His Christmas Cinderella
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Christy Jeffries
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15
Chapter One
In Jordan Taylor’s experience, any party boasting this much wealth and this many business connections in one place—even if it was for a good cause—guaranteed that there would be plenty of beautiful women in attendance, as well. And the Denim and Diamonds gala his father and most recent stepmother were currently hosting promised all of the above.
Despite the theme, though, there were way more diamonds on display tonight than denim. Earlier today, a crew of workers had erected an enormous tent on the Taylor family’s ranch for the occasion. Florists hauled in loads of arrangements and caterers set up food stations featuring only the finest cuts of Taylor beef while professional musicians tuned their instruments on the temporary stage above the dance floor. Judging by all the laughing, dancing and free-flowing champagne surrounding Jordan, Brittany Brandt Dubois, the professional party planner his father had hired, had more than earned her fees this evening.
Their friends and neighbors in Bronco Heights, Montana, might think the Taylors were simply raising money for programs to aid the families in need in nearby Bronco Valley. However, Jordan knew the truth. Cornelius Taylor III never missed an opportunity to showcase himself, his business, his ranch or his family. In that exact order.
Having dug his classic-cut tuxedo out of the back of his closet for the occasion, Jordan leaned against one of the tall blue-linen-draped cocktail tables. He lifted his glass of single malt Scotch in a mock toast to Cornelius and the much younger Jessica holding court in the center of the black tie crowd, then drained the smooth amber liquid and surveyed his options for some female companionship to otherwise distract him this evening.
Let’s see. Who was here tonight?
Despite what the society columns and social media posts dubbed him, Jordan had some standards about who he dated. His gaze quickly passed from one young socialite to the next as he found reasons why they wouldn’t interest him. Too young. Too old. Too boring. Too married. Too much drama.
Unfortunately, he usually had to leave Bronco if he wanted to meet someone he didn’t already know. Or, rather, someone who didn’t know him. Hell, he’d have to leave Montana for that.
Jordan glanced at the entrance just in time to see his sister, Daphne, hesitate before entering the party. Snagging two champagne flutes from a passing server, he cut a direct path toward her before she could change her mind and make a run for it.
“The prodigal daughter returns.” He kissed Daphne on the cheek before handing her a crystal stem filled with liquid courage.
“Don’t go killing the fatted calf on my behalf.” Daphne quickly downed the first glass of bubbly, and Jordan handed her the second one. “You know I can’t stand that sort of thing.”
His chest expanded with defiance and he grinned. “That’s why I spoke to the party planner ahead of time and arranged for a salad bar and a vegetarian station, right over there.”
When a much younger Daphne first announced to her cattle ranching family that she was a vegetarian, Cornelius Taylor had rolled his eyes and suggested that his youngest daughter was simply going through a stage. When she opened her animal sanctuary instead of going to work in the family business, their father had accused Daphne of turning her back on her Taylor heritage and rejecting everything their ancestors stood for. Having three other uncles and a host of cousins who also took the family legacy seriously, his little sister had truly set herself up against a formidable wall of disapproval. Which made Jordan admire her courage all the more.
“Thanks.” She offered a weak smile. “But I’m too nervous to eat anything. What did Dad say when you told him I was coming?”
Jordan knew better than to tell her what Cornelius had actually said. Even though their father was usually all bark and no bite, his harsh words would’ve only deepened the family rift. Their old man showed no signs of budging from his position of being the wronged party—at least in private. That was why Jordan had arranged for Daphne to attend the gala with so many people in attendance. “You know how Dad is with these public events. He’ll be forced to lighten up. Or at least be polite so it doesn’t cause a scene and bring shame to his upstanding position in the community.”
“God forbid anyone think that the Taylors are anything less than perfect.” Daphne lifted a corner of her mouth in a near smirk. “Luckily, Dad has the Crown Prince of Bronco Heights here tonight as his shining heir apparent.”
Jordan playfully narrowed his eyes. “Keep it up and I’ll take back that champagne I gave you.”
Daphne finished off the second glass before wiggling her brows at him. “It’s not like you didn’t earn all those cutesy nicknames. What did that society blogger call you last week? ‘He Who Will Not Be Tamed’?”
“So I like women.” He crossed his arms on his chest. The narrow cut of the tailored tuxedo jacket uncomfortably bit into his biceps, the ridiculous formal garment proving to be just as restrictive as his family name. “Why is that such a newsworthy topic?”
“Because you like women. Plural, Jordan. It’s never just one woman. I mean, it is for a week or two, but then you quickly move on to the next one before we even get a chance to learn her name. You know what you are? A serial dater.”
“You say that like it’s a bad thing. How do you expect me to settle down with the right lady if I haven’t met her yet?”
“No need to settle down too soon, son.” Their father clapped a beefy hand on Jordan’s shoulder as he interrupted them. “I wish I would’ve sown my wild oats a little longer before I met your mother. Would’ve saved me a ton in alimony and attorney fees.”
Jordan clenched his jaw to keep from outwardly cringing. Cornelius almost never mentioned his first wife. Or his second, for that matter. His doing so now wasn’t likely due to any sentiment or nostalgia, though. Their father was trying to demonstrate a common bond between him and his oldest child, which would, in turn, imply how much Daphne wasn’t like him. Luckily, his sister didn’t rise to the bait.
“Daphne!” Jessica, their stepmother, rushed in and looped her arm through his sister’s. “I’m so glad you could make it. There’s someone I’ve been dying for you to meet.”
As the two women walked away, Cornelius made a grumbling sound. “Did she ask you for a loan?”
“Who? Daphne?” Jordan felt a tic forming in his right temple. “No. Why would she need a loan?”
“For her Hippie Hearts save-the-animals place.”
“Dad, you know damn right it’s called Happy Hearts. And no, she is doing just fine financially.”
“Well, you let me know if she’s not. I may not approve of her most recent life choices, but us Taylors still need to always watch out for each other. How do we know her feed supplier or her hired hands aren’t taking advantage of her goody goody nature?”
And so it began.
Jordan desperately needed another drink and a serious distraction from the lecture he knew his old man was about to deliver.
“Could you please get me another Macallan?” Jordan slipped a fifty-dollar bill to a passing server. “In fact, bring me the whole bottle,” he added before his overprotective father started throwing around words like exploitation, gold diggers, and access to family wealth.
Jordan’s eyes were about to glaze over from the familiar warnings when a vision in gold suddenly commanded his pupils to attention. A brunette in a shimmery sheath of sequins smiled at the person next to her. It might’ve been the deep V-cut of her dress that first caught Jordan’s eye. However, it was those full red lips and dazzling smile that kicked Jordan right in the gut.
Her hair was slicked back into a long, dark ponytail, and her warm, golden skin was as smooth as polished topaz. Her big brown eyes sparkled as she laughed at whatever the person beside her said. Jordan felt a sudden pull to be the one who made her laugh like that.
“Who is that woman over there?” He interrupted his father’s long-winded sermon.
“The one in the gold dress?” Cornelius squinted, too vain to wear the glasses his optometrist had prescribed. Clearly, though, the old man still knew how to spot the most beautiful woman in the crowd. “That’s Jose Balthazar’s daughter. I met her at that international cattle association event in Rio de Janeiro last year. Can’t think of her name off the top of my head, but I had Jessica send an invitation to their North American headquarters.”
Now Jordan’s interest was truly piqued. Beautiful, wealthy in her own right, and likely a smart businesswoman if she took after her father. As long as she was single, the lady in gold was surely just what he needed to get his mind off his own family drama. The server had impeccable timing, reappearing before the Taylor men with the requested bottle and two crystal glasses balanced perfectly on a silver tray.
“If you’ll excuse me, I should probably go introduce myself to Miss Balthazar,” Jordan told his father. The empty glasses made a clinking sound as he scooped them up in one hand and grabbed the neck of the bottle in the other. “Keep up with our foreign market interests and all that.”
“Make sure she has a good time tonight.” His dad couldn’t help but add some unsolicited advice before Jordan could make his getaway. “We need the Balthazars and their shipping partners to open a local office if we want to keep our exporting costs down.”
The last thing on Jordan’s mind right that second, though, was business.
According to the storybooks, Cinderella had gone to the ball purely out of curiosity. To see how the other half lived. Camilla Sanchez, on the other hand, was at this particular ball tonight for one purpose only. To network with potential investors for the restaurant she’d been carefully planning for the past six years.
Not that the Denim and Diamonds gala was an actual ball. It was a fundraiser. Albeit a very lavish fundraiser with very wealthy guests who were often considered the royalty of Montana. Camilla certainly wasn’t anyone’s idea of royalty.
The city of Bronco was made up of two areas. There was Bronco Heights, where the wealthy cattle barons and affluent landowners rubbed elbows at parties like this, displaying their vast riches and sitting on their powerful thrones.
Then there was Bronco Valley, where Camilla lived.
As excited as she’d been when her boss and his wife first invited her to attend with them tonight and sit at their table, it had taken less than an hour for Camilla to feel out of place and overwhelmed. Of course, it didn’t help that the bouncer at the entrance had radioed something to one of the other security guards right as he was checking her invitation. Any second now, she expected to get ousted as some sort of imposter who wasn’t actually there to write a hefty donation check or bid on the fancy silent auction items that she couldn’t possibly afford. She was the denim compared to everyone else’s diamonds.
Smiling politely at Melanie Driscoll, her former manager, Camilla checked the time only to see a row of faux gold bangle bracelets where her watch normally sat. Ugh. Had Cinderella ever wanted to dash out of her ball a few hours early?
While Camilla’s borrowed ball gown wouldn’t vanish at the stroke of midnight, it was way pricier than what she could afford on her waitress salary. It was also way more revealing than anything she was accustomed to wearing. Looking down, Camilla sucked in a breath and subtly tried to adjust the plunging neckline of her dress. Before she could exhale and lift her head, she noticed the black satin lapels of a tuxedo jacket directly before her.
“Let me welcome you to the Taylor Ranch.” The very smooth and very masculine voice made her gulp before she could even lift her gaze.
Jordan Taylor needed no introduction. Not only had she gone to the same high school as him—she’d been several years behind the legendary homecoming king and star wide receiver who still held the school record for most touchdown receptions—Camilla often saw his name and picture in social media posts and local newspaper articles. In fact, anyone who’d lived in Montana the past six months knew who the illustrious Taylors were. Jordan’s most newsworthy nicknames were The Crown Prince of Bronco Heights, Bronco Heights’ Most Eligible Rancher, and He Who Will Not Be Tamed.
And he was welcoming her to his home and pouring her a glass of...Scotch? Did she even drink Scotch? Well, if she wanted to impress him with her restaurant and possibly bar knowledge, she might as well start now. She accepted one of the two glasses he’d so deftly balanced in his hands as he’d poured straight from a bottle she recognized as very expensive top-shelf liquor.
Should she introduce herself? That might be weird since he hadn’t offered his own name. Not that he needed to. Smiling to calm her fluttering nerves, she nodded at his bottle service skills. “Clearly, you have experience pouring drinks.”
His deep grin revealed a wealth of charm and matching dimples in each cheek. A rich boy who was used to getting whatever he wanted. “I did my share of bartending back in college.”
“Oh, really?” Camilla took a small sip of the amber liquid in an effort to hide her curiosity. She was here to meet potential investors, after all. If he had experience in the service industry, he might be interested in her ideas about opening her restaurant. “Was it at a chain restaurant or a dive bar or—”
His soft chuckle cut her off. “No, not professionally or anything like that. I usually only manned the bar at our fraternity parties. I can mix a mean sangria, though.”
Of course the heir to the Taylor fortune hadn’t actually had to work for a living in college. Camilla took another sip and felt both the alcohol and the disappointment burn down her throat. Yet she’d had enough experience in the service industry that she knew how to paste on her own charming smile. “I’m sure all those sorority sisters loved your sangria.”
“Just between me and you...” He leaned in closer, and Camilla felt a heat spread through her. It must be the Scotch. “Being the bartender was actually my trick to avoid the sorority girls. Or at least avoiding them on the dance floor.”
The band’s lead singer directed everyone to go check out the silent auction items before launching into the appropriately titled Pink Floyd classic “Money.”
As partygoers wandered away from the dance floor to hopefully spend their cash on things they didn’t need, Jordan surprised her by asking, “How’s your father?”
“My father?” How did Jordan Taylor know Camilla’s father? Aaron Sanchez had worked at the only post office in Bronco for the past thirty or so years. But Jordan didn’t look like the type of guy who trekked into town every day to pick up his own mail. He probably had a slew of employees who did that for him. “He’s fine?”
“I heard he had surgery last month,” he said, and Camilla tried not to stare at the tan column of his neck as he tilted his head back and swallowed the contents of his glass. “My assistant sent something. A wine basket, I believe.”
“A wine basket?” Camilla repeated, then shook her head to clear it. A few neighbors had dropped off casseroles, but she was pretty sure she would’ve remembered if her dad had gotten a wine basket after his bunion surgery. Especially one from the Taylors.
“Speaking of fathers,” Jordan continued. “I believe my dad mentioned something about you and your family expanding your business ventures to Bronco Heights.”
Camilla’s hand flew to her chest. How did he already know that? Did they vet all the guests ahead of time? And expanding their business ventures was a lofty way to put it. Her mom managed a somewhat upscale beauty salon, but that was pretty much the extent of the Sanchezes’ global enterprises. She cleared her throat. “Well, the restaurant I’m planning to open is more of my venture than my family’s. I mean, obviously, they’ll support me in any way they can, but I’m actually looking for outside investors.”
As soon as she said the words outside investors, Jordan’s eyes veered away from her as though he’d caught a glance of something more interesting. Great. She was already boring him. At least he was polite enough to ask, “What kind of restaurant?”
“Well, Mexican food primarily, but not Tex Mex. I’ve got a ton of my grandmother’s old recipes, although I’m not actually a trained chef. I’d have to hire someone to run the kitchen, but I have a ton of experience with running everything else in a restaurant.” Camilla had practiced the sales pitch several times in the mirror before coming tonight. However, now that she was standing in front of one of the wealthiest—and best-looking—men in Montana, she was getting it all wrong.
She exhaled. It wasn’t as though Jordan was particularly paying attention to her right that second anyhow. His gaze seemed to be focused on a very pretty and very pregnant woman on the other side of the dance floor.
“Did you need to go talk to her?” Camilla offered the same pleasant smile she would use when asking a customer if she could bring him the check.
“Uh, no.” Jordan’s head whipped back in Camilla’s direction. “Erica is friends with my sister and I was just thinking that Daphne would be happy to see a familiar face.”
“Oh, so she’s a family friend?” Camilla asked, knowing that it really wasn’t any of her business if he was staring at every single woman at the gala. A guy like Jordan Taylor didn’t get a nickname like Rancher Most Wanted because he could focus all his attention on only one female. He oozed charm and even if she wasn’t already familiar with his reputation, Camilla had dated enough good-looking guys to know a player when she met one.
“Well, our families go way back,” he replied. Then he surprised her by admitting, “Erica and I actually went out on a few dates one summer when I was home from college, mostly to appease our parents. She moved back to Bronco recently, and even though I’ve seen her a handful of times since then, it’s still weird seeing kids I grew up with come back to town as grown-up adults with these totally different lives.”
His sentimental words settled deep into Camilla’s chest, and something about Jordan’s eyes made her momentarily doubt all the rumors she’d ever heard about him. But only momentarily.
“I get that.” She nodded. “Every time one of my friends gets married or has a baby, I feel as though I’m standing still while everyone else is moving ahead.”
“Exactly!” Jordan lifted the bottle of Scotch as though in a mock salute. “If you’re not settled down and starting a family by age thirty, society begins to think there’s something wrong with you.”
Her eyes traced down his broad shoulders and lean waist in that custom-made tuxedo.
“I seriously doubt that anybody thinks there is something wrong with you.” As soon as the words left her mouth, Camilla sucked in a breath and prayed he hadn’t heard her over the opening strains of the band’s next song.
Unfortunately, his knowing smile told her otherwise. “Coming from the most beautiful woman in the room tonight, I’ll defer to your judgment on the subject.”
A flush of heat stole up her neck and face. Her mother had insisted on doing Camilla’s hair and makeup before the party, and now she hoped the pricey bronzer on her cheeks hid her embarrassment. “Oh, I don’t know if it’s my expertise that you’d want. I’m afraid I’m in the same boat as you when it comes to settling down. It seems like there’s so much to do before I can even think about going along that same path as everyone else.”
He lifted his dark eyebrows and Camilla was about to artfully bring the conversation back to her restaurant. But before she could bring up potential investors again, he asked her a question. “You know this song?”
Camilla was surprised the band had moved on from 1980s hits and was now covering a Bruno Mars song, yet her hips naturally moved along to the thrumming hip-hop beat. “It’s one of my favorites.”
“Mine, too.” He downed the rest of his drink before gesturing toward the parquet floor that must’ve cost thousands of dollars to rent in order to cover the expanse of grass inside the heated tent. “Let’s go out there and show everyone that we’ve got a lot of living left to do before we settle down.”
The fast-paced song meant that no touching was required, but that didn’t stop Camilla’s body from reacting to the way Jordan moved. Or to the way he watched her as she threw back her shoulders, dipped her knees and rolled her hips to the beat. It was as though someone had tied a string around both of their waists, connecting them by a thin thread that they couldn’t break.
A second song started, this one by Beyoncé, and even more people poured onto the dance floor. The chemistry between her and Jordan must’ve been obvious to everyone else, because even with the crowd jockeying for position around them, the other partygoers gave them their space. The heart-pounding music threatened to take over her body and her judgment, and Camilla had to keep dancing just to keep from drowning in his chocolate-brown eyes. The very same eyes that made her feel as if she were the only woman here with him.
Despite knowing his reputation, by the third song, she finally succumbed to the thrill that Bronco Heights’ most eligible bachelor had chosen her as his dance partner. At some point, Jordan had shrugged out of his jacket and Camilla had to make a concerted effort to keep her focus above his chest. Speaking of chests, she needed to be sure that the double-sided tape keeping her plunging neckline in place didn’t slip and cause a wardrobe malfunction.
Earlier in the day, she’d expressed that same concern to her sister Sofia, a stylist at a fashionable boutique in Bronco Heights who had loaned her the ball gown. Sofia had assured her that everyone at the gala would be standing around networking and complimenting each other on their substantial donations to charity. Nobody would be hopping around on the dance floor like a bunch of teenagers at their high school prom. Camilla couldn’t wait to tell her little sister how wrong she’d been.
She attempted a casual dance move that simultaneously allowed her to adjust the narrow strips of sequined fabric covering her breasts, yet she only succeeded in drawing Jordan’s eyes to that exact spot. When the tempo quickly changed to a slow song, it seemed only natural for him to pull her into his arms.
The warm fabric of his starched white dress shirt pressed against Camilla’s flushed skin and she slid her own arms around his neck, her face turning toward the sleekly knotted black tie at his throat. Lord help her, she thought as she inhaled the musky scent of cedar wood and damp skin. The man smelled even better than he danced.
Her heart pulsed behind her rib cage as Jordan’s fingers carelessly traced circles along her lower spine. Or maybe his fingers weren’t careless at all, but very, very methodical. Don’t think about how perfectly you fit against him, she commanded herself. Just enjoy the moment. When was the last time she’d been out dancing? Her cousin Bianca’s wedding, maybe? Surely, way before she’d picked up those extra waitressing shifts. Usually, her already exhausted feet were much too tired to do more than hold her upright in a steamy shower at the end of a long day.
“Hey, Camilla!” DJ Traub, the owner of DJ’s Deluxe, interrupted her romantic thoughts. Her boss had maneuvered his wife beside them on the dance floor. “Have you mentioned your restaurant idea to Jordan yet?”
The man’s reminder was as subtle as a dropped tray of dishes. She was here to find investors, not to be seduced by the town’s most infamous bachelor.
Jordan pulled back, but only slightly, keeping his gaze locked on her as he spoke to the other man. “Camilla and I spoke briefly about it. Although we haven’t negotiated whether Taylor Beef will be one of her main suppliers.” He looked into her upturned face. “Maybe we should go sample some of the product?”
A ripple of anticipation zipped through her. Was he serious? She was still in the early stages of finding investors, yet Jordan was already miles ahead of her, talking about food suppliers. Sure, he might be a savvy businessman and probably easily navigated his way through many deals. But would he really be laying on this much charm to negotiate a deal if he didn’t believe in her restaurant?
Trying to get her head back in the game, Camilla allowed him to lead her to one of the food stations, where they were serving bite-sized beef Wellington pastries and prime rib sliders. The scent of the garlicky horseradish sauce helped clear her sinuses and her mind.
“Sounds like you’re not going to have any problem getting your restaurant up and running if you’ve already got DJ Traub talking about it.” Jordan handed her a small appetizer plate and his fingers brushed against hers.
That anticipatory thrill shot through Camilla again, but this time it wasn’t just because of Jordan’s nearness. DJ wasn’t only her boss, he was one of the best known restaurateurs in Montana. He’d known that by bringing Camilla to this fundraiser as his guest, he was all but assuring the public of his faith in her. Now it was time for her to do her part and seal the deal.
Camilla took a deep breath. “You know, I put together a financial proposal if you’d be interested in reviewing it.”
“I’d love to review it.” Jordan smiled again and Camilla’s legs turned to jelly. “Just as long as we’re clear that I’d be looking at it as a friend, not as an investor.”
“Oh.” Camilla tightened her spine to keep her shoulders from sagging with disappointment.
Jordan put a finger under her chin, forcing her to meet his direct stare. “Camilla, I never mix business with pleasure. If we were to work together, then we couldn’t dance together like that again. And I really, really enjoy dancing with you.”
“Thank you.” One of her eyebrows lifted slightly. “I think.”
“But I can introduce you to one of my uncles. His daughter did a semester abroad in Mexico City a few years ago and is still talking about the lack of good authentic food in Bronco.” Jordan put two sliders on her plate, added several savory puffed pastries, then loaded them both down with skewers of tender marinated steak and a yogurt cucumber dipping sauce. “Let’s grab another drink and maybe one or two more dances, and then we can go find my Uncle Thaddeus and maybe talk to a couple of my business associates.”
Camilla followed him as he cut a path to one of the bars set up on the perimeter of the massive tent. Part of her had been hoping that having Jordan investing in her restaurant would be a quick and easy solution. The other part of her was trying to tell her giddy nerves that he was right and there was no way they could be business partners considering how her body reacted to his on the dance floor. Besides, she’d known that she wasn’t going to hook an investor at her very first event. She was supposed to be meeting people and mingling tonight, networking and forming her own connections.
This time, instead of offering her a bottle of Scotch, Jordan stood back while she ordered a spicy jalapeno mojito from the bartender. They ate, they laughed and they tried each other’s drinks. Then they ate a little more. It was almost easier being around Jordan now that Camilla didn’t have to impress him—at least not in the business sense.
The only awkward moment came when Cornelius Taylor took the microphone to announce how much money they’d raised so far tonight. It was an obscene amount that none of the local community fundraisers she’d volunteered for ever brought in. She wanted to ask Jordan which local charities would be getting the proceeds from tonight, but she’d noticed the firm set of his jaw while his father was on stage and decided not to dip her toe into those tense waters.
When a country-and-Western song came on afterward, Jordan quickly pulled her onto the dance floor to teach her how to two-step. “Cha Cha Slide” came on next, and it was her turn to teach him how to do a line dance. His feet went to the left and his arms went to the right, and when it came time to hop five times, Camilla had never laughed so hard in her life.
Another slow song started and when he pulled her close a second time, Camilla realized that she never wanted tonight to end. As soon as the thought popped into her mind, another couple bumped into them.
It was Erica Abernathy Dalton, her face completely drained of color. “I think I’m going to have a baby.”
