Page 2 of Some Like It Scandalous
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—theprince— 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 twoheavy 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 hands on her lap, she lifted her brows and waited.
Irritation creased his perfectly pleasant expression. “What are your 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 qualifications and hired me.”
“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 thecontents 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 whyyouthink 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.”
