Page 1 of Some Like It Scandalous (Going Royal #2)
Anna
T he five-thousand-dollar painting on the wall hung crookedly. Not so much as to be obvious but—since she’d stared at it for the last fifteen minutes cooling her heels—she’d noticed. Anna Novak slanted a look down at the scratched face of her wristwatch.
Twenty minutes.
Her blood pressure rose. She hated waiting. She liked it even less when it followed a summons that came via special messenger with specific orders to arrive by two in the afternoon or consider their offer to fund the scholarship ended.
The only reason to stipulate punctuality and make her wait was power.
The grand duke had flexed his royal muscles to teach her a lesson.
The crooked angle of the picture added to the steady thrum of a headache pounding against the backs of her eyes.
She walked away from the expensive leather sofa and the plush rug to stare out the window.
The Petersburg Tower parked squarely in the center of Los Angeles boasted an amazing view from its thirtieth floor.
She could make out the Pacific Ocean in the distance, beyond the filmy haze hovering over the area.
She stared at the water, imagining herself standing on the sandy beach. The wind would push her hair back from her face and the water would lap at her bare feet. It didn’t matter that it was cold. The gentle ebb and flow of the tide reminded her even the worst storms passed.
“Ms. Novak?” A pleasant feminine voice pulled her attention back to the luxurious surroundings. Turning, she saw Gretchen, the blonde secretary who’d greeted her at the elevator and escorted her into the waiting room. “His Highness is ready to see you now. Please follow me.”
Shifting the strap of her purse against her shoulder, Anna claimed her laptop bag and followed—not that Gretchen left her with much choice. It’s not her fault he kept you waiting. No, it absolutely wasn’t. That didn’t help assuage her temper much. You’ll catch more flies with honey than vinegar.
She would catch even more with horse manure, but she fought to maintain her composure.
The scholarship fund needed the additional checks the royal family pledged to Princess Alyxandretta’s start-up project.
Key phrase in the sentence was needed , not wanted.
If Anna had realized when she took the job who she would be working for…
Cutting off that thought, she pasted on a plastic smile.
The hallway continued the tribute to the grand duke’s magnificent wealth.
Masterful artwork—mostly Russian impressionists—decorated the walls with expensive designer vases stationed every third painting.
The carpet muffled the sound of her heels.
It didn’t take her long to realize Gretchen led her to the pair of cherry-colored oaken doors at the end of the hall.
The paneled wood cried out ornate elegance .
Breathing became optional the closer she came and her heart thundered like a horse galloping full tilt to escape. Dread cramped her stomach.
This couldn’t be any worse than walking to her execution.
Of course, I could have had a last meal instead of a stale granola bar and the cold coffee leftover from the drive into the office this morning.
Gretchen grasped both handles and pushed the doors wide. She curtsied with exquisite grace. “Anna Novak, Your Highness.”
Anna’s heart leaped. She searched the expensive—and spacious—office, desperate to see him before he saw her.
But she didn’t have to search long. He stood with his back to the door, gazing out of a massive picture window.
If the view from the waiting room was magnificent, this one took her breath away.
The Los Angeles valley seemed to sprawl out at his feet, as though waiting for him to step down from the glass tower and walk among the mortals.
“Thank you, Gretchen. That will be all.” He didn’t turn and Gretchen curtsied once more.
And then she was gone, the doors closing silently, but the latch of the two coming together echoed through Anna.
The figure he cut against the glass was impressive, tall and lean.
His shoulders seemed even broader somehow and his dark—silky as sin—hair stopped just above his collar.
He stood with his hands clasped behind his back.
Anna considered her options. She could speak, but that probably flew in the face of protocol. Not that she was altogether certain she could push words out past the lump in her throat. It had been a bad idea to come.
An extremely bad idea.
Maybe if she were quiet enough, she could open one of the doors and slip out the way she came. Her expertise in managing charities and organizations included fundraising. She could continue trying to get money elsewhere.
“Miss Novak.” He turned and not even the backlight of the broad windows could overshadow the patrician nose, the square jaw, the high forehead and the spectacularly devastating black eyes.
His gaze struck her like a physical blow, pinning her in place.
Her heart punched her ribs and spots danced in front of her eyes.
Her chest squeezed and memories she spent years trying to bury swarmed through her mind.
“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 tear the images off and discard them. The dull headache plaguing her earlier roared to life and beat in time with her pulse.
“Are you alright?” 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?”