Chapter Four

Present Day

“Useless!” I flung my cell phone onto the satin comforter and retrieved a gold bell from the end table by my bed. “Where are you, good-for-nothing maid?”

The sound of tires cracked on the brick driveway outside the second-story window of our Wilshire home in Beverly Hills. I bounced off the four-poster bed and tucked back the drapes to peer below. Our limo looped the circular driveway and stopped just shy of the marble steps.

A chauffeur, dressed in the usual black suit and cap, stepped out of the driver’s seat and strode around to the back door.

A new driver. I smashed my face against the window to get a better look. The guy had shaved dark hair, high cheekbones, and cappuccino skin—total eye candy. Of course, I could never go for him. Puh-lease. His profession made him totally undesirable. Blue collar, white collar—who cared. Workingmen were gross—sweaty, stinky, callused hands, dirty fingernails, and low pay. I grimaced. Besides, his paycheck couldn’t buy one of my pant legs. I laughed and let the curtain flutter closed. “Eustace!” I rang the bell again.

The mousy waif appeared in the doorway, breathless and unkempt.

I scanned her from head to toe. The girl needed a serious makeover—caterpillars for eyebrows, no makeup, and stringy dishwater blonde hair, and so thin, her gray uniform swallowed her figure whole. How did one go out in the morning looking like that? Not that her appearance mattered. What civilized man would want to love a maid anyway? “Eustace, where were you? I had to ring twice.”

“It’s Eunice, ma’am.”

“Potato, putah-toe. Whatever. Just answer my question. Where were you?”

“Sorry, I was helping Meredith with her pr—”

“Stop.” I pinched my fingers together to indicate her silence. “Like I care what you were going to do. I’m more interested in what you should be doing right now. And that’s bringing me a hot orange tea with a teaspoon of brown sugar and non-dairy creamer. Non-dairy. Don’t be slipping me extra calories and lactose again. Understand?”

The maid stared without comment.

“And I’ll take it on the balcony. Can you handle that? Or will I have to wait another hour and get a sprained wrist from all the ringing?”

“Yes, miss.”

The waif shuffled toward me, instead of walking away like I wanted her to.

“Your sisters asked me to ask you—”

“Step, Useless. Stepsisters.” How I loathed those two morons. They tried to be sickly-sweet to me, but I saw through their diabolical plan. They sought to take my position in this home, but that would never happen. Not on my watch. Not while my heart still pumped. No nerdy girls would get to be the queen of my father’s heart and home. That will forever be my role—to be head princess. “Remember, Useless, I come before Meredith. Me, always, me first. Got that?”

I strode to the walk-in closet and flung the double doors open at the same time. I loved being dramatic. A sense of power came with it. Something I learned years ago, it helped me get my way ninety-nine percent of the time, and the one percent people paid for it dearly.

The maid inched forward, still not leaving.

“What?” I snapped.

“Meredith has been good to you, like a mother, and—”

Heat rose in my chest and into my face. How dare she put those words in the same sentence. I flipped toward her with clenched fists and eyes narrowed. “Like. Key word, like. She is not my mother. Never will be. Ever. Do not ever confuse the two. You got that?”

The timid girl cowered back, hands in the air, shaking.

I’d admit, I felt a little bad. I didn’t mean to frighten the poor girl. “Calm down, I’m not going to hurt you.” I returned to the closet and glanced over my shoulder. “Just don’t ever put Meredith and mother in the same context, you got me?”

The girl nodded. “I’m sorry, but your stepsisters came by for—”

“Are you still here?” I tossed a cardigan near her feet and shifted the hangers over, yawning as if bored. “And change your name. Eugene is an ugly name for a girl.”

“It’s Eunice.”

“Still ugly. How about Anastasia or Brianna? Beautiful names. Yes, I like both. Which would you prefer?”

“I’ll get your tea.” The maid sniffed and hurried from the room.

I yanked a soft pink silk blouse from its perch and held it to my torso in the mirror.

“You should be nicer to her, Cynthia,” Dad’s voice boomed outside my closet.

I dropped the shirt and threw my arms around his neck. His designer gray suit smelled of spicy cologne. Dad was clean shaven and handsome—though in his early fifties, his high cheekbones and lack of wrinkles could put him at late thirties—easily. Of course, his six-foot-four stature made him not only attractive to the masses, but it also gave him presence. People feared and respected this man. I fingered his tie, tilting it into its rightful place. It always lay crooked, and I imagined he did that on purpose. He knew I would fix it. I always did. I smiled. “When did you get back?”

“An hour ago.”

“You aren’t leaving again?”

His mouth turned downward. “Unfortunately, yes.”

I frowned. “Do you have a date with some gorgeous, hot blonde?”

His face tensed as he unwrapped from my arms and stepped back. “You know it is not a date.”

Of course, I knew. I also realized I had hurt his feelings. I couldn’t help myself. Feelings of bitterness still lingered thick in my heart between us. He had no right to marry so soon after my mother’s death. Though I rarely voiced it, I harbored serious animosity. But per usual, I didn’t say what I really felt. “Sorry, Dad. I just wondered. That’s all.”

“Nice try. I get what you’re trying to do,” he said. “When are you going to accept Meredith as my new wife? It’s been almost a year now.”

I sensed his disappointment. But I didn’t have it in me to give him a pass. “Do I have to put a time limit on it?”

“Cindy,” he warned.

I pouted. “Fine. Go to your meeting then.”

“Actually, travel. I’m flying to meet an investor for my next movie.”

I deepened my pout. I hated being stuck in this house with them. The three women who did not belong here. “Please don’t go. You just got back.”

“You know I have to. And while I am away, please be nicer to the help.”

“Why? They’re being paid to do their job.” I winked.

His mouth turned into a hard scowl. “Cynthia.”

I giggled. His reaction always made it funnier to act like a brat. “So, where are you off to this time?”

“New York. Now give your old man a hug, so I can catch my plane on time.” He held his arms out.

I crossed my arms. “And, if I don’t hug you, will you stay?”

“Cynthia…”

“Okay. Fine.” I filled them, tight and secure in that hold.

After a moment, he patted my back, an indication that he wanted me to let go. I always held on just a second more, but finally let go. Unhappy. Now he would leave.

He directed my chin with a crooked finger to face him. “Promise me, you’ll be good.”

“Me?” I blew a raspberry and batted at the air. “Of course. Like always.”

His mouth hardened. “I’m serious.”

“I know.”

He sighed, kissed the top of my head, then turned and started down the hall. “I’ll see you at the end of the week.”

I trailed behind him. “End of the week? You aren’t serious?” My heart sunk even lower. In this entire world, I only cared about one thing—my dad. Without him around, I would be even more miserable than usual. “But our birthday party is on Friday.” Though our birthdays were only a day apart, we always celebrated together.

“I’ll be back in time for the party. Don’t you worry.” He stopped at the bottom stair and faced me with his warm smile.

The closed mouth grin that told me everything would be okay. His look had held me in the darkest of times. When monsters invaded my room in the middle of the night, his smile held me. When mean girls at school taunted me, it helped me through. When mom died, his smile was all I had to make me feel better. “Promise?” I asked, like a small child.

“I promise.” He walked below my step, kissed my cheek, and, for a moment, stared with a reflective gaze. “You look so much like your mother did at this age.”

A pool of tears invaded my eyes. I blinked them away. “So, what does the man who has everything want for his birthday this year?”

He sighed. “The truth?”

I nodded.

“For my daughter to start acting like an adult for once,” he said.

I rolled my eyes. Same old, same old. As if. “What does that even mean, Dad?”

“Do you really need me to spell it out?” When I didn’t answer, he responded, “You order the servants around, eat my food, spend my money, and whenever you leave, it’s for some ridiculous party.”

“I know, great life, huh?”

His eyes narrowed.

I wanted to laugh, but I didn’t dare. “I don’t understand the problem. Seriously, what’s wrong with any of that?”

“See there, that is the problem. You have no concept of why that is wrong. You have no appreciation for anything. I put up with it for a while because I felt sorry for you, but you are no longer a kid, Cynthia. You’re almost twenty-one.” He took a deep, visible breath. “It’s time.”

“Time?” I put my hands in the air and shrugged. “For what?”

“To get a job.”

A loud laugh thrust from my mouth before I could stop it. I covered my lips, amused more than ashamed. But then, his stern expression gave me pause. “Sorry, it’s just, what do I need a job for? When I’ve got all this.” I held out my arms, as if to encompass all of the wealth surrounding us—the tall arched windows, grandiose chandeliers, exotic Persian rugs, and million-dollar paintings. “Isn’t that the point of a job? To get stuff.”

“It’s my stuff.”

“Hardly.”

“Keep it up, Cynthia, and you won’t—” He checked his watch. “Oh, shoot. I’ve got to go. I’ll call when I arrive, and we can continue this conversation then.”

“Can’t wait,” I said dryly.

He rushed back down the steps and out the door.

I trudged to my room, hoping he had only been kidding. Get a job? The man must be getting old and delusional. I sat on the edge of my bed, feeling on edge. My striped tabby cat Skittles leapt on the mattress and slinked next to my thigh, rubbing her head on my leg. I scratched under her chin, and a purr followed. Her presence often soothed me. I needed that now. In the pit of my stomach, I knew my attitude upset Dad. But I couldn’t help it. Right now, as much as I loved him, I didn’t like him. In truth, he hurt me, too. Maybe more so, when he married her.

“Hello, Sweetheart.”

Speak of the devil. As if on cue, to aid in my misery, my stepmonster Meredith appeared in the doorway with her normally annoying cheery disposition. “Now that your dad is gone, I need your help.”

I didn’t want to help this woman do anything. I studied her for a moment, without responding.

Her long red hair was swept up on the sides with tortoise shell combs to hold it in place. Her makeup done natural, as always, with a light gloss on her perfectly shaped lips and just enough powder to soften her freckles. Her loose, boho, white shirt and red gypsy skirt did little to cover her bodacious curves. No mystery why Dad married Meredith—thirty-six, twenty-four, thirty-six came to mind. But why did Meredith marry him? Easy—dollar signs. A waitress in Glendale, come on, could she be more of a cliché? Probably the biggest reason why I resented her so much. That, and no one could replace my mother or should share Dad’s heart. The thought of her moving in on either of those positions made her enemy number one.

Ignoring her, I dropped Skittles to the floor, then bent down and peered under my bed. “Where did I put my cell phone?” Though I pretended to look for my phone, I knew full well it sat a few feet away, plugged into the jack on my desk.

“I wonder if you wouldn’t mind helping me find some photos from your childhood. You can even include some with your mom in them, if you’d like. We’re making a slideshow for the birthday party, and it will not be complete without including some of your pictures.”

“I have a nail appointment in an hour.” I stepped over the two discarded sweaters on the floor and crossed to the closet and fingered a short leather coat. No, too warm.

She followed. “I understand you’re busy, but what about the pictures?”

I didn’t answer, but instead, I walked around her to the mirror and stared at my sullen expression. I wanted her to go away. But she didn’t. “I’ll see what I can do.”

“I appreciate that.” Meredith still didn’t leave, but instead remained in the doorway, blocking my path to freedom.

“What?” I snapped.

“We are having dinner tonight. I really would love to have you here. It would be a chance for us to get to know each other better, just the four of us.”

I glowered at her in the mirror. Get to know each other better? Why would I want to do that? But I knew she would not shoo until I agreed. “Sure. I’ll be here.”

Meredith smiled. “Wonderful. Six o’clock sharp.” She patted my shoulder and sauntered back down the hall.

I rolled my eyes, folded to the carpet next to my bed, and peered underneath. The round flowered box, filled with my mother’s pictures, sat hidden just out of reach. I leaned forward and scooped it out. Dust powdered the top. How long had it been since I dared open it? I stared at the box a moment, unsure if I should open it now.

Skittles rushed the box and batted at the string that tied it closed.

I let her tug on it until it came undone. She smacked it a few more times, then got distracted by a fly and scurried off.

Now untied, I raised a manicured finger to the lid and tipped it over. The top tumbled to the carpet, and I peered inside. Mounds of photos lay on one another, all sizes and shapes—some snapshots, some digital prints, others department store specials. One of the three of us, a few months before she died, rested at the top of the stack. A few of Mom being silly for the camera made me smile. But my favorite was a candid shot of her and Dad holding me as a baby. Enormous redwood trees filled the background, making my parents look diminutive in size. No matter how stunning the scenery, none of it compared to her beauty. Golden hair, big, almond-shaped green eyes, smooth ivory skin—Dad spoke the truth, we resembled each other some. Well, back before I dyed my hair the color of the week. I touched my blue, textured bob and frowned. It in no way mirrored her gorgeous, model-like wavy hair.

I stroked a finger down her photographed mane. “I was better with you here, Mom.” A tear escaped, and I batted at it with annoyance.

The silhouette of the maid appeared in my doorway.

“What, Anastasia?” I rammed the lid back onto the box, leapt to my feet, and kicked the pictures back under the bed.

“My name’s Eunice, ma’am,” she said. “I have your tea.”

“I’ve renamed you Anastasia. Better, don’t you think? Of course, that’s hard to say. Too long. I shall call you Ana for short.” I walked back to the closet, stepped into some red pumps, and vamped in the mirror. My eyes appeared puffy and bloodshot. Great. I’ll have to fix my makeup in the car. “I need you to contact my hairdresser. I can’t go to the party with faded blue tips, now can I?”

“No, ma’am, I suppose not.” She held out a tray. “Your tea. Where would you like it?”

“No time for tea, Ana.” I stuffed my phone into a red purse and swung the strap over my shoulder. “Now call the limo. I need to get going.”

“He’s already in front.”

“Awesome.” I sauntered down the large staircase and out the door.

The limo driver’s gaze met mine, and he smiled.

My heart skipped. His brown eyes and gleaming smile looked amazing against his bronzed skin. If only he wasn’t an insignificant servant.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

I startled, then blinked “Are you new, driver?”

“Yes,” he said with a deep and husky voice. “I’m Henry. A friend of a friend got me this job.”

I stared with narrowed eyes and a tight smile. Did it matter he was completely gorgeous? Maybe…Nope. Still poor. I slipped my sunglasses on and folded my arms. “Well, your friend of a friend doesn’t get any points with me. You’re not very good.”

“Excuse me?” He scowled.

“I’m still standing here on the curb.” I gestured toward the closed car door. “Hel-lo. The door, driver.”

“Oh.” He blinked, then rushed to open it, and stepped back. “Sorry, ma’am.”

I slid in and peered back over my sunglasses. “And in the future, don’t address me unless I address you firs—”

The door slammed shut. I pursed my lips. He’d pay for that later.