Going Royal 02 - Some Like It Scandalous (2 page)

“
I
like it
,
what do you think?
”
He stood a foot back from the brown sofa they rescued from a Dumpster earlier in the day and stared at the picture of four pandas playing poker he hung above it.

“
It’s not centered.
”
Arguably it was completely off center
,
angled over the far right seat.

“
It is centered—to the room.
”
He tossed a grin over his shoulder.
The European accent still peeked through his words.
It faded some in the two years they dated
,
but whenever something annoyed him...

“
The room doesn’t have enough
in
it to justify centering it to the room.
It should go over the middle of the sofa.
”
She padded barefoot across the floor.
“
Or
,
easier still
,
we move the sofa.
”
She put her weight against the edge and shoved it down the wall until the pandas centered over the middle cushion.
Spinning to show off her work
,
she slammed up against his chest.
His mouth slanted over hers and swallowed her squeal.

They went down in a tangle of arms and legs.
It didn’t take long to forget all about the picture.

She shook her head, rousing from melancholy-laced desire. She
could
do this. She
would
do it. The scholarship fund needed the money. Her pride didn’t help anyone and it wasn’t like he could shatter her heart twice. “Good afternoon, Your Highness.”

He stared at her. Did he see the same images of the past or had his long parade of mistresses effectively stamped out all remaining footprints of the life—
no
,
not life
,
lie
—the lie they lived?

“Please. Have a seat.” He coughed once and stepped forward, stretching out an arm to indicate the conversation pit created by a rectangular collection of sofas and love seats. She pivoted, grateful to not have to keep staring at him.

Ten years eroded the last traces of his boyish youth, but the man left in his place...

Dizzy possibility assaulted her. Did he still take his coffee with heavy doses of cream? Did he still prefer chicken sandwiches to burgers? Had he given up the penchant for eating every single French fry or waking up the middle of the night in search of something salty and sweet? Popcorn and caramel chocolates were—had been—his favorites, mixed together until their hands were sticky with it, but they’d always managed to lick each other clean.

Pinching the bridge of her nose, she wished she could pinch the images off and discard them. The dull headache plaguing her earlier roared to life and beat in time with her pulse.

“Are you all right?” He caught her elbow and she flinched, pulling away swiftly.

“Don’t touch me.” She glared at him, the pain sending spots back to decorate her vision.

The concern on his face hardened and the temperature of his voice dropped. “Have a seat. I will get you some water.” His accent tipped each word, rolling the vowels.

Good.
He annoyed her too.

She didn’t want to sit, but she didn’t want to embarrass herself any further by falling. She compromised by perching on the edge of the farthest cushion, angled so she could rise and, if necessary, flee. Charlie—the
prince
—She curled her fingers, digging her nails against her palms. He wasn’t Charlie. He was the Grand Duke Armand Dagmar, a prince.

And a lying bastard...

Pain scored along her soul, but she lifted her chin. Cobbling together the scraps of her pride, she wielded it like a flimsy shield. The prince returned with a pair of water bottles and two heavy crystal glasses. He set them on the polished wood center table without any coasters. She cringed at the damage the water spots might do. A stack of heavy wood squares sat on the end table next to her. Peeling her fingers off the handle to her laptop bag, she set it down and reached for two wooden squares.

The prince said nothing as she placed a coaster under each one. He loosened a button holding his suit jacket together and sat with careless grace in the chair to her right. The warmth of his leg grazed hers and it took every ounce of will not to jerk again as though scalded. Reacting revealed her weakness—she couldn’t afford it. So she endured the casual contact, taking her time to shift her leg away.

Charlie—
dammit
, the prince—opened her bottle and held it out to her. Steeling herself, she met his gaze. One corner of his mouth curved upward in the vaguest hint of a smile. “Do you still prefer it from the bottle?”

He remembers...
“No. A glass will be fine,” she lied, slamming shut the window to the past. It was enough to hang on to her sense of self and they’d barely spoken a dozen words to each other. His gaze shuttered, the warmth draining away. With a nod, he poured the water into the glass, filling it three-quarters before capping the water bottle and repeating the process with his own. Tumbler in hand, he took a long drink like it held vodka. Instead of saying anything, he stared at her moodily.

She clasped her hands together, not quite trusting the trembling in her fingers. The longer he stared at her, the more her resolve eroded. “Your Highness? You requested this meeting.”

“I did.” He nodded slowly and his expression darkened, a veil dropping over the man she thought she knew and leaving only the royal leader he became behind. “You are the director of the Princess Alyxandretta’s scholarship fund for foster children.”

It wasn’t a question. He took another drink, draining the glass before setting it on the table—next to the coaster. His midnight gaze collided with hers and her imagination seemed to be playing tricks on her. She thought she saw the humor there—as though he teased her.

It’s his table
,
if he wants to ruin it...
She ignored the glass, refusing the bait. “I am.”

“An interesting choice of occupation.” Still not a question.

Resting her clasped hands on her lap, she lifted her brows and waited.

Irritation creased his perfectly pleasant expression. “What are you qualifications for the position?”

“None of your business.” She smiled politely. “I interviewed with the board and Mrs. Voldakov. They were all satisfied with my hiring.”

“Of course, however, the scholarship fund is in the process of being relocated under the Dagmar Foundation and you have not been interviewed by the head of the foundation.” Every word perfectly enunciated and emphasized by his accent. The angrier he grew, the more formal his speech became—or at least that was how it had been. His temper lurked beneath that placid surface.

Her stomach plummeted. The relocation of the fund could only mean a new direction, new oversight and more paperwork. She’d just finished getting the nonprofit status fully vetted, and they remained in probation status on their grant applications. Changes meant those applications would become null and void.

“I see.”
Play it cool.
You can do this.
The internal cheerleader lacked any real confidence and cool sweat dampened her back. Thank God the jacket she wore hid the unpleasant reaction. Sliding her purse to rest on the sofa next to her thigh, she retrieved her laptop case. Fortunately, the designer bag offered numerous pockets and storage capacity for her files. Violently aware of the prince’s gaze on her, she thumbed through the contents and pulled out three quarter-inch-thick manila folders. Returning the case to the floor, she flipped open the first file and extracted her résumé. She set it on the table between them.

“My qualifications and work history.” She added a stack of six sheets. “Personal references.” And finally, a three-page letter of introduction from the previous fund she’d administered. “Professional recommendation.”

The prince ignored the stack. “I did not ask for your résumé or your letters of reference. I want to know why
you
think you’re qualified to do this job.”

“And you’ll find my qualifications are outlined quite clearly in those papers.” What did he want from her?

“I find that it’s easy to disguise shortcomings with a cleverly phrased sentence. Harder to compensate in person.” He couldn’t have slapped her harder if he’d reached out to strike her.

How dare he?
She stood, barely catching the folders before paper slid free from them. Incensed, she glared at him. “You’re one to accuse me of deception.”

“Sit down, Miss Novak.”

“I’d prefer to stand.” Her lungs burned with every deep inhale. Her temper unraveled further at his too-calm gaze. She hated it when he tried to “handle” her.

“Sit. Down.” The quiet command just pissed her off more and she grabbed her laptop bag, shoving the folders inside—ignoring him completely. It was a mistake to think she could do this—a mistake to believe that a decade could mute the betrayal.

“My apologies, Your Highness.” Heat flooded her face. Her jaw ached from clenching her teeth. “I do not think this going to work out.” And it made her sick to think she wouldn’t be a part of the solution so many young men and women needed to achieve their educational dreams. Better to let someone else handle the royal arrogance and demand.

“Miss Novak...please...” He sighed.

She made it three steps.

“Stay. Please.”

Keep walking.
But she didn’t. The quiet words took all the fire out of her sails.

She looked back. He stood, his hands in the pockets, but the neutrality in his expression evaporated. The quiet request accompanied by the all too familiar hopeful smile twisted the dagger in her heart.

“Go to hell, Charlie.” The venom in the words startled her. Tears filled her eyes and she blinked furiously to keep them at bay. “I came here to do business, not to be interrogated like some supplicant to your throne. You could have sent someone else, but you made me come here as if I would bend one damn knee to you.”

A knock at the door interrupted any response he might have made. She started forward and a man in an all black suit that screamed security glanced in. “Forgive the interruption, Your Highness. We wanted to make sure everything was all right.” The guard didn’t look at the prince, though, his steely expression rested on her.

“We are having a mild disagreement, Nelson. Thank you, that will be all.” The dismissal satisfied the guard and after one last hard look at her, he closed the door again.

Security had to be standing right outside the door—how else could they have heard her?

Would they keep her from leaving?

“Anna. Five minutes. Please.” His voice wrapped lovingly around her name, a sensuous caress, and she halted, closing her eyes. The third please doused the flames of irritation.

Five minutes.

“Fine.” She turned and set her bag down on the floor again. Glancing at her watch, she fought to remain impassive. The hell she would cry in front of him, no matter how raw and battered her heart. “You have five minutes.”

He stood next to the chair he’d sat in, but didn’t try to approach her. Honestly, he didn’t have to. She couldn’t look away. “I have read your résumé and your letters of recommendation. I know why others believe you to be so qualified. But the success of this enterprise is extremely important to my cousin. Thus, it is important to me. You know she was in the foster care system—she benefited from scholarship programs—and she desperately wants to help others like herself.”

Deeper emotion clouded those words—pride and regret. The latter sank a hook into her heart. “She explained. She’s an amazing woman.”

For the first time since she’d walked into the room, the prince smiled—truly smiled—and the warmth in it kindled heat in her belly. “She is. My only regret is the family did not know about her before the last several months. She holds no grudge against us, though I do. She believes you are a fantastic asset—her exact word was ‘perfect.’”

His giving voice to someone else’s compliment shouldn’t have filled her with such an irrational sense of joy, but the swell of it punctured the outrage that fueled her earlier flight. “Mrs. Voldakov and I spent several hours chatting about her hopes for the project. I agree with her sentiment. It’s a worthy cause and it provides a much-needed boost for those who might have to forgo further education because of financial hardship. I am intimately acquainted with the struggles of low-income families and those struggles are only magnified for foster children who lack the basic support structure for success.”

If not for her own scholarships, she would likely be working in the same diner as her mother or the mechanic shop with her father. One of six children, Anna knew her parents’ resources had been stretched to the breaking point. She’d saved her family money and still managed to chase her dreams.

Well
,
some of them...

“You worked hard for your scholarships. You pushed away personal commitments to achieve the grades you needed...” The prince stepped toward her.

“Thank you.” All the moisture in her mouth dried up. “I had support. This scholarship—the foundation it can become—can provide that support to so many others. I know what it means to need.”

He stopped at the edge of his desk and put a hand on the wooden edge. “You weren’t recruited for this position. You applied. Why leave the organization you worked for to come to this one?”

The question puzzled her. Directors of large corporations moved around frequently. “It’s an excellent opportunity.”

“It is hours of intensive labor, compliance restrictions and paperwork. Your previous project, Hart’s House, provided support for abuse victims, educational and relocation opportunities, and you opened over fifty different establishments in major cities across the United States in the last five years—doubling not only their working capital, but also the number of help hot spots.” The full weight of his gaze rested on her, as though he evaluated her every reaction and she fought against fidgeting.