Page 1 of Some Like It Scandalous
Chapter 1
Anna
The 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 wasneeded, 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 outornate 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 blackeyes. 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 enoughinit 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. Shecoulddo this. Shewoulddo 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 createdby a rectangular collection of sofas and love seats. She pivoted, grateful to not have to keep staring at him.
