Honeymoon With a Prince (Royal Scandals) (24 page)

“Maybe on first blush,” he admitted.
 
“But think about it.
 
The account that was closed can be dealt with from here.
 
I’m sure you can show that you put the deposits in yourself, since, as you said, they were proceeds from the sale of your business.
 
Then you should be able to recover your funds from….”
 
Had she told him the guy’s name?
 
Or was he simply Mr. Robards?

“Ted.”
 
Her effort to rein in her anger was slipping.
 
“His name was…is…Ted.”

“Ted, then.”
 
Saying it back to her made his skin crawl.
 
Besides, he hadn’t met anyone named Ted in years.
 
Was it a trendy name in Texas?
 
Or was this guy one of a kind?
 
“You can start the process of retrieving that money from here as easily as you could in Dallas.
 
Did you have employees?
 
Is there anyone else who can access the records from the sale of your business and show that you made those deposits?”

She nodded, though she seemed reluctant to do so.
 
“Then there’s no need to fly home unless and until you discover you must be there in person to rectify this.
 
With those sale records, you can show your ex that you can prove the money was intended to be yours and that if he tries to keep it, he’ll be in for a legal fight.
 
One threatening letter from a lawyer might be all it takes to show him you’re serious.
 
In the meantime, you can call your credit card company again and ask them to expedite removing the hold on your card.
 
I can vouch for the fact you’re employed here.
 
If you’ve been a good customer and have good credit, it shouldn’t be a problem.
 
Given your obsession with planning—”

“Obsession?”

“Your
talent
, then, for planning, I assume you have good credit?”
 
He let that dangle and waited for her reaction.

Her lower lip puckered.
 
She smoothed the front of her white and yellow dress—one that flattered her body every bit as perfectly as the blue one she’d worn the night before—then nodded.

“Of course, your other problem is that you have nowhere to stay for next two weeks.
 
I can’t possibly allow you to sleep on an airport floor while you wait for an open seat on a flight—”
 

“You can’t
allow
me—”
 

He held up his hands.
 
He suspected Kelly’s ex had been controlling, given what little Kelly had said about the guy and the way he’d ruined her vacation.
 
No way would Massimo let Kelly believe he was the same way.
 
“Again, let me rephrase.
 
I’d hate the idea of knowing you’re sleeping on an airport floor waiting for a standby seat that may or may not even become available.
 
Your ex has tried to take your money—”
 

“Oh, he’s taken it.
 
At least for now.”

“—but you shouldn’t let him rob you of your vacation.
 
As you said, you’ll get the money back.
 
It may take time, but you will.
 
And you can still have the vacation.”

“By working for you?”
 

“Yes.”
 
He exhaled, hoping she could listen to reason.
 
“There are several guest suites at the far end of the long gallery, so you’ll have a place to stay until you’re ready to go home.
 
You said you’d rented the villa for two weeks.
 
When we were at dinner, you mentioned that most of the closets you do take only a few days, a week at the most.
 
Is two weeks enough time to redesign a closet and take your tours?”

“Depends on the closet.”
 

Hope sprung in his chest.
 
“Does that mean you’ll do it?”

“No.”
 
She blotted her mouth as she stood—managing to wipe away most of the jelly—then folded her napkin and set it beside her plate.
 
“It’s kind of you to offer.
 
But you’re perceptive enough to realize that I’m not the type of person who’ll accept charity I don’t need.”

“This isn’t charity.”
 
He rounded the table to face her.
 
“I’m not giving you the money.”

“Nor a loan.
 
Nor a job you’ve concocted for the sake of making me feel better.
 
Nor a place to stay in the palace.”
 
Her smile softened.
 
“And here, after you joked about letting me stay on the yacht.
 
I should’ve known it was because you had a palace available.”

“The suites are empty, so why not?”

“Because I doubt anyone else you hire gets a palace suite thrown into the deal.”

“They’re also likely coming from the local area and don’t need a place to stay.
 
Or they’re working on longer-term projects and we provide a housing allowance.”

“You have an answer for everything, don’t you?”
 
She smoothed the sides of her dress, a habit he noticed popped up whenever she was nervous but had a point to make.
 
“Look, I appreciate the pancakes—I haven’t been that hungry in as long as I can remember—and I really appreciate what you’ve done for me.
 
But it’s best I go home.”

“I didn’t concoct the job, nor do I offer it lightly.
 
Follow me.”
 
He crooked his finger and crossed the living area in long strides.
 
She hesitated, then hurried to catch up to him, just as he knew she would when he used what he thought of as his commanding officer’s voice.
 
Low, serious, and delivered with the expectation that those to whom he spoke would simply do as he asked.
 
“When we entered the apartment, I mentioned that I’m supposed to hire a decorator.
 
Well, I’m also supposed to hire a closet organizer.”

“Supposed to?”

If she didn’t like being controlled by men, she should try being controlled by royal parents.
 
“I haven’t lived at home since before I went to college, which means I haven’t had to engage in many public functions.
 
But now that I’m back, I’ll be attending events almost daily.
 
I need an entirely new wardrobe, but I can’t do that until I get rid of what’s already here and renovate.”

He opened the wide door to the left of the fireplace, then ushered her into the master bedroom.
 
As with the main room, the curtains here had been drawn.
 
After flipping on the overhead light, he moved to the windows and pulled the cords to the curtains.
 
Kelly paused in the doorway and waited, as if crossing the threshold to his bedroom meant crossing a line she wasn’t sure she wanted to traverse.

Much as he wanted her in his bed—and now that he’d had food, both sleep and another round of sex would be heavenly—he needed to convince her to do what would be best for both of them in the long run.
 

He’d meant it when he told her this would be a win-win.
 

And maybe, just maybe, having her take this job would get her out of his system.
 
Let him see her as she really was, an attractive, fascinating, but altogether troubled tourist and closet designer, rather than thinking of her as the best sex of his life.

He lifted the small latch on the door at the far end of his room.
 
“My mother insisted just this morning that I hire a closet organizer.
 
As you can imagine, she’s not the type who likes to take no for an answer.”

He slid open the pocket door to reveal the walk-in closet.
 
As with the kitchen, this room had been a storage closet once upon a time for palace furniture, art, and holiday decor.
 
However, unlike the kitchen, this space was almost big enough to be a bedroom itself.
 
His father once told him that when this section of the palace was repurposed as living quarters, there’d been quite a debate over whether to convert this closet into the kitchen and make what eventually became the master bedroom into the library.
 
In that case, the current library would have been the suite’s master bedroom and closet, while the current kitchen would have remained as it was—a simple storage space.
 

The architect who favored using the smaller closet as the kitchen won the argument, noting that anyone living in these quarters was unlikely to cook for themselves very often, but highly likely to own a vast wardrobe.
 

If Kelly truly enjoyed her job, if she loved the challenge of tackling a complicated, disorganized space and turning it into a functioning closet, she should be thrilled with this task.

“You really expect me to believe that the queen wanted me here?
 
That strikes me as quite a coincidence.”

“Not you specifically, but a closet organizer, yes.”
 
He waved her over from where she lingered in the doorway.
 
“Come look, then tell me I don’t need one.”

Shoulders squared, she crossed his bedroom—without looking at the bed, he noticed—and stepped past him into the closet.
 
Her look of doubt dissolved as she absorbed the sight with shrewd eyes.
 

“Well, you’re right.
 
This does need work.
 
There’s a lot to purge and the design is…let’s call it less than ideal.”

“Told you.”
 
Boxes covered the far wall, stacked until they blocked the lower half of a high, narrow window that gave the room its only natural light.
 
Wooden clothes rails at various heights covered both the right and left sides of the room.
 
All were empty, save for the one closest to the door on the right side, which held his limited supply of current dress shirts and the three suits he’d told his sister still fit, though now that he looked at them, he doubted that was the case.
 
An old dresser with two broken drawers was jammed under one of the rails on the left.
 
On top of it perched stacks of jeans, slacks, and shirts he hadn’t worn in almost a decade.
 
Rugs from other parts of the palace were rolled, then stacked vertically near the boxes opposite the door.
 
A broken clothes rod leaned against the rugs, as if holding them in place.
 

Kelly took a few steps into the room before placing her palm against one wall.
 
She frowned at the uneven brown paint before inspecting the small overhead bulb.
 
The light fixture itself had been removed years ago, after the glass cracked in several places.
 
“It’s a wonder you can find anything in here.
 
It’s quite dark.”

“You can fix that.”

“I’m able to” —she cast a glance in his direction, then quickly looked away— “but I can’t.
 
It could cause me real problems to work here.”

“I thought you said your noncompete is limited to Texas.”

“It is.”

“You’re concerned about the fact we’ve slept together.”

She didn’t meet his eyes.
 
Instead, she moved further into the closet, analyzing the spot where one of the worn rods connected to a support.
 
“I’ve never had that type of relationship with a client, and frankly, I consider it unprofessional.
 
It’s a perfectly good reason to say no.”

Massimo took a few steps into the closet, then ran his hand across the top of the bureau.
 
Dust coated his fingers, which he brushed off on his slacks.
 
At his request, the housekeeping staff hadn’t entered this room.
 
He’d hardly entered it himself.
 
Since returning home, he’d kept most of his current clothing in the small bureau in the bedroom.
 
On the rare occasions he needed a dress shirt, he could reach in from the doorway and grab one.

“If you plan to start another business, having a recommendation from Sarcaccia’s royal family would be icing on the cake.
 
And assuming this doesn’t take all your time over the next two weeks, you could go out, tour around, see the island.
 
I’d get you a security pass so you’d be free to come and go as you please.”

Her throat muscles worked as she swallowed.
 
“That all sounds very nice.”

“And, as I said, you’d have a place to stay.”

Her eyes went to the rod once again.
 
Silently, she turned to survey the rest of the closet.
 
Judging from her gaze, she was mentally measuring the space.
 
“You said your mother told you to hire a closet designer just today?”

“She did.
 
And a decorator, a stylist, an assistant…she was quite thorough.
 
In fact” —he pulled the paper from his front pocket and held it out to her— “she even wants me to hire an adviser to ensure I’m updated on the current political and economic issues, given that I’ve been out of the country so long.
 
I tried to convince her that I’m capable of reading reports.”