The Cinderella Arrangement (2 page)

I
can’t believe
I’m considering this.

Hell, I more than considered it. I went through the registration process to pimp myself out to unknown men. Two retail jobs and they were still not enough to make ends meet. Desperate times.

I paused over the username and weighed using a fake name.

Anastasia? Isabella?

Despite the thrill of going by something exotic, I decided to use my first name. The world was flooded with Jessicas. I entered my height and body type. Then I realized I would need a profile picture, and it needed to be good. I grabbed a black cocktail dress from Natalie’s closet and peeked into the hallway. The bathroom door was open. I rushed inside, closed it, and looked into the foggy mirror.

I was a mess.

My blonde hair looked like a bird’s nest. I attacked it with my brush, bemoaning the split ends I found. I lined my makeup on the sink like toy soldiers. These billionaires only cared about having a hot chick dangling on their arm.

All the tangles teased out of my hair made a noticeable improvement, but it still looked dry. I squirted some of that hair moisturizer in my hands and then tousled it to make it shine. Should I straighten my hair? Nah. I didn’t want to look too polished, and yet I wanted to stand out from all the blonde Barbie dolls listed on the website. My mascara and eyeliner were next, and then I added just a touch of lip-gloss.

I looked at the frightened, pretty girl in the mirror.

Damn it. This will never work.

Then I walked out of the bathroom and bumped into Natalie.

“There you are! I was getting worried.” She paused in the midst of talking. “Wow, are you going out on a date or something?”

She knew I didn’t date. “No, I’m not.”

“Then why are you all dolled up?”

“Because I need to take a nice picture of myself. Can you help me?”

“Sure,” she smirked. “Is this for an online dating profile?”

I faltered as she dashed inside her room to get her camera and wondered why she was so excited. “Uh—sorta.”

“Well, I think that’s great,” she gushed. “It’s about time you dated.”

My insides squirmed at not revealing the whole truth. I would tell her soon enough, but I didn’t think she would approve. “It needs to be flattering.”

“Well, duh.” She dragged me around the house. “Here, lean against the wall and hold one of your arms. Look down.”

“Shouldn’t I look at the camera?”

“No! Models never smile for the camera.”

I rolled my eyes. Natalie took one photography class in college, and apparently that made her an expert.

“If I don’t smile I’ll look angry.”

“Stop talking.”

I laughed and was blinded by the flash of her camera. She took dozens of random photos, some of me sitting down on the couch, standing, drinking wine, and holding books.

“What’s the point of this?” I whined as I held several volumes.

She kept shaking her head at me as she snapped pictures. Am I doing something wrong?

“You’re so pretty. I always thought you should model.”

I choked out a laugh. “Me? Model? I don’t think so. I’m too short.”

She said nothing, but her face looked wistful as she snapped more photos. “Okay, I think that’s enough.”

“Could you send them over? I’m going to take this thing off.”

I walked back to my bedroom, stripped off the dress, and pulled my jeans and t-shirt back on with a sigh of relief before returning to my unfinished profile.

How much do I want?

It was tempting to put $20,000, but that was too crazy, so I clicked on the $5,000 - $10,000 per month tab and described myself as an aspiring writer with a Bachelor’s degree in English. I drew a blank at what else to write that would make me sound appealing.

Aquarius? Adept at juggling? Can make a mean French toast from stale bread?

“I sent them!” Natalie’s voice roared through the door.

Her pounding footsteps grew louder, and I half-lifted from the chair.

She flung open the door. “So, what is this dating site?”

Double crap.

I bit my lip hard.

“What is this?” She leaned over my chair. “Oh my God, is this an escort site? Jessica!”

The way she said my name made me feel like something under her shoe. “It’s a dating website f—for rich men.”

She stared at me as if she’d never seen me before. Natalie’s thin arms crossed her chest as she glowered at me. “It says here that you want five to ten thousand dollars a month. I mean, really, Jessica. What do you think they’ll want in exchange?”

“No,” I said even louder. “That’s not how it works. You go on dates with them and they pay you. It’s an eye-candy thing. I’m not fucking men for money.”

Her eyes shined with pity. I hated that.

“Look, I get it. You’re desperate for money.”

“I don’t think you get it,” I said in a quiet voice. “I have two jobs and they’re still not enough.”

“Then you search for a better job!”

“What do you think I’ve been doing all this time? Eating bonbons? I’ve been applying to every posting on craigslist. The few places that bother to email me back send a letter of rejection. I’m out of options.”

Admitting that tore my heart out of my chest.

Natalie’s face flushed an ugly shade of purple. “You don’t have to do this! I’ll pay for your rent, you can pay me back later.”

“No. I will not keep depending on you. It’s wrong.” I turned back toward the screen.

“You’re not depending on me—”

“Yes, I am Natalie. There’s no need to sugarcoat how much of a leech I am.”

Or how I’ve failed at everything.

“Becoming a prostitute isn’t a solution to your problem.”

My cheeks burned. “I’m not becoming anything. Would you relax? I want to try this.”

“Why couldn’t you try something normal? I mean out of all the jobs out there, you chose this? This is a bad idea, Jess.”

The horrible sound of her screaming rang in my ears.

“I’m sorry, Nat,” I said in a tight voice. “But I am desperate—and I need this. I don’t have a family to take care of me.”

“I don’t feel good about this.”

It’s not like I have a choice.

It was this, or keep begging the manager at Chili’s for the hours he couldn’t give me.

“I can take care of myself.”

“No, you can’t, Jess,” she said in a softer voice. “Especially not with your history.”

His face blazed in my mind. The anger radiating from my body turned inward. I didn’t want to hear it. She tried to reach for me, but I turned toward the screen. A final furious sob and my bedroom door slammed shut. I clenched my fist on the desk and breathed deeply, listening to the sound of my heart hammering against my chest. I couldn’t remember the last time I thought about that jackass.

Why did she have to remind me of him now?

There was work to do. I wiped my eyes and continued the profile. I chose several pictures showing me smiling and others that made me look vulnerable.

How the hell am I supposed to know what a millionaire wants?

 I blew out my cheeks as I posted the profile and drummed my fingertips on the table, refreshing the webpage obsessively to see if I had any responses.

I felt a swooping sensation as my email blinked.

Holy shit, that was fast.

Hello,

Just saw your profile pics, your gorgeous! I’m a wealthy married 60y/o man looking for a discrete, pretty young lady like yourself ;) Would you be willing to accept $3000/month? Check out my profile and email me back.

Sincerely,

Mr. Nice Guy

I shuddered, my skin clammy. His message had been innocuous enough but I could detect an aura of sleaze radiating from Mr. Nice Guy. A sixty-year-old man looking for a discrete woman less than half his age.

Gee, I wonder what he wants.

Feeling a bit sick as I deleted his email, I wondered if all the responses would be like his.

As I deleted the email, two more popped up. Wow.

Hiya!

You look like just what I’m looking for ;) Check out my profile.

-EnigmaMan248

I clicked on his profile and saw an aging, bald man with two buxom blondes in his arms, each kissing his cheeks. His “about me” line declared him as The Perpetual Partier.

More like the Perpetual D-bag.

I scrunched my face in disgust. Maybe Natalie was right about this website being a waste of my time. I clicked on the third, bracing myself.

Good Evening,

I am a businessman in my late twenties looking for someone to accompany me in my travels. While I cannot disclose exactly what I am looking for in an email, I believe that the arrangement I am seeking would be of great interest to you. I realize that my lack of information seems suspicious, but I would like to set up a meeting as soon as possible. I will give you $2000 to meet with me tomorrow night, so long as you sign a non-disclosure agreement upon arrival. Regardless of whether this arrangement pans out, you will receive the money. Please respond as soon as possible.

Sincerely,

-L

That piqued my interest. His profile displayed a man in a business suit with large sunglasses and dark, chocolate-brown hair. I couldn’t really discern anything from the low quality picture; it seemed like he might be handsome. His pricing was negotiable and his net worth was a staggering 1.6 billion.

Holy fucking shit.

My mind churned. Two thousand dollars just for showing up. I couldn’t pass this up, no matter how sketchy his request sounded. The car would be paid for, and last month’s rent, but it wouldn’t be enough to get me back on my feet. He couldn’t be a hoax; the website claimed to check each “gentleman’s” bank and tax records. He really was worth all that money.

My insides squirmed as I thought about it. Where would we go? Why did he want a travel companion? The questions raced around in my head ceaselessly, but I knew that I couldn’t pass up two grand.

Hi L,

Thank you for emailing me. I would be glad to meet you. Yes, I am free tomorrow. What time and where?

- Jessica

I kept the email as curt as possible. L was clearly a no-nonsense guy, and I didn’t think he would respond to a sugary message. My heart hammered as his reply came within minutes. I trembled as I clicked on the new email.

Jessica,

Please be at the A16 restaurant in San Francisco at 7pm. The hostess will show you to my table. Please RSVP soon.

Thank you,

- L

I let out a strangled laugh at his email’s clipped tone, and I suddenly felt a lot less worried. This wasn’t the tone of a guy who wanted to get into my pants. He was something else entirely, but I wasn’t sure what. Intrigued, I sent back a confirmation, and he replied lightning-fast.

See you tomorrow.

- L

The bedroom echoed with the sound of my nervous giggle. I closed my computer and climbed into bed. What is he going to be like? I tossed and turned in my bed, the promise of two thousand dollars easing my nerves. The adage burned in my mind: if it’s too good to be true, it usually is.

A
nxiety clawed
at my stomach as I painstakingly applied my makeup. I chose the same black cocktail dress that I wore in my profile picture. Maybe he would think that was lazy. Oh well, too bad. It wasn’t like I had a ton of options in my closet.

I wore nude stockings because the city was always at least fifteen degrees cooler than the East Bay. Then I pulled on my faux wool coat and grimaced at the missing buttons, hoping the billionaire wouldn’t notice how very poor I was.

The billionaire. I’m meeting a stupidly rich man for dinner and I still don’t know why.

Well, I knew why. I’d be two thousand dollars richer, which was more than enough to pay back Natalie. Even if it amounted to nothing, I’d have breathing room for a few more weeks. As I prepared to leave, the front door opened, and I heard Natalie come home from work just as I was preparing to go out.

She looked like she hadn’t slept at all; there were dark arcs under her eyes and I felt a rush of guilt.

Her eyes roved down my body. “So, you’re doing it?”

“Yes.” I brushed past her, hoping my tight-lipped expression was enough not to start another round of disagreement.

“Jessica,
please
don’t do this.”

The desperate note in her voice turned me around. “I’ll be fine.”

Her body was still rigid. “Text me as soon as you’re done.”

I inwardly rolled my eyes, but I knew that Natalie was concerned and only wanted me to be safe. “Whatever. Fine.”

I opened the door and walked into the crisp November air. As a lifelong Californian, any temperature below seventy degrees made me reach for a sweater. I tried to imagine myself in a cold climate and laughed through my chattering teeth.

And it’ll be even colder in the city.

The BART was only a few blocks away. I felt ridiculous as I tottered in my heels through the neighborhood. Cars sped past me with their bass raised to ridiculous levels, pounding up my legs and into my heart. I followed the distant scream of the metro and again I wondered what he would be like—and why he was so secretive.

What if he wants to kiss me?

I kept myself calm by imagining a two thousand dollar check written to me.

It’ll be fine
.
It might even be fun!

When it was over I could write an article about what it was like being a sugarbaby for a billionaire. God, I hated that word.

The doors to the BART hissed open and a slew of tired-looking businessmen and women commuting from the city spilled out of the train.

I sat down with a painful grimace on the stained seat cushions, trying not to imagine how stupid I would feel next to such a well-bred man who was probably born into money, raised by a series of nannies and teachers at his overseas boarding school.

Shut up and relax.

But I couldn’t help obsess over the fact that these shoes hurt my feet and he’d notice that I couldn’t walk gracefully in them. I was always fumbling my way through life as if I had a permanent blindfold.

Oh, shut up.

I kept opening my phone during the BART trip, half-hoping that I would receive an email from the billionaire canceling the meeting.
Just relax
, I kept telling myself. I wobbled on my heels as the train stopped on Montgomery and left the heated train, my legs freezing as I ascended the escalator into the night.

The streets flooded with people who just left work. Even during the weekdays, San Francisco nightlife thrived, and those who were rich enough to afford to live in the city would hit the city’s many restaurants and lounges with their coworkers. I used to walk past them all the time during my internship. Jealousy burned in my stomach when my coworkers would go out together and leave me behind, knowing I always took the BART home. The eight-dollar cocktail drinks and tapas plates were too big of an expense for someone on a zero-dollar per hour wage, so I skipped hanging out.

I walked to the MUNI bus around the corner and dumped quarters into the machine. Then I glanced at my phone and felt my heartbeat in my throat. Six-thirty p.m.

No turning back now
.

The MUNI shuddered and banged up the steep streets, and I wanted to throw up as the bus stopped on the street I was supposed to get off. What the hell was I thinking? Why did I agree to do this?

You agreed out of desperation.

Wrapping my coat tight around myself, I descended the steps. The sea air whipped down the streets from the Marina and tossed my hair around my head. I raced across the street toward A16, a small restaurant tucked into the wall teeming with people behind its softly lit windows. The tiny, square sign glowed in the misty air. I stopped for a moment to calm myself. I checked my phone one last time to find a text from Natalie:

Good luck

Closing my eyes, I said a silent thank you to her for the confidence boost needed to grasp the dark door’s brass handle. The smell of baking crust and tomatoes blasted into my face, making my mouth water. It was funny how I rarely realized how starving I was until the smell of something appetizing floated across my nose.

The interior of the restaurant was dark and intimate. Like most places in San Francisco, the space was small. The bar and kitchen stretched on the right side of the restaurant, and a row of tables draped with linen on the left. The back of the restaurant had a long table enclosed in a glass room, slightly separated from the rest of the restaurant.

I squeezed past the people waiting for a table on the sides and approached the hostess.

Well, now what? What do I tell her? I don’t even know his name.

“Ma’am, would you like us to take your coat?”

An employee swooped in from nowhere and held out his hand.

“Oh!” I was clutching my coat as if I depended on it for survival. “Yes, please.”

I slipped the fake wool coat from my shoulders, feeling naked without it. My black purse dangled from my shoulder.

The hostess gave me a dubious smile as if she could see through the carefully constructed wardrobe and deduced that I had nowhere near the amount of money to afford this place. “Welcome to A16! Do you have a reservation?”

“Yes.” My high-pitched laugh made me cringe. “It’s for seven o’clock. I’m supposed to meet someone. My name’s Jessica.”

Her eyes widened with renewed interest. “Ah, yes. Mr. Pardini has been waiting. Please follow me.”

Yeah, that’s right,
I thought as I returned a haughty smile to her bewildered expression.
I have a date with a billionaire.

The cacophony of surrounding conversation swallowed my short, nervous laugh. My teeth clenched together so hard that my jaw ached. How awkward would I be with the billionaire?

Stop referring to him as ‘the billionaire’!

Something stirred inside my head when the host mentioned his name.
Pardini.
Where did I hear that name before?

The hostess walked straight to the bar, and I scanned the people sitting on the stools, trying to figure out which one was L. She walked to a man dressed in a dark blue suit sitting on the bar, his long fingers playing with the stem of a wineglass. I couldn’t see his face at all, only the back of his head thick with dark brown hair, imperfectly groomed as though he had just had a long day at work. Afraid to touch him, she leaned in.

“Mr. Pardini!”

His head turned to the left, and I glimpsed a stunning profile. She said something I couldn’t catch and his dimples creased into a smile. Now it was his turn to pick me out of the crowd. I wanted to run away, but his cool blue eyes froze me in place. His calculating gaze swept up and down, and I was so entranced that I didn’t even notice he slipped off the stool and walked toward me.

He was so beautiful that it made me sad, because I knew that someone like that would never, ever be into me. It was impossible.

“Hi, I’m Luke.”

A high-pitched, teenage voice squealed inside my head.
Oh my God. This guy is incredibly hot.

Stunned into disbelief, I forgot my fear. I pulled my lips into what I thought was a sweet smile and slipped my hand into his. His hand was reassuring and instant heat traveled through his skin and into mine, up my arm and glowing somewhere in my chest. He was the stuff of fantasies, and yet, his face wasn’t so perfect it was unnerving like so many actors in Hollywood with straightened teeth as white as Chiclets.

I had to say something, but his mesmerizing eyes promised there was no other person in the world he would rather see than me. I sniggered and felt a violent blush creeping up my neck.

“It’s nice to meet you.”
Really, really nice.

He made a slight “hmm” and his smile became a grin, as if he knew the effect he had over me and was enjoying it.

“If you follow me, I’ll show you to your table.”

I squeezed his hand. I forgot she was there.

Let go of his hand! And stop staring at him!

I dropped my gaze and let go of him. My hand trembled as it returned to my side and I felt like one of those Twihards shrieking at Robert Pattinson. What was wrong with me? I walked in front of Luke and followed the hostess as she brought us to the back, to the room separated by a wall of glass. It was meant for larger parties, but Luke paid to reserve it. Of course he did. He had piles of money.

Luke pulled out my chair with one hand like a perfect gentleman and I sat down, inhaling something that must have been cedar cologne. The scent disappeared as he swept around the table, but it left me intoxicated and I blinked at him as though I were drunk. He was so handsome that I couldn’t bear looking at him longer than a few seconds. Would he be able to detect how hard I was crushing on him? He looked more like a male model than a businessman. His dark hair fell into his eyes with a casual elegance that few men could achieve. He smiled at me and my cheeks burned.

“Would you like anything to drink, ma’am?”

God, yes.

She slid a drink menu under my hands and I snapped my attention toward it. I recognized none of these wines. The only wines I knew were of the Charles Shaw variety that sold for five bucks a pop at Trader Joe’s.

“Just get me a dry red. Something you think is good.”

She nodded. “Would you like another glass, Mr. Pardini?”

“Yes, please.”

His voice stroked me. It was deep and calming. When the hostess left, there was no reason to avoid looking at the remarkable specimen sitting in front of me. When I met his gaze, he smiled again and warmth flooded my chest.
Pardini
. A small explosion took place in the pit of my stomach.

“I know you!” I blurted. “You were on ET the other night.” The moment the words left my mouth, I wanted to smack myself.

You did not just say that.

The smile on his face faltered. He pinched the bridge of his nose and uttered a small groan. “Yes, I’m sure I was.”

So it really was him. The rich playboy with daddy issues used an online dating website. None of this made sense.

The waitress returned to set the wine glass next to me. I watched her fill the glass and then took an unnecessarily large gulp as she poured him more wine. He held my gaze. I was fascinated by him—and my strong feelings toward him.

“I apologize for all the secrecy, but it was necessary.” He reached inside his suit jacket that looked like it cost more than my car and pulled out several papers and a pen. He set them down and slid the pile toward me face up.

Oh right. The non-disclosure agreement.

In the email, he outlined the expectation for me to sign it “upon arrival.” I pulled it toward me and signed it. The penalty for violating the agreement was a whopping three million dollars.
No article writing for me, then.
I slid the papers back toward him and he folded them back into his jacket, looking relieved.

He looked at me shrewdly. “You’ve never done this before, have you?”

“No, I haven’t. Have you?”

He shrugged. “I’ve interviewed several candidates, but I found none of them suitable.”

Candidates.
What a strange word. “What is it exactly that you want me to do?”

The mysterious smile reappeared. “I don’t want to get into that today. I want to get to know you.”

My face grew hot, made worse with the wine. I knew he could see how uncomfortable I was. He was gorgeous and I was a nobody. I didn’t get it. “What I don’t understand is why you think you need a paid arrangement.”

No, stupid! Don’t say that. Just shut up and take his money!

He took another sip of wine and I heard the liquid hiss through his teeth. Then he looked at me. “I know what I want, and I have very little time. This is just the easiest way for me.”

A small shiver went through my body. Why would he want
me
? But he did all the same and it was overwhelming.

“So, tell me about yourself, Jessica.”

Now I felt like I was in an interview. “Well, I graduated last year with a Bachelor’s in English and I want an writing position at a magazine somewhere. I’m really not picky, but it’s been tough finding writing gigs. All I could find were unpaid internships. I signed up for this because I need an income to pay for my expenses. I think that I’m a pretty honest, reliable person. If you want, I could leave references. To be honest, I need the money.”

It was embarrassing to admit it.

The room filled with the smell of freshly baked pizza. I snapped my head around and saw the rather perfect sight of the waitress bearing a steaming pizza. She set it down over a metal stand in the middle of the table. It was a cheerful, vivid red with burnt edges, no doubt cooked in a wood-burning oven. Little specks of green dotted the sauce, and I smelled the basil from the rising, swirling steam. I reacted in a way that could only be described as Pavlovian.

“The pizza here is the best in the Bay Area. It’s almost like eating pizza in Rome.”

I didn’t care where it was from as long as I got to eat it. “I can’t wait to try it.”

He smiled politely as he cut a slice for me and slid the plate in front of me. Perhaps he was used to girls who only ordered salads when they went out.