Cinderellis: An MM Romance Fairy Tale Retelling (Once Upon a Vegas Night Book 2) Read online

  Copyright © 2021 Evie Drae

  Published by

  CLANDESDYNE

  PO Box 621

  Barberton, OH 44203-0521

  www.clandesdyne.com

  All rights reserved

  The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.

  Cinderellis

  Copyright © 2021 Evie Drae

  Editors: Desi Chapman and Andrea Zimmerman, Blue Ink Editing, LLC.

  Paperback ISBN: 978-1-952695-05-6

  ASIN: B08RW4LC91

  Cover design by: Clandesdyne

  Library of Congress Control Number: (in process)

  Printed in the United States of America

  For Kero and Thule. We love you and miss you, but your lights will shine brighter now that you're together again.

  Contents

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  About The Author

  Once Upon a Vegas Night Series

  Owned Heart, Body, & Soul Trilogy

  Acknowledgement

  Chapter One

  A kaleidoscopic rainbow of colors danced around the darkness, creating enough light to set a lavish mood without detracting from the celebratory vibe. Ellis reinforced the effect with a careful combination of electronic dance music and remixed pop songs. His own personal list, one he’d cultivated over the past few years but rarely had the chance to use.

  He ran a finger under the too-tight collar of his rented tuxedo and adjusted a few sliders on the mixing console to crossfade into the next song. It was a loud EDM club mix coming off the back of a softer pop track, which meant Ellis had to fine-tune a few more faders to normalize the audio. Tilting his uncovered ear toward the ceiling as he pressed the headphones over the opposite side, he nodded his satisfaction. It wasn’t so loud people couldn’t hold a conversation, but the beat pulsed under his skin and drew dancers to center stage.

  The Colosseum at Caesars Palace Las Vegas had been Ellis’s home away from home for over a decade. He’d worked as a stagehand for the iconic theater since he was fifteen, thanks to his stepfather, who served as the lead audio engineer. Filling the shoes of even a second assistant to Ray would be a dream come true, yet Ellis had never gotten further than unofficial mic wrangler.

  Except for nights like this. Nights where manning the controls wasn’t high on his stepfather’s priority list and Ellis had a chance to shine. Even if Ray was the only one who knew it was really him running the show.

  Growing up under the roof of the infamous Raymond Brunswick meant Ellis had more than enough informal training to operate the complicated equipment stretched out before him. He just didn’t have the title to fit his experience. Yet. But the more times Ray handed over the reins, the more chances Ellis had to prove himself. Eventually the man would acknowledge his skill. He had to.

  Even if there wasn’t room for Ellis on the main sound team, he could still work toward that ultimate dream by taking on an official mic wrangler position. If Ray would approve the promotion.

  The open-air sound booth, located at the heart of the rear orchestra, drew little attention from the raucous partygoers flooding the main stage. It was rare for the Colosseum to host such a shindig, especially one so small and exclusive. However, they’d signed a big-shot act for a limited six-month engagement, and celebrations were in order.

  Ellis manipulated another crossfade to transition from the EDM track to an upbeat radio remix. The black-tie affair onstage continued to bop and sway to the beat, oblivious to the man controlling the flow of their movements. He grinned and leaned back in his chair. Someday, he’d do this for a living. He’d bring joy to countless people who’d never give him or the work he did a second thought.

  That would be a hundred times better than his background rigging and carpentry jobs. At least running the audio would make him happy. Give him a reason to get up every day. Something more tangible than a dream.

  Out of the corner of his eye, Ellis caught movement. He darted his head to the side with enough time to catch a figure, clad all in black, crawl under his console. Biting his lip, he pushed back his chair and peered into the dark space below. “Ah, excuse me—”

  A flash of pale skin showed under an oversized hood. Full lips pursed into a silent shh as a slim finger tipped with black polish pressed against them. Ellis straightened and rolled his shoulders. He could leave the stowaway to their own business as long as they didn’t bump anything or unplug any cords or…

  Panic flaring in his gut, Ellis dipped his head a second time. “Look, I’m sorry, but there are a lot of important cords under there. It’s not really a great place to—”

  The figure crab-walked from beneath the table and flopped against the back wall of the sound booth, knocking the hood off as they did. The vibrant, multihued Ballyhoo lighting cut through the darkness with enough intensity Ellis could make out a rather grumpy-looking male scowling up at him.

  Thick black eyeliner rimmed his eyes, their color indiscernible in the dim, infrequent illumination. His hair, somewhere in the brown spectrum, if the lighting could be trusted, stood out at odd angles. Whether purposeful or not, the effect was unnervingly sexy—like he’d just rolled out of bed after a proper romp. He drew his knees up and rested his folded arms on their bent surface, the scowl morphing into pinched exasperation.

  “Anybody huffing down the aisle after me?”

  Ellis cast his eyes over the empty front orchestra, then flicked them to the stage to assess the crowd before settling back on his mystery guest. “Doesn’t look like anyone’s headed this way.”

  “Thank fuck.” The guy dropped his head against the wall. “Mind if I hang a bit? I need a breather.”

  “Ah, yeah, sure.” As the current song ended, Ellis faded into the next before shoving the free side of his headphones farther off his ear. It was hard to hear anything but the music with the thumping track roaring into his covered left ear and the cavernous Colosseum mimicking the sound into his right. “If you’re aiming to hide, you might have better luck in the corner. Less visibility if anyone does come looking.”

  The man’s dark eyes danced in the variegated light before he nodded, slipped to the other side of Ellis’s chair, and flashed a thumbs-up. “You’re good people. Thanks, dude.”

  A few more songs came and went before Ellis shot another glance at his silent companion. He’d melted into the corner, leaning his head against the wall, his e
yes closed, his hands resting on jean-clad thighs.

  Hold the phone. Jeans? At a private black-tie party? Ellis peered closer, waiting for the fragmented light to tease over the guy again to reveal skinny dark-washed jeans, scuffed black-and-white Converse sneakers, and a plain black hoodie.

  Okay, so he wasn’t one of the event guests. Did that mean Ellis harbored an intruder? Unease settled in his stomach, churning acrid fluid up the back of his throat.

  Ray would kill him if he fucked this up. No one was supposed to know it was a stagehand running the sound and not the high-paid lead audio engineer. If they came hunting for a party crasher gone rogue, Ellis would get caught.

  He swallowed over the lump constricting his throat. Now wasn’t the time to get spooked. He had to focus on getting his stowaway out of the booth before someone came looking for him.

  Following the next song transition, Ellis slipped off his headphones and faced the man. Kohl-rimmed eyes blinked up at him, a crooked smirk tilting those full, irritatingly kissable lips.

  Before Ellis could formulate a coherent sentence, the fugitive cocked his head and spoke. “You look ill, my man. You aren’t gonna ralph, are you? If so, mind aiming it thataway?”

  Ellis shook his head and straightened his back. His broad six-foot-three frame—honed by years of heavy-lifting duties—had a good six-plus inches and forty or so pounds on the guy huddled in the corner. Even if brute intimidation wasn’t part of his usual repertoire, now was as good a time as any to use size to his advantage. He dropped his voice a few octaves and focused on hardening his features. “Who are you hiding from?”

  The man laughed, wholly unbothered by Ellis’s attempt at playing badass, and stretched his legs out to cross at the ankle. “Everyone. That lot’s exhausting.”

  Shooting another glance at the party, Ellis ran his tongue over the tip of a canine. The energy pumping off the stage hadn’t altered course despite the escapee’s absence. Maybe no one knew he was there in the first place?

  With a huff, Ellis slumped into his seat and dropped the tough-guy act. He’d never been good at it anyway. That kind of performance required personality traits he simply didn’t possess.

  The stowaway chuckled and ran a hand through his disheveled locks. “No one’s gonna come looking for me here. Your space is safe. Promise. I told the tour manager, Kumiko, I was seeking quiet and refuge. She’ll keep the wolves distracted for a bit.”

  Ellis frowned. If he knew the tour manager, he must be part of the new act. But why was he dressed like a bum at a fancy event in their honor? Maybe he was a roadie who hadn’t been invited. Or, more likely, one of the band members who couldn’t be bothered with following the rules because they so rarely applied to him. That made more sense. It would explain how he’d gotten away with a getup so far out of dress code. It would also explain why the tour manager would need to distract the other guests so he could slip away.

  Great. Ray was adamant that Ellis didn’t interact with the talent. Especially not when covering his stepdad’s duties. What would this guy do if he saw Ellis hanging from the rigging later? Would he call Ellis out and get him in trouble?

  Fuckin’ hell.

  “Are you part of Cinder’s band?” Ellis played off the question as nonchalant, but nerves fired under his skin, drawing a shiver of unease in their wake.

  “Am I part of…?” The man’s brows crawled up his forehead. “You don’t know who I am?”

  Ellis shrugged and reached for his headphones, repositioning them over his left ear so he could work the next fade. When the techno beat rolled through the speakers, a squeal erupted from the stage. He ignored it in favor of squinting an eye at his guest. “I know music and voices, not faces or names.”

  “Huh.” The corner of the man’s mouth pinched in, and he nodded. “Makes sense.”

  When nothing more was said, Ellis sucked in his bottom lip to hide his frustration. He needed to know how deep he’d landed in this shit pile. Which meant getting an answer to his question. “So you’re a member of the band, then?”

  “Oh.” The guy licked his lips and gave a little sniff. “Yeah, I am.”

  Ellis deflated at the confirmation. It meant he’d spend the next six months hiding in the rafters or behind set construction rather than working the mic check duties Ray had only recently bestowed on him. His first step in the right direction after a decade of dashed hopes and this man had ruined it without even trying. Without even meaning to.

  Biting back a sigh, Ellis returned his focus to the mixing console. He adjusted a fader for the sole purpose of busying his hands, not because the sound was unbalanced.

  Why didn’t life have a slider bar he could tweak and fine-tune to fade from one scene to the next as easily as he transitioned between songs now? Finding equilibrium in the real world was a hell of a lot harder than it was in a sound booth, that’s for sure. But the chaos and abnormalities that happened in between the moments of balance were what made life interesting. Who wanted to race through their existence, anyway?

  When the time was right, he’d get his chance. A real chance. One where he could prove his worth and earn a permanent spot by his stepfather’s side as an assistant to one of the greats. Then someday, when Ray retired, maybe Ellis could take Ray’s place. Maybe he could be the sound god worshiped for his astute knowledge and expert skills.

  Better yet? Maybe he could make Ray proud. And when his stepdad turned that gleaming, delighted smile on him for a change, all his struggles would be worth it.

  Chapter Two

  Cinder couldn’t fight the grin tugging at his lips. When was the last time he’d come across someone who didn’t know who he was?

  As the son of Julia and Clyde Cinderford, two legends of the music industry who still performed to sold-out crowds to this day, he’d spent his childhood on the road. His parents owned lavish houses in three different cities across the globe but never stayed in any of them for longer than a month or two at a time. Long enough to record a new album and they’d be off again.

  When he was fourteen, Cinder landed a career of his own, guaranteeing a future comprised of the same chaotic schedule he’d lived as a child. Something he didn’t regret. Not really. He loved everything about his life, including all the chaos that went with it.

  But this was what he’d hoped to find during his furlough from the tour circuit. Normalcy. A sense of being part of something human and routine. Something he hoped would ground him in a way he’d never had before.

  With six whole months stretching before him at a single location, all while staying in the gorgeous desert abode he’d purchased for the occasion, Cinder planned to discover what it meant to be home. A foreign concept, to say the least, but that was something he aimed to change.

  And what better way to start than by finding someone who didn’t know—or seem to care—who he was?

  The audio engineer frowned when Cinder admitted to being part of the band, as if the news somehow displeased him. That wasn’t a reaction he was used to, but it was certainly intriguing. What would he think if he knew Cinder wasn’t part of the backup band—a group that morphed and changed depending on his tour schedule—but the lead singer himself?

  Delighted laughter rose from the stage when the sound dude fiddled with the glowing control panel again and the music shifted tempo.

  There was no question, this guy was good at what he did. Cinder’s lead audio engineer on the tour—Lizbeth, an often-irritable pixie of a woman—considered playlist management glorified disc jockeying and far beneath her. But it took skill to keep a discerning group like the one Cinder traveled with happy. Plus, his fades were gorgeous and perfectly timed. “So have you been running the audio here a long time, Mr.…?”

  The man snapped his gaze to Cinder, his frown deepening into an adorable pout. He shook his head and redirected his attention to the multicolored monstrosity of backlit buttons and gadgets.

  Despite growing up around all the technical equipment necessary to run a stag
e production, Cinder avoided the stuff. It wasn’t his forte, and he had no qualms admitting it. The tech folks were usually grateful for that fact.

  Overinvolvement from front stage divas was a frequent cause for job relocation in the music biz, and Cinder tried his damnedest not to be one of those overbearing assholes his crew ranted about. He valued his team. Without them, he couldn’t do what he did.

  Which meant making nice with his new audio engineer should be top priority. Yet something kept him from going the full disclosure route right off the bat. Was there anything wrong with developing a relationship not based around his fame? Just this once? Just for a little while?

  “So…” Cinder gave a wave in the sound guy’s peripheral vision, grinning when a pair of light eyes shifted to meet his own. “That trail off there was an attempt at getting your name. I’m a tad elevated on the social awkwardness scale, so how about I try that again?” He held out a hand, suppressing a chuckle when the guy scrunched his nose at the offer. Not the typical reaction, but he loved it. “Name’s Henry. What’s yours?”

  It wasn’t a lie, even though it felt a bit skeevy. Cinder hadn’t adopted the shortened version of his last name in place of his given one until he embarked on his own career as a teen. Because, seriously, Henry was so not the moniker of a rock star. The fact his rocker parents had bestowed such a travesty on him was downright criminal.

  Still, if he dropped the Cinder bomb, this conversation would be over, and he wasn’t ready to give up a shot at something so pleasantly ordinary.

  Taking Cinder’s outstretched hand with his large, calloused palm, the man tilted his head and studied Cinder a beat. “Ellis.”

  Nibbling the tip of his tongue, Cinder rolled the name around his mind—strong, sturdy, and sexy, like its broad-shouldered owner. “I dig it. So, Ellis, how long have you been an audio guru?”

  Ellis speared a hand into his styled-back blond hair and caught it on his earphones, sending them clattering to the floor. He cursed under his breath as he fumbled around the darkened space. Once again, he didn’t answer Cinder’s question.