Cinderella-ish (Razzle My Dazzle Book 1) Read online

  “You rode the Metro here this morning?” She checks her watch.

  “Yep. But I got off the train too soon and walked about four blocks.”

  “You did appear to be a bit flustered when you approached my desk. Come on. You’re up.”

  She leads the way, closer to the double doors, and I must admit, the anticipation of the unknown has surfaced.

  What will this Antonio guy be like?

  Will he have tough questions for me?

  Will he scoff at my lack of PA experience?

  We reach the double doors that, incidentally, look a lot larger now than they did ten seconds ago.

  Liza smiles. “Funny thing,” she says as she slowly turns the knob to open the door, “Antonio also had a jelly-donut-related incident on his way to work this morning. Maybe it’s something you can use as an ice breaker? It may help you connect with him.”

  “Wait, what?” I almost stop in my tracks. “That’s an odd coincidence. But a good enough ice breaker if you ask me,” I say.

  We enter the spacious office, and right away, I can’t help but notice the bay window that overlooks Downtown Los Angeles. The view is breathtaking—I could seriously get used to working in an office like this.

  A tall, dark-haired, slender man in a dark blue suit is facing the large window with his hands securely nestled in the pockets of his perfectly creased slacks.

  “Mr. Michaels, your 9:53 interview is here,” Liza says, then looks to me and mouths the words ‘good luck’ before making a quick exit.

  “Just have a seat and I’ll be right with you,” he says, still facing the window.

  I make my way toward one of the high-back chairs in front of what I assume is his desk.

  He turns to walk toward the desk and our eyes lock. The look on his face is probably the same look fixed to my own—a look of unfathomable shock, although his is embellished with an impish grin.

  “Well, well, well, if it isn’t Miss Potty Mouth herself. You’re my 9:53 interview?” says Antonio Michaels…formally known as the jelly-donut-eating, rude guy from the Metro.

  And uh…someone better call in the cavalry; the bad day snowball has officially reached monumental avalanche status.

  Chapter 2

  Antonio

  “You’ve got to be kidding me,” grumbles the fiery woman I encountered earlier this morning on the Metro.

  Truthfully, I hardly expected to see her again. Especially since I never take the Metro or any other form of public transportation. However, as part of our annual wager-fest, my buddy Jonah bet me a thousand bucks and a round of drinks that I’d never step foot on any form of LA public transportation.

  So, for the first time—ever—I hastily embarked on a public transportation venture. I don’t need the one thousand dollars I’m set to earn from this wager. But I have yet to lose an annual bet. I simply hate losing…at anything.

  Of course, Jonah was more than obliged to drop me off at the Metro station, citing he wanted to be sure I actually got on the train, making jokes as soon as I sat in his car.

  “Dude,” he began, “part of me wants to get on the train with you, hit record, and spread that shit all over YouTube, Snapchat, and Facebook. No one is gonna believe your prissy-perfecto ass is taking the Metro.”

  I flipped him the bird then adjusted the passenger seat of his Tesla to a comfortable reclining position. “Man, just shut up and drive. I don’t wanna miss that train. And you, Sir-Jokes-A-Lot, should get prepared to pay the hell up. I’ll take my thousand bucks divided up in crisp one-hundred-dollar bills. Please and thank you,” I said with an insolent chuckle.

  Jonah was certainly one to talk. He too has never taken public transportation, being a product of money. He fits the bill of all clichés related to growing up in the 90210—Beverly Hills.

  “I’ll gladly pay up once the task has been fulfilled, my man. And by the way,” he lightly punched my shoulder, “when are you gonna tell me what I have to do this year for wager-fest? You’re like, way behind on that shit, man.”

  “I know, dude. I’ve been busy planning CraveMe’s contribution to the upcoming Lingerie Ball. Man, with Dottie retiring, I’ve got my hands full. I’ll think of something soon even though it won’t quite matter. You always lose.”

  Jonah grimaced at my comment, making me laugh in amusement. Then, I dutifully gave him a shoulder punch in return.

  We arrived at a stoplight, and Jonah reached over to the backseat then tossed me a small white paper bag. “Here…I was generous enough to buy you some breakfast.”

  I opened the bag and took a quick look inside. “Dude, really? Jelly donuts?”

  “Fuck yeah, bro. You might as well reward yourself for putting on your big-boy boxers by getting up the nerve to take the train.” He let out an exaggerated laugh while covering his mouth with his hand. “I’m really surprised you made it this far. Shit, I might even pay you two thousand bucks.”

  “Oh, believe me, you’ll pay up, alright. Just be on time when you pick me up at my office later on today, with payment in hand,” I demanded.

  “And will I get to see the beautiful Miss Liza? Man, that woman is so fucking fierce. I’d convince her to marry me today if she’d only talk to me,” Jonah said, raising both eyebrows expressively. He’s had a thing for my receptionist for the past two years. He just doesn’t get that she’ll probably never give him the time of day.

  “Dude, Liza’s just not that into you.”

  Jonah barreled into the Metro station like Speed-Racer 2.0, minutes before the train was due to arrive. “Oh, and come to think of it, dude,” I announced before I closed the door of Jonah’s shiny new Tesla. “I’ve got the perfect bet for you. I officially bet you one-thousand bucks you’ll get nowhere with Liza.”

  Jonah’s jaw dropped and the dumbfounded look of shock that consumed his perfectly round face was priceless.

  By the time I boarded the train and took a seat, my stomach was growling like a ninja wolf. Despite the fact that a jelly donut would be the last thing I would ever indulge in, I reached into the bag, pulled one of those bad boys out, and bit right in. Before I knew it, the train took off. I found myself taking in the scenery, fascinatingly immersed in everyone around me. There were riders of all types: students, businessmen and women, a mixture of those who appeared to be homeless, touristy types, and those who looked like they just took the Metro to pass the time.

  About twenty minutes later, the train came to a grinding halt, and as some jumped off, others hopped on. At this point in my train-riding endeavor, it was standing room only, and I graciously gave up my seat to a little elderly lady who was hauling groceries. She reminded me of my grandma back in Italy.

  So anyway, I digress…

  I moved toward the back of the train and parked myself up against a pole for support. I reached into the paper bag, removed the second donut, and took a hefty bite.

  And that’s when I saw her.

  She appeared to be deep in thought, clinching one hand onto the strap of her oversized designer bag, while the other hand was clenched to her cell phone. She carried herself with this naive yet classy allurement—as if she had no clue about her level of drop-dead-gorgeousness.

  I tried, but could not take my eyes off her and neither could those she eased past, most of them doing a double-take.

  Her shiny black hair, long and straight, seemed to highlight her cappuccino-colored skin tone—a tone that made every revealing inch of her body look as though it had been personally kissed by the sun.

  As if that wasn’t enough, she wore an off-white sweater dress that tastefully clung to her body, showcasing an hourglass figure that would make Kim Kardashian’s own curves gawk in envious admiration.

  And icing on the cake: hot-pink five-inch stilettos that hoisted her petite body to a perfect-for-me height.

  I swear, the woman was undoubtedly JDH.

  Jaw. Dropping. Hot.

  So there I was, all prepared to flash my Colgate smile as she walked by. B
ut instead, as if in instant-replay slow motion, she tripped on some dude’s briefcase and landed up against me and that damn jelly donut.

  It was a beyond epic fail moment—for her anyway. All I could manage to spill out of my mouth was the word whoops. I meant no disrespect as I continued to eat my way through the rest of the donut—what else was I supposed to do? I had to get rid of it, right?

  Her reaction was downright unexpected, catching me completely off-guard.

  Why?

  Because instead of thanking me and treating me like a hero for saving her from falling flat on her face, she scolded me.

  That’s right, she scolded me…Antonio Michaels.

  And I found it annoyingly…sexy.

  Sure, I probably could have been a tad sympathetic about how the red jelly from my donut left an extremely noticeable mark on the top half of her dress, but truth be told, the woman made me nervous.

  No woman makes me nervous.

  Anyway, she glared at me with those big green, cat-shaped eyes, and I almost melted. And don’t let me begin to describe how good the woman smelled.

  But she proved to be quite a spicy little dish—armed with an attitude and a mouth that spit out cuss words as nonchalantly as a back-in-the-day baseball player spit out chewing tobacco.

  Yet, despite all of that, the potty-mouthed kryptonite-like woman has been renting the overly crowded space in my mind ever since our encounter on the train. And now, like some unbelievably bizarre twist of fate, she’s standing here in my office.

  Looking even hotter than I remembered.

  “You’re Antonio Michaels?” She shakes her head and rolls her eyes, seeming to look a little disgusted.

  I take slow, I’m a cool guy strides toward my desk, trying to shield how delighted I am to see her. “Yep. Last time I checked.”

  Don’t be a dick. I internally remind myself.

  She scoffs. “Figures. Look, I’m gonna save you the trouble and just leave. Obviously, our impromptu meeting earlier would suggest we are not at all what one would consider to be working relationship material.”

  I see she’s still armed with that saucy bite me coating.

  With a sultry swing of her hair and one hand on her hip, she pivots and hurriedly stomps out of my office.

  Instinctively, I rush after her, but, like an idiot, I stumble over one of my oversized desk chairs. “Wait!” I call out; yet like a swift flash of lightning, she darts completely out of sight.

  By the time I reach Liza at the front receptionist desk, Miss Potty Mouth is nowhere in sight.

  Damn it.

  “Antonio, is everything alright?” Liza asks, rising up from the seat behind her desk.

  “Do you happen to know the name of my 9:53 interview?” I ask, hoping Liza has some sort of information.

  “Oh, you mean the woman who darted out of here as if she just saw a ghost? Um, what happened?”

  “Her name, Liza. What’s her name?” I walk over to her desk, raking all ten of my fingers through my hair—something I tend to do when I’m earnestly focused on a project.

  “Belle with an E. Her name is Daniella Belle. Didn’t she give you her résumé?”

  I shake my head. “Nope. We didn’t even make it that far into the interview. But I want—scratch that…I need her to be my personal assistant.” I straighten my suit jacket and turn to head toward the doorway that leads to my office. “Find her please, Liza. Just find her,” I beseechingly direct, as I swipe my keycard, opening the door.

  “Okay I’ll certainly try my best…after all, she does have my scarf. Oh, and, Antonio?” Liza says, her voice timid.

  “Yes, Liza?” I pivot to face her, as I hold the door open.

  “Just so you know, TMZ is reporting you were on the Metro this morning and had a heated confrontation with another passenger. Something about a viral video they plan to post on their show this afternoon. Shall I forward this to Public Relations? I’m sure they’ve got you mixed up with someone else.” She shrugs her shoulders and smirks. “Like you’d ever take the train to work, right?”

  Chapter 3

  Daniella

  “Holy shit, D! You’re a total celeb now,” Emma emphatically announces as she unreservedly charges into my bedroom.

  “Language. Watch your language young lady,” I nag, wondering what the hell she’s so wound-up about.

  Emma can be quite the drama queen, as is the case with most sixteen-year-old girls. Come to think of it, I’ve known her to be prone to dramatic tendencies since I became her nanny five years ago.

  “My language? Ha! You should talk.” She giggles, peering down at the tablet she’s holding. “At least I didn’t get called a potty mouth in front of a gazillion people.”

  Emma plops down beside me on my bed, seeming to ignore the practically infinite amount of candy bar wrappers that are scattered about.

  Ever since I returned home from that ill-fated train ride and equally ill-fated job interview, I’ve been dolefully feasting on a substantial assortment of junk food while binge-watching Pretty Little Liars. To think how promptly my day morphed into a Mt.-Everest-sized heap of crap. I mean honestly, from that bitchy breakup text, to a less-than-to-be-desired occurrence with the Rude Hottie Guy on the Metro, to an it’s-never-gonna-happen-job interview with said Rude Hottie Guy—without a single measure of doubt, today will go down in the history of what-the-fuck? days.

  By the time I got home, I wanted nothing more than to indulge in a pity-party-junk-food-fest in my bedroom, taking full advantage of Emma being at school and Stacy being at work.

  However, now Emma is home from school…calling for me to put on my nanny hat as her big brown eyes switch from gleaming up at me, to being engrossed in whatever the heck she finds so intriguing on her tablet.

  Aiming the remote control toward the TV, I push the button to pause Pretty Little Liars and turn over to face Emma. “What on Earth are you talking about?”

  Emma peers up at me with utter amusement darting from her eyes. She passes her tablet over to me. “Here. Take a look at what’s trending all over TMZ’s YouTube Channel right now.”

  I grab the tablet, fully expecting something related to some band she’s into. Instead, it’s a video with the tagline: Bombshell Brunette “Miss Potty Mouth” and CraveMe CEO, Antonio Michaels, Have A Feudal Exchange On The Los Angeles Metro.

  Holy Shit.

  No…

  Emma lets out an ear-piercing squeal as she reaches over to press the play button on the video. “I want to watch it again,” she says. “It’s quite hilarious.”

  I can feel my heart pounding in painstaking anticipation.

  This truly cannot be happening.

  Seriously…

  A video?

  A viral video.

  Apparently, the daft streamer captured the whole-entire-incident—at least from the moment I can be seen and heard telling Antonio Michaels exactly what he was expertly portraying: A First-Class Jerk. And, of course, the now-viral video, that has over two-million views, ends with the High and Mighty Antonio Michaels referring to me as…Miss Potty Mouth.

  Emma cocks her head to the side, and even though I turn my head to shamefully avoid eye contact, I can literally feel her laser-beamed judgmental gaze upon me. “Miss Potty Mouth?” She laughs. “You must admit, D, this video is superbly epic.”

  “Oh, you’re right. It is indeed epic. An epic fail,” I say, beginning to feel queazy from all of the junk food consumed. Or queazy from the viral video, perhaps. “And stop calling me D,” I demand, attempting to surreptitiously change the subject.

  “Fine. Shall I call you Miss Potty Mouth instead?” Emma laughs, and I pick up a pillow and playfully smack her across the head with it.

  “You’ve gotta spill the details, D.”

  “Believe me, Emma. There’s really nothing to spill. I had it out on the train this morning with another commuter. The guy just so happened to be the CEO with whom I had a scheduled interview.” I cover my face with a pillow
and mumble, “So, you know, just another day in the life of Daniella Belle.”

  Emma removes the pillow from over my face, and her frivolous gaze meets my solemn one. “D…it was Antonio he’s so hot Michaels. So, you’re a total fifteen-minute celeb, now.”

  “A fifteen-minute celeb?” I look at Emma, feeling a little dazed.

  “You know…fifteen minutes of fame? Duh.”

  I roll my eyes. “Oh right. Duh.”

  Emma glances at the digital clock on my bedside table, then reaches for the remote control to my TV. “It’s 2.59. TMZ comes on at 3. Your incident is bound to be their top story.”

  With the remote in hand, Emma un-pauses Pretty Little Liars and scrolls down the channel program guide to TMZ. Sure enough, their lead story is me and Antonio Michaels on the Metro.

  Great. What’s next? I’ll get struck by lightning?

  Like a groupie, Emma becomes fixated on the popular gossip TV show, now reporting on me as the mystery bombshell potty mouth. I turn over on my side, pulling the cover up over my head as if the thin sheet is enough to shield my trivial embarrassment.

  All I wanted was a chance at a job with a well-known lingerie company in hopes that someday I’d be able to share and implement the designs of my very own lingerie line.

  But that opportunity has been neglectfully thrust out the window, now lavishly flowing in the wind, off to who-the-fuck-knows-or-even-cares-where land.

  I’ll get over it. I always do.

  Emma squeals, shakes the side of my hip, and yanks the cover from off my head. “Look, D! A live TMZ crew has caught up with Antonio. Just look at him. He’s so yummy!”

  I turn to watch the TV and just like Emma squealed about, TMZ seems to be following Antonio Michaels as he exits his office building.

  And yes. Admittedly he is looking absolutely yummy.

  But he’s still a jerk. A yummy jerk.

  Emma turns up the volume, and I can’t help but sit up, now becoming fully hooked on what’s unfolding.