Page 2 of Crowning His Innocent Assistant

And he knew that the computer in front of her held less information than her mind. For she remembered every detail of every single thing. In fact, Matteo himself had to remember nothing because it all resided inside of Livia’s brain.

He was a king, and as such had a great many important things that must be thought of at all times. He had to remember how to keep the entire kingdom running.

He could not bother himself with details. Livia was the keeper of the details.

He kept the world spinning, she kept the day running. Between the two of them, it was quite perfect.

“Now that Violet and Javier have wed, I find myself quite without a fiancée.”

“That’s true,” she said, her eyes not so much as flicking up from the screen.

“And I have been thinking.”

“Mm,” she said, the noise vaguely disinterested.

“You should be my wife, Livia.”

“No.” Her face did not budge, her fingers did not pause in their keystrokes. She acted as if he had said nothing half so remarkable as giving her a report on the weather.

“No?”

“No,” she reiterated.

“It was not a question.”

“Traditionally,” she said, her tone maddeningly patient, her focus still on the computer, “such things are phrased as questions. As it is helpful to have the other party’s permission.”

Matteo waved his hand. “I do not need permission.”

“Indeed. All the same, no.” She continued typing away.

“It makes sense,” he countered.

“So does the rather popular candy combination of chocolate and peanut butter, but I find it abhorrent nonetheless.”

“I need a wife.”

“And I can find you one. But I will not be your wife.”

Men trembled in the wake of his disapproval. She did not so much as bat one spiked lash.

“Livia, surely you must acknowledge the great honor that I extend to you.”

She did look up then, her enormous, violet eyes filled with disdain.

Disdain.

Not only had she outright refused him, an event he could not remember experiencing ever before in his life, she now disdained him. His mouse. The woman he had lifted from a gutter. He was offering her a chance to become Queen.

Queen.

To rise above the position of secretary, and she’d said no.

“I do not wish your honor. If it is such a great boon, extend it to someone else and they will no doubt be thrilled. For I will not reach out and grab that particular royal scepter. As flattering as it is to be offered the position after you have been denied by someone else, as wonderful as it surely is to be given a hand-me-down title rejected by another, I would think that you were much better off handling this the way most royals do.”

“And how is that?”

“Well, I’m not royal, am I? So I’m not entirely sure. Political intrigue? A magical ball where all the young ladies of the land are invited to show off their wares? Inviting them to spend the night atop the heap of twenty mattresses and seeing who can feel the pea at the bottom. I don’t know.”

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