Stiletto Secrets

Fairy Tale Bastards, Book 1

Bella J

Published: 2016

ISBN: 978-1-62210-351-5

Published by Liquid Silver Books. Copyright © 2016, Bella J.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, recording, or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the author.

This is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents and dialogues in this book are of the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is completely coincidental.

Manufactured in the USA

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Nicholas Blake is your typical class A, rich bastard who loves getting what he wants. He’s spoiled, selfish and enjoys all the lavish pleasures life has to offer—especially those that involve women and getting naked. Nicholas’ life is just damn near perfect. But one night out on the town with his friends and everything changes. One encounter with a stripper in stilettos who fittingly calls herself Cinderella, and his life suddenly doesn’t seem so goddamn perfect anymore.

As if that isn’t enough, there’s also Emma, the new maid in his father’s mansion that immediately piques his curiosity with her sweet smile and blue-green eyes. He finds himself drawn to her and wants nothing more than to seduce her into his bed, to make her his. But he just can’t seem to stay away from the stripper that makes him burn in ways he never knew possible.

The more he starts to care for Emma, the stronger his obsession grows for Cinderella.

Insane? Absolutely.

Twisted? Yes.

Completely screwed up? Hell yes.

A decision needs to be made; he needs to choose. But will Nicholas be able to make that choice when he finds himself all tangled up in a giant cluster of love, lust and stilettos?

Dedication

This one is for Mary.

Stiletto Secrets
probably never would have happened if it wasn’t for you.

Thank you for always knowing exactly what to say. Your friendship means the world to me.

You’re my angel.

NICHOLAS
stared out of his floor to ceiling office window. The Chicago skyline always looked best just before sunset. The brilliance of the gold and orange colors reminded him so much of his life—rich, magnificent and just fucking perfect.

At the age of just twenty-six, Nicholas was one of Chicago’s richest, most eligible bachelors. His life was just one big Fourth of July with an endless supply of bourbon, Cuban cigars and runway models who were eager to play their part in making his life even more perfect. And then there was his own personal underground garage filled with every car he had ever dreamt of. Aston Martin, Lamborghini, Bentley, you name it and Nicholas had it parked in his garage. His life couldn’t have been more awesome if he had ordered it out of a damn catalogue.

How did he come about all this wealth and live this life of privilege? Well, it was all thanks to Daddy dearest’s successful architectural company. Sure his father had been responsible for most of the company’s past successes, but ever since Nicholas stepped up two years ago, the business had skyrocketed, and so did his bank account. After Nicholas got his degree, he just brought a certain
je ne sais quoi
to company projects. Nicholas was talented in every aspect of his life—in his work, his business endeavors, manipulating everything and anything into getting what he wanted, and of course in bed. Yup, the cream of the crop could kiss his ass.

“No use in hiding away up here.”

Nicholas turned around and saw his best friend, Adam, walk into his office looking as smooth and professional as ever in one of his Armani suits.

“Now why would I be hiding?” Nicholas turned his attention back out the window.

Adam slapped him on the shoulder. “You’re the birthday boy and you know what that means.”

“Of course I do.”

Whenever one of the guys celebrated a birthday, it was tradition for the rest of the gang to arrange a night out and pay for the entertainment in the form of something that involved a stripper, or multiple strippers.

Nicholas glanced at Adam. “Now you and I both know there is no way in hell I’m hiding.”

Adam laughed and then stood next to him, hands in his pants pockets and looking out at the skyline too. A lot of people thought them to be brothers. They had the same ink-black hair, height and build, but Nicholas’ blue eyes were just a shade darker than Adam’s. They both loved their lives of luxury, especially all the booty that got handed to them on multiple silver platters. But between the two of them, Adam was most definitely what Nicholas would call a man whore. Nicholas just slightly bordered on that same title. But nonetheless, Adam had been Nicholas’ best friend since they were kids, and it just so happened that they both had a talent for architecture, hence why Adam, along with Nicholas, was one of the head architects in the company.

“So what did Pops get you for your birthday?”

Nicholas shrugged. “Haven’t seen the old bastard since yesterday morning at breakfast when he kept on bitching about the coffee not being strong enough.”

“Not even a call? A text?” Adam turned to him.

“Nope. And I don’t expect anything of the sort either. Hell, I wouldn’t even be surprised if he didn’t remember.”

Nicholas and his father didn’t exactly have a close relationship. Ever since his mother died when he was thirteen years old, his father had buried himself along with his grief into Blake Architects. As a teenager Nicholas had acted out, trying to get attention in all the wrong ways. But eventually he decided to focus more on the pros than the cons of having a rich, ambitious, successful old man. Pros being having a big fat bank account and the world at his feet.

“Anyway,” Nicholas buttoned up his gray suit jacket, “you guys better not disappoint tonight. Your birthday event last month was epic, because, naturally, I arranged it. It’s gonna be hard to top that.”

Adam grinned. “Yeah, those C-cup babies will forever be engraved on my thighs.”

“I’m not sure I want to know what that even means.” Nicholas cocked a brow.

Adam continued to stare into open space with a dreamy, horny-looking expression.

Nicholas frowned. “Adam Masters, you dirty scumbag. You screwed the stripper, didn’t you?”

“Hey, don’t judge me. I’m not the one with the shoe fetish.”

Ah, yes. Nicholas did love women wearing all those stylish, sexy shoes, especially stilettos. In fact, every time he hooked up with a woman, she would wear those high heels, and she would wear nothing but those high heels.

“You’re still unbelievable. She was a stripper, Adam. Not a prostitute.” Nicholas grabbed his keys from his desk.

“Hey, it’s not my fault I have the gift of bringing out the sexually easy side of women.”

Nicholas just shook his head. “You know, Adam, one day you are going to find a woman who is going to bring you to your knees by grabbing you by the balls.”

Adam snorted. “Not likely, my friend.”

“Just know,” Nicholas straightened his suit jacket and shot his cuffs, “that when that day comes, I will be laughing my ass off.”

“Whatever. And it’s not like you’re Mr. prim-and-proper either. You have a new girl in your bed every weekend.”

“Or girls.”

“Man whore.” Adam smirked.

Nicholas just laughed and walked out of his office. “Come on, let’s get the humiliation of your epic failure in planning a birthday party out of the way.”

“Oh, we’ll just see about that.”

“I take it Hunter is meeting us wherever the hell it is we’re going?” Nicholas stood to the side waiting for Adam to pass so that he could close his office door.

“Yep, and if I know Hunter he’s already seduced three strippers into giving him free lap dances.”

Both of them laughed and then stepped into the elevator. Nicholas glanced at his wristwatch. It was just past eight p.m. For a fleeting moment he wondered where his dad was, and whether the old bastard really did forget his only son’s birthday. But Nicholas quickly shrugged off the disappointing thought and steeled himself against emotions he hadn’t allowed himself to feel for many, many years now. To him the past was gone and not worth dwelling over, and the future just did not seem like something Nicholas needed to worry about at his age. The only thing that mattered was the here and now—the present—and nothing else.

* * * *

“Lizzy, I need to use the bathroom. You’ve been in there like forever.”

Emma Tremaine stood outside the bathroom door, trying to get her sister to hurry the hell up. “Lizzy, I need to get ready for my show…er…meeting.” Damn, she almost slipped up there.

“I’m almost done.”

Emma stood to the side with her hands on her hips. “Who is this guy anyway? How come I’ve never met him?” She didn’t like that her little sister was going on a date with a guy she had never met. Besides, Lizzy was only nineteen, and according to Emma that was just way too young to start dating.

Just then the bathroom door got flung open. Lizzy stood in the doorway with her hair tied in a sleek ponytail, her face showcasing way too much makeup, and the dress she was wearing hardly covering what it needed to.

Emma gave her little sister a very disapproving glare. “What is that?”

“It’s a dress.” Lizzy shouldered past Emma.

“That piece of fabric hardly qualifies as being a dress.” Emma had completely forgotten the fact that she had been bashing against the bathroom door a few seconds ago, trying to get her turn. Now she was too distracted with what the hell her sister was wearing.

“And his name is Tray.” Lizzy spoke over her shoulder while walking to her room.

“Tray? What kind of a name is Tray?”

Lizzy stopped and turned around. “It’s a cool name.”

“Cool?” Emma’s arched brows almost touched her hairline. “And what is it that this Tray does for a living?”

“He’s in a band.” Lizzy spun back around and sauntered down the hall.

“Of course he’s in a band,” Emma muttered under her breath.

“I heard that!” Lizzy slammed her bedroom door shut.

Emma huffed and then blew a stray dark curl out of her face. Her little sister—okay, maybe not so little anymore—was becoming more exasperating by the day. Emma wondered if this was how mothers of teenaged daughters felt.

Immediately her thoughts drifted off to her own mother. Emma was only five years old when her mother had died of complications during giving birth to Lizzy. It was the worst day of Emma’s life, yet also supposed to be a happy day since she had gotten a little sister.

Lizzy reminded Emma so much of her mother. Even though she couldn’t remember much, she knew that Lizzy had the same dark brown eyes, and straight, light brown hair. And she had the exact same dimples as her mother. Emma had her father’s dark chocolate curls and blue-green eyes. But her father had always said that she had her mother’s cute little button nose which she would scrunch up whenever she was deep in thought.

Emma had a few memories that she clung to as well as a box filled with pictures of her mother and father during happier times. It took Emma’s father three years to move on, and when he finally did, it meant hell for Emma and her sister.

Emma glanced at her wristwatch. “Shit!”

She dashed to the bathroom and somehow managed to do in twenty minutes what she would normally need an hour for. Dressed in a black pencil skirt, white blouse and one of only two pairs of stilettos she owned, she knocked on Lizzy’s door. “I’m off to my meeting.”

“’Kay,” was the only response Emma got.

“Is it necessary for me to say that you should please be careful while on your date with Tray tonight?”

The bedroom door opened and Lizzy glared at her. “I’m not twelve.”

“Well, dressed like that you certainly don’t look twelve, no.” Some situations just required a healthy dose of sarcasm.