Page 12 of The Prince's Game
“I’m not playing hard to get.”
“Then what do you call this game of pretending not to know a damn thing about me or my family and purposely shutting the door on me in the middle of a conversation?”
“Uh, I call it being realistic? I didn’t know who you were last week, assuming that’s what you’re talking about, and I shut the door during ourconversationbecause you were being an ass.”
He gaped at me. “I saw the tapes. You knew all about me during your interviews.”
“I’m sure I did.” Abby would have done her homework. When my sister had a goal, she achieved it. And getting me on this stupid show was her ultimate hoax. At his confused look, I shook my head. “Never mind.”
“No, explain that.”
I puffed out a breath. “There’s no point. You wouldn’t believe me anyway.”
“Try me.” The arrogant line of his jaw taunted me, but it was the accusatory glower that did me in. I couldn't stand it.
“Go look at the social media accounts for Abigail Summers. Then we’ll talk.” I returned to my project, dismissing him. Whatever he chose to do was up to him. I had a marketing ad to finish.
6
The Real Sarah Summers
I was toying with marketing fonts when Evan walked out and popped a hip against the desk. The glower was gone and was replaced by curiosity. “You have a twin sister.”
“Anidenticaltwin sister. Yep.” I toyed with the size of the phrase on the screen. The purpose of the ad was to attract job applicants. The more legible the better.
“Okay, and that applies to this how?”
“It’s simple, really.” The text color was next. Something bold but not overstated. I toyed with shades of red while I spoke. “Abby and I have a history of pranking each other by impersonating one another. This time her impersonation went above and beyond the call of duty.” Red wasn’t working, so I moved to orange. And when that wasn’t quite right, I went the other way to purple.Ah, there we are. I grinned at my masterpiece.Beautiful.
Evan said nothing while standing beside me, too busy staring at my screen. His eyebrows were pulled down. “What project is this?” He surveyed the notes left on the desk with a frown.
“Oh, uh, this is something for work.Mywork in Chicago, I mean. I finished your tasks a few hours ago.”
“That list should have kept you busy all day.”
“Well, it didn’t.” I pulled up the completed spreadsheet and the memos and then showed him his contacts and calendars. “So yeah, when I was done, I checked my work email and got distracted.” I chewed my cheek, waiting for his reply. That probably wasn’t what he expected his assistant to do for the day. “Were there other, uh, tasks that I missed?”
“No.” He rubbed the back of his neck, a look of unease filling his features. “You had access to the internet and used it to work?”
“Well, yeah, what else would I use it for?”
He leaned over me to take control of the mouse on my computer. It placed his broad chest right next to my cheek, giving me a whiff of his woodsy cologne. He started going through my internet history. “Did you post anything on social media about the show?”
I snorted. “No, why would I? Only two people know I’m here. Abby and my best friend, and she only knows about this because she’s a lawyer. She reviewed the contracts and couldn’t find a loophole, so here I am.” Not that he had sufficient proof to believe me, but it didn’t matter. Crazy or not, he would send me home this round, and all would be right in the world. Except for one thing. “What did you mean last night when you said you were onto me?”
He paused his perusal of the internet search history to meet my gaze. His close proximity left our lips inches apart, creating an air of intimacy between us that was entirely inappropriate. “I was referring to this act of yours about not knowing who I am or anything about my cousin. I’m not a fan of games.”
“Yet you’re on a game show.”
“Yes, and as you overheard, not by choice.” His chocolate eyes burned into mine, making my heart flutter.A girl could get lost in that gaze . . .
“I don’t know what to say here,” I admitted, “other than I’m sorry and I’m not playing a game. I don’t want to be here any more than you do.”
“I almost believe you.” He flicked through the computer programs and pulled up the ad again. “You really worked on this all morning?”
“I worked on edits.” I took the mouse back from him to flip over to my work email and show him the notes my client provided. “My vacation request was last minute and the project is due Monday, so I was trying to get a head start. Otherwise I’m going to end up working all weekend.”
“And how do you plan to do that without a computer?”
