages and interest rates so quickly to the person on the line, Ellie found herself staring at him in awe. He obviously had a brain like a calculator. No big surprise considering his profession and his status. He ended the phone conversation just as abruptly as he'd begun, flipped his phone shut and switched gears.

  He reached for the shrimp puff as if the call had never happened, and she ate one herself to test it. No, she hadn't lost her touch. The dough was light, the shrimp blended with cheese and lemon and fresh dill were delicious. If he didn't agree, the hell with him. He obviously had high standards, but so did she. Maybe he knew finances, but she knew food. And her food was always excellent, if she did say so herself.

  She'd even told him so when she'd first met him at that ill-fated encounter in his office. After all, if she didn't believe in herself, who would?

  After he'd demolished his second shrimp puff, he narrowed his gaze and looked her in the eye for a long moment. Here it comes, she thought. But he just nodded and said, "You're right. Very good." He stepped back to take another look at her, this time from head to toe. He looked so long and so hard at her strange outfit, at her flushed face, the wisps of hair that had escaped from the scrunchie, and finally at her bare feet, that goose bumps covered her skin. She wondered if he finally did recognize her after all. If so, did it matter? "You're the brains behind this food?" he asked.