Cindi Madsen - Cinderella Screwed Me Over

The door swung open and a raven-haired woman with a round, protruding belly walked in.

Allen’s eyes widened as he looked over at her, then back at me. “Please don’t say anything,” he whispered. “She’s already having a high-stress pregnancy, and they’re worried about her losing the baby.” He raised his voice, turning to his wife. “Honey, hi. Just give me a minute.”

He tried to tug me toward the back, but I was done being jerked around. I didn’t know if what he said about his wife’s pregnancy was true. She deserved to know her husband was a cheating dirtbag, but was I willing to risk her health? No. Besides, she’d probably just blame me anyway.

“He’s all yours,” I said as I bolted past her, out of the office.

For two days I called in sick to work. It wasn’t even a lie; I felt ill every time I thought of how I’d been with another woman’s husband.

Allen called off and on for a few weeks, leaving me sorry excuses and apologies in my voice mail I couldn’t believe. He told me how much he wished things were different. He said he still loved me.

See, in the end of Aladdin it was all okay because Aladdin came clean, admitted his feelings…and let’s face it, Jasmine was rich enough to take care of him, so it didn’t really matter. I think she should’ve held out for longer—maybe even ruled the kingdom without him—so girls out there wouldn’t think a little apology and flying off into the sunset repaired all. I mean, how did she know he wouldn’t lie again? He probably did.

But they never bother showing what happens after.

In real life, coming clean doesn’t always make a difference. Because some dirty laundry is too ruined to get clean again.

Time Wasted: Five months

Lessons Learned:

Don’t date someone obsessed with his car.

Insist on seeing his place.

Don’t buy sob stories.

Dentists are evil.

A person who lies about one thing won’t hesitate to lie about something big.

Never EVER date a liar!

Nadine, my partner at work, insisted we go to lunch at Blue to get away from the office—our boss was on some kind of warpath today, and it was best to steer clear when she was looking for someone to blame. After what happened Saturday evening, I’d been planning on staying away for a while. Even though Jake didn’t own the place, he might actually work there, and I didn’t want to have an awkward run-in with him. Especially since I couldn’t stop thinking about his handsome face, his smile, and the way my heart jumped into my throat when he put his hand on my hip.

“Hey, Darby. Nadine,” Mindy said when we walked in. “Just you two today? Or do you have clients joining you?”

“Just us,” Nadine said.

Mindy ushered us to a table and left so we could look over the menu.

Nadine lifted her menu and studied it, even though we both knew she’d end up getting the grilled chicken salad. I lifted mine, too, simply for something to look at, when deep male voices caught my attention, and I glanced in their direction. Jake and Chad stood near the back, discussing something. I threw my menu up, not wanting Jake to see me.

Okay, so he does work here. He wasn’t wearing the normal waiter attire, either. Hmm, guess I’ll see what I can find out from Mindy.

“So, what do you think about Mrs. Crabtree’s remodel?” Nadine asked. “Are we going to go with the Pepto-pink color, or are we going to try to talk her out of it?”

I peeked around my menu—no sign of Jake—then lowered it. “I suggested a lighter pink that wouldn’t make me think of an upset stomach, but she insists she wants that particular pink.”

“It’s going to be the most god-awful bathroom.”

“I talked her out of painting all the walls—told her accent walls are all the rage these days. She seemed to buy it, so that’ll help tone it down. Then, next time we meet, I’m going to tell her that stripes are in. If we’re really lucky, we’ll end up with one pink-and-white-striped wall that we can work accent decorations into. It might be kind of cute, actually.”

“Hello, are you ladies…?” Jake trailed off when his gaze lit on me. “Darby. Hi.”

I was impressed he remembered my name. Most people could only remember it was unusual. Even without his hand on my hip, my body reacted to him, my pulse quickening and my stomach churning with a mixture of nerves and attraction. “Hi, Jake.”

He rubbed his fingers across his jaw—such a simple motion, but it drew my attention to his handsome features. He was the exact type of guy I used to lose my mind over. “I didn’t expect… Well, you did imply you came here a lot,” he said.

“And I wasn’t lying.” Yes, I needed to remember the lying part and ignore how hot the guy was. I gestured to Nadine. “This is Nadine. Nadine, Jake. Nadine and I work together. And we do end up eating here and bringing clients in a lot.”

“Hi,” Nadine said with a giant grin, adding in a healthy dose of eye batting. “So, what do you do?”

I crossed my arms and looked up at him. “Yeah, and before you answer, maybe I should mention that I know most everyone who works here. Including the guy who actually owns this place.”

Jake’s brow furrowed. “You mean me?”

“I mean Brent.”

“Right. Brent and I own the place.” Jake’s confused expression turned into one of amusement. “But you don’t believe me.”

I looked down at my menu, not wanting to have to call him a liar to his face. Sarah, one of the waitresses, walked up to our table, notepad and pen in her hand.

“Sarah,” Jake said. “Could you tell these ladies why I’m here?”

“By their table?” Sarah asked. She was a little on the ditzy side.

“At the restaurant. Why am I at the restaurant now, when I haven’t been for the past several months.”

“Jake was opening up another restaurant in Las Vegas, so he’s been there for a while, and just got back.” Sarah glanced at him. “Is that what you mean?”

“It’s exactly what I mean.”

Heat crept up my neck and into my cheeks. He wasn’t lying—he actually owned the place. My foot was inserted so far in my mouth, I couldn’t form words. I just stared up at him like an idiot.

He tapped the edge of the table. “Enjoy your meal. I’m sure Sarah will take good care of you. And feel free to let me know if there’s anything else you need.”

Nadine watched him walk away, then turned her attention back to me. “Holy hell, he’s hot. How do you know him?”

“I don’t,” I said. And after insulting him like that, I’m never going to.

…

As if my day hadn’t been bad enough already, I had a date tonight. Unless you’re in an actual relationship with someone, a Monday night date is basically a throwaway. It’s like, hey, if you suck, at least I didn’t waste a good day of the week on you; if you’re actually normal, we can always make a plan for the weekend.

Believe it or not, I’ve been accused of being pessimistic. Pardon the hell out of me for being what I’d call realistic, because my optimism had slowly been drained one horrible relationship at a time.

“Oh, they weren’t all bad,” Mom had said when she’d called to set me up on the blind date and I informed her why I didn’t want to go. While I’ve accepted the idea of never having a serious, full-blown relationship again, some people—especially my mom—don’t want me to give up on finding “the one” yet.

Apparently her friend had a son who’d recently moved to the city and “needed to be shown around.” Yeah, there’s Internet now. Most people in this country have a GPS device of some kind. They don’t need to be “shown around.” And if they’re too stupid to read a map or do a little exploring on their own, why would I want to be trapped anywhere with them?

But I digress.

No, my boyfriends weren’t all bad. Until they suddenly were. There’s that moment when you look at your significant other and think, Did I ever like you? I’m sure I did. But why? And right then, you know it’s not going to last. It’s sad, but true, and the final result is the same: the end of the relationship and heartbreak.

So while I had my doubts about this date, I knew it’d make Mom happy. If I could at least have a decent conversation with the guy, I’d consider it a win. After all, I’d sworn off relationships, not going out altogether, and if I didn’t start meeting new people, I’d have no one to hang out with when Stephanie was a busy wife with other obligations.

My date, whose name was Nick, buzzed in to tell me he was here. I loved that feature about my building. It made random drop-bys from guys I never wanted to see again a thing of the past. The building also had a pool, large hot tub, and a fitness room. If you were willing to drop a few more zeros than I was (or had), the top half of the building had floor-to-ceiling glass views of downtown.

Glass views or not, buying my one-bedroom condo four years ago was one of my proudest accomplishments. Since I’d worked on the building with Metamorphosis, I’d gotten a deal. I loved the hardwood floors, black granite countertops, cherry cabinets, and stainless-steel appliances. I’d done the living room in red and aquamarine and it’d turned out pretty good if I did say so myself.

I grabbed my purse off the granite countertop, locked up, and took the elevator down to the lobby, where Nick was waiting for me.

“Darby?” a guy said as I stepped off the elevator. He was in his midthirties, had a little extra love in the gut area, but not enough to be called fat, and was wearing a sweater vest. A bit on the preppy side for my tastes, but better looking than I’d imagined when Mom suggested I go out with her friend’s son.

“That’s me,” I said. “You must be Nick.”

He extended his hand. “Yep. Nice to meet you.”

I took it and we shook—weak and a little clammy. He’s definitely no Jake.

I quickly tried to shut that thought down. Not only was it an unfair comparison, but I shouldn’t be thinking about him right now. Not that flutter of attraction, or his nice jawline and firm handshake.

A sinking sensation went through my gut. I’d already blown any chance of even being friends with the guy. I can’t believe I called him a liar. I always insisted guys were the jerks, but I’d win, hands down, when it came to the guy who actually did own Blue.

I realized I was still holding Nick’s hand, even though we weren’t shaking anymore, and quickly dropped it.

A short walk later, we reached his car. “So, it’s a little embarrassing to be set up by your mom,” Nick said as he fired up the engine. “But it is nice to meet someone. So far, I just work and go home.”

“That’s about all I do,” I said. “My best friend is getting married, so she’s busy with all this wedding stuff and I’m left to hang out with myself.”

He glanced at me, that nervous OMG-she-just-said-marriage look on his face. Guys freak out about that. Like if your friend is getting married you must be desperate to do it, too.

“I’ve been kind of thrown into helping her plan, even though it’s not my thing,” I said, trying to smooth it over. “I’m not big on marriage in general.”

Now he looked even more disturbed, the creases in his forehead deepening.

Just stop talking, Darby. So much for thinking we could have a decent conversation. Maybe I really was destined to spend most of my nights alone.

The next few minutes were filled with nothing but the jazz music coming from his stereo.

Finally, we got to the restaurant. At least inside, the buzz of conversation and people eating made the silence between us less awkward. As we sat down and started talking, one thing was clear: we didn’t have a whole lot to talk about. Even though our moms weren’t here, it was like they were on the date with us.

“I heard your mom makes the best cherry pie,” Nick said a few minutes after we got our food.

I had to finish my bite of pasta before responding. “It is really good.” Then I felt like I should reciprocate. “And your mom is famous for her peach jam.”

A nod from him. More eating. Another comment about what he’d heard about my mom.

Toward the end of dinner, the conversation steered to his job. He loved talking about his job managing a store that sold golfing gear. To hear him tell it, he was the most important thing that had happened to the store. He prattled on about shipments, sales, and a slew of other things I couldn’t care less about, but tried to pay attention to anyway.