Cinderella Steals Home Read online

  His old nickname for me sends a wave of nausea pumping through my veins. "Your girlfriend's waiting by the pool."

  He studies me for a second, then nods. "She isn't my girlfriend, but yeah, you're probably right. I should get back out there. Let me know if you need anything."

  "Close the door behind you."

  When the lock clicks firmly into place, I let out a sigh and sink down onto the plush bed that isn't mine and feel tears spring to my eyes.

  I don't even have my bed anymore. I just have these four suitcases, my guitar, my backpack and my purse. The bed I've slept in for the last ten years belongs to someone else in eastern Pennsylvania now, sold alongside everything else from our life because my mom isn't going to need the furniture -- or the house I grew up in after the move -- where she's going with her new husband in Europe.

  I wipe frantically at my eyes and dig around in my suitcase for dry clothes to change into.

  No crying. I'm here now.

  I can't do much about it.

  And I've got to figure out a way to make it work.

  CHAPTER TWO

  I wake up curled in a small ball on the bed an hour later and almost don't remember where I am or why I'm here, but it comes back to me with a bang like it always does. I glance at the bedside alarm clock. 6:15. That only leaves me with forty-five minutes to get ready for whatever Dad has planned for dinner.

  I crack open my door and peek my head out into the hall. Empty. I creep down to Justin's room and tap lightly on his door.

  A second later, he opens it and sticks only his head out.

  "Oh, it's you," he says, opening the door a little wider.

  "Who'd you think it was?"

  "Dad. Or Tanya. I'm not used to having you around. What's up?"

  "What's dinner tonight? I mean, do I have to dress up?"

  He laughs. "We're going out, yeah."

  "What are you wearing?"

  "Why, you wanna borrow something from my closet?"

  I roll my eyes. Maybe Justin hasn't changed so much after all.

  "Khakis," he says after a second. "And a button down. No tie or anything. Don't get crazy."

  I smile. "Thanks."

  He nods and I turn and head back down the hall to root through my suitcase for something suitable. I decide on a flowery sundress, white sweater and flat brown sandals. Nice enough to match Justin's clothes but not so elaborate that I look like I'm trying too hard.

  Dad, Tanya and Justin are already waiting in the foyer by the time I reach the stairs, and I instantly feel bad that I'm holding them up.

  I'm already an intruder in their house. I don't want to make it worse.

  I follow them down another hallway that I haven't taken yet and we come out in a giant five-car garage. Only one of the stalls is empty; the rest house a Jaguar, a BMW, a Range Rover and a Mercedes.

  Oh.

  We get in the Range Rover and I immediately long for the comfort of my Honda. There's nothing in here -- it may as well be the model unit on a dealer's showroom floor. It doesn't look lived in. No character.

  I hate it.

  We ride to the restaurant in loud silence as I take in everything about my new town that isn't really new. I used to live here (not in such a fancy house, of course) but it doesn't feel familiar to me. Pennsylvania is what I know even if Arizona was my first home.

  Dad doesn't bother parking the Range Rover; he drives straight up to the valet service, which is something I can't ever remember taking advantage of in Pennsylvania. It always seemed silly to me, and it still does as we pile out of the car and he hands his keys to the pimpled teenage guy who looks like he can't wait to get his hands on a car like this.

  Risky business, if you ask me, but then again, I'm not the one with the money to throw at a full garage of fancy cars.

  We march into the restaurant, every employee seemingly falling over themselves to make sure we don't touch the doors ourselves and we're shown immediately to our table, without so much as a word spoken by any of us.

  A far cry from the familiar restaurants back in Pennsylvania where they know me by name and aren't afraid to ask about the last bit of drama they remember hearing about from my last trip in for a burger and curly fries.

  I have a feeling I'm not going to be able to find fries like those on the menu tonight.

  "What do you think, Holly?" Dad asks once we've been seated and the waiter has placed our napkins on our laps for us. "Nice, isn't it?"

  I glance around the restaurant. It isn't very full, but each table has a long white linen tablecloth with one flickering candle on the center. The dim lights and low-hanging chandeliers suggest a place more suited for romance than a family dinner, but Dad is right. It's nice.

  It's just not really my thing.

  "It's very pretty," I say diplomatically.

  Dad smiles, but I don't miss the look on Tanya's face even if she doesn't glance my way. She knows better than Dad does.

  "Please, order whatever you like," he says, gesturing to the thick leather menu on the table in front of me. "The steak is always outstanding here."

  I flip open the menu. I love steak, and had already been thinking about getting it, but now that he's suggested it, it's lost its appeal. Maybe it's childish, but I just can't stand the idea that he might think I'm giving in to him, that this is some kind of peace offering on my part.

  I don't know how he'd get all that from a steak, but it's a chance I'm not willing to take.

  I force my eyes away from the different cuts of meat and over to the pasta section. When Justin and I were kids, our parents hated it when we ordered spaghetti and meatballs at restaurants because it was one of the few things they knew how to cook for us at home, but we did it all the time anyway.

  I don't see it listed on the fancy menu in front of me, but I know what I'm ordering, anyway.

  I close the menu and wait for the rest of the table to figure out what they want. When the waiter appears, Justin asks for lobster, Dad a steak and Tanya a salad.

  He turns his attention to me. "For you, miss?"

  I smile sweetly at him. He can't be much older than twenty, so I hope this works. "I have a bit of a favor to ask," I say. "I'm hoping you could help me out with something that isn't on the menu. I just really have a craving for spaghetti and meatballs. Can you do that?"

  The waiter's face turns from startled to relieved as I finish my request, but Justin starts coughing as he chokes on the water he'd been taking a sip before I placed my order.

  "Very well," the waiter says, closing his pad and walking away.

  Dad's staring at me with a funny expression and Justin's face is bright red and he's struggling not to laugh as I reach for my glass.

  "Spaghetti and meatballs?" Tanya says, and I find it funny that she's the one who chooses to comment on my order considering she's the only one who has no clue what it means. "Interesting choice, Holly."

  "It was always a favorite of mine when we went out to eat," I reply smoothly.

  "I should've let you order first, Holls," Justin says, winking at me. "I'm jealous."

  "So, Holly," Dad cuts in. "Any plans for your first real day in Phoenix tomorrow?"

  I nod. "Might as well get started on my job hunt."

  Dad looks startled. "Your what?"

  "Well, I need to get a job."

  "That's preposterous."

  I wrinkle my forehead, and glance over at Justin, who suddenly looks like he wishes he could be anywhere else but at this table right now.

  "No, it isn't," I say.

  "You don't have to work, Holly," Dad says with a laugh, like it's cute that the idea even crossed my mind at all. "I have more than enough money."

  Justin sucks in a breath and even Tanya has the decency to look uncomfortable.

  As for me?

  I'm not even sure how to react.

  But mostly, I'm just really freakin' angry.

  "I don't want your money," I manage to stammer out between gritted teeth.
r />   Dad looks genuinely confused. "But why not? I have plenty of it."

  "Because," I say, hands gripping the table. "I somehow made it through the last ten years of my life without needing your money, and that isn't going to change now."

  Dad looks stricken, and I'm afraid to look at my brother because, despite everything, I kind of like Justin and don't want him to think I'm attacking him here. This is only between me and my father.

  "Ron," Tanya cuts in then as Dad and I stare at one another across the table. "I think if Holly wants to get a job, that's a fine idea. She'll have too much free time on her hands otherwise."

  Dad looks over at his wife. "I thought she'd help out with the team," he pouts.

  "The what?" I ask, curiosity winning out. As far as I know, my dad hasn't been involved with baseball since he retired from the pros six years ago.

  "Your father is coaching a baseball team," Tanya says.

  I frown and look at him. "Pro?"

  Dad shakes his head. "A summer league for college players. Justin plays for me."

  I glance at my brother, who nods. "Oh."

  "Yeah," Justin says. "It's a good way for us to keep in shape over the summer. Fun to get to know different players around the country who spend the break in Arizona, too."

  I nod. It makes sense.

  Even if the thought of baseball has made my skin crawl ever since that one day.

  "You need me to do something for that?" I ask Dad even though I have limited interest in helping him out. I really don't want to be involved with anything baseball.

  Dad shakes his head. "I could come up with a position for you, I'm sure."

  "No, thanks. I'd rather just get a real job."

  "You should come to some of our games, though, Holls," Justin says, and I'm glad he's shifting the conversation away from my decision to work. I'm not wild about my father, and I might enjoy antagonizing him over spaghetti, but I don't want to cause a public scene.

  "Maybe I will. You guys any good?"

  Justin shrugs. "We could be. But it's not that serious. Just a fun league around the state."

  "Sounds cool," I say. "I'll have to check it out, I guess."

  Dad beams, like this is me suddenly forgiving him and I'm not mad about him trying to buy me off. I try not to sigh.

  It's a fight I'll save for another day.

  CHAPTER THREE

  I look at the keys to my green Honda hanging on the cork board next to the ones for the sleek black BMW sedan that Dad had offered me, but I can't bring myself to take his car even if I know I'll stick out like a sore thumb in my dented little car on the Scottsdale streets. It's still my baby and I can't abandon it like this.

  Not for something of his, anyway.

  This car is still me, Pennsylvania me. The person I don't want to lose just because I'm not there anymore.

  I grab the keys to my Honda and head down to the ridiculous garage where Justin had moved my car after dinner last night despite my protests that I could do it myself.

  "It works out just beautifully," Dad had said in the car on the way back to the house. "We have one free garage you can use."

  Perfect, indeed.

  I jump into the driver's seat and rest my head against the steering wheel, letting out a small sigh of relief. This is the only place in all of Arizona -- the only place for almost 3,000 miles -- that feels like home to me.

  The list of jobs that I printed off the Internet is tucked safely in a folder in my purse along with copies of my sparse -- and embarrassing -- resume. Not that it really matters. I've only been out of high school for a month and outside of operating the cash register at the garden store in town, I haven't really done a thing.

  But that isn't going to stop me now. I need to find a way to make money even if Dad says I have unlimited access to that shiny black credit card he handed me at dinner last night. I haven't changed my mind about using that.

  I won't.

  With a dramatic sigh, I shove the key into the engine a little more forcefully than maybe I should but it feels good, like just a little bit of tension seeps out of my shoulders.

  I pull the list of jobs out of my bag and enter the first address into my trusty GPS and navigate down the sloped driveway, putting more and more distance between myself and the craziness of the past 24 hours with every roll of my tires.

  It only takes me about fifteen minutes to get down to the local gym that's advertising for a few front desk receptionist. I'm pretty sure I can handle swiping ID cards without any past experience. I'm at least good enough for this.

  I pull into the parking lot and into a space between a sleek, shiny black Audi and a bright red, two-door BMW convertible with the top down.

  Great.

  I take a deep breath before pushing open the door to the gym and ask the tall, tanned girl currently behind the desk if I can speak with the manager.

  "You got a problem?" she asks, snapping the gum between her lips.

  I blink. "N-no, I just want to apply for the desk job opening I saw online."

  She slowly scans me from head to toe and smirks. "Sure ya do. I'll go grab him."

  I frown as she disappears inside the office behind the desk. She's back a few seconds later with a short, chubby bald guy trailing after her.

  "You wanna be my desk girl, eh?" he asks in a heavy New York accent.

  "I saw the listing online."

  Just like the girl had a few minutes before, he looks me up and down, and I have to fight the urge not to cross my arms over my chest.

  "It's a nice idea, cupcake, but I usually like my employees to be in shape."

  Now it's my turn to check me out. "I, uh..."

  "Yeah, I know, you ain't fat," he says, waving his hand in the air like he's heard it all before. "But that don't mean you're in shape. You ever hear of skinny fat? I think that's what you are."

  I open my mouth to protest but he doesn't let me get a word in.

  "You ain't got any muscle tone on them arms or legs there. When's the last time you worked out? I can't have somebody that don't work out runnin' my desk. Be like putting out a plate o' glazed Krispy Kremes as a welcome every morning. You get that, right, cupcake? Ain't nothin' personal."

  It's stupid and silly and he obviously isn't someone I'd ever want to work for anyway, but I can already feel the lump forming in my throat, and the first threat of tears prickling at the corner of my eyes. I nod once, swallow, refuse to look at anyone and quickly turn and run out.

  I don't stop running until I'm safely locked in the familiar comfort of my Honda.

  I wipe frantically at my eyes. This is stupid. I shouldn't be upset about it. These people are clearly crazy.

  But it doesn't matter.

  My first rejection in Arizona doesn't feel good at all, like it's the first sign maybe I made a mistake coming here.

  I pick up the red pen I clipped to my job hunting folder last night and angrily scribble over the Carmine's Fitness Emporium listing. On to the next: Gemma's Cafe.

  It sounds friendlier than Carmine's, anyway.

  Gemma's isn't too far down Scottsdale Road, at least according to my GPS, so I toss the car into reverse and back out the parking spot.

  The cafe is in a decent-looking strip mall with a grocery store, bank branch, Chinese restaurant and a few other boutique-y-type stores. There are several outdoor tables behind a black wrought iron fence and a ton of plants in front of Gemma's. White Christmas lights hanging from the leaves of the small potted palms and are wrapped around the fence.

  It doesn't, I have to admit, look terrible.

  Better than the gym, anyway.

  As I walk up past the outdoor tables, I notice a handful of brightly-colored flyers hanging in the windows, all advertising a different local band that'll be playing at the cafe sometime in June. The chalkboard on the sidewalk says that something called JOHNNY AND HIS ROCKETS will be playing at nine o'clock tonight.

  I push open the door, the bells jingle and I'm instantly gree
ted warmly by the girl who looks about my age wiping down the back counter.

  "What can I get for you today?" she asks, tossing the rag under the register and washing her hands.

  "Actually, I wanted to apply for the waitressing job I saw online?"

  "You asking me or telling me?" she says with a smile.

  "What?"

  "You said that like it was a question," she says. "So I asked you if you're telling me you're here to apply for the job or if you know you're here to apply for the job. Gemma's not gonna hire someone who isn't sure they want to be here."

  I'm not sure I want to work at Gemma's, not at all, but I need the money.

  "I'm, uh, telling you," I say, and she grins.

  "Right answer. When can you start?"

  "Now? I mean, now."

  "Then you're hired. Grab an apron."

  "Are you -- ?"

  "Gemma?" she asks. "No. But I'm her granddaughter and we need the help and here you are. So, like I said, grab an apron."

  "Um, well, okay. Where can I find one?"

  She grins. "Come around back and I'll get you set up. I'm Natalie Melter."

  "Oh, right. Holly."

  I wander around the counter and display filled with cakes and cookies and pastries and through a door marked 'Employees Only", my job hunting list long forgotten.

  Funny. I'm an employee now, I guess.

  Natalie meets me on the other side of the door with an apron, which I tie around my waist.

  "Okay," she says, nodding as she looks at me. "Good. You already look the part. I have someone coming in two hours from now so you can go home then and we'll figure out a schedule for the rest of the week."

  "That seems reasonable."

  "Good." Natalie smiles. "First thing I need you to do is clean all the counters out front and wipe down the tables."

  I shrug. "Sure." It isn't glamorous, but it's something to do, and it'll keep me busy, and for that, I'm grateful.

  Natalie shows me where the mops and rags and cleaning products are kept in the back of the store, and then the bells jingle and we have a customer and she's hurrying out front, leaving me to figure out exactly what I need to use to wipe down all the surfaces.