ignored her. "A TV won't hold me or poison my boss. It won't dance with a shy little flower girl and make her year. It won't pretend to be a Vegas escort just to get in my pants."
"You don't really want the TV, do you, ma'am?" Katy Perry cancelled the sale. "Maybe what you want is something you can't buy."
It was Stacia's turn to blink. Something you can't buy .
The envelope weighed a million tons in her hand. It would be easy to give it up. Incredibly hard to carry it. But if she did carry it, its weight would make her stronger than she'd ever been.
"You're wrong. I can buy it. I know how much it costs, and I know where to get it." She slipped the envelope back into her purse. "Thanks for your help today."
Chapter eleven
Like everything else about her, Stacia Keating’s entrance into his office was a surprise.
None of his staff had informed him of her arrival. His security team would have stopped any other person. His efficient executive assistant would not have allowed anyone else into his office without an appointment booked two weeks in advance. Unless advised otherwise by Kayson French.
But one moment he was answering an email and the next, Stacia loomed over his computer, arms crossed under her breasts. Lips he’d kissed were pressed together in a harsh line.
“Welcome to my office, Miss Keating,” he said. “Please, I will only be a moment.”
It took everything in him to keep his hands on the keyboard, to appear calm. He had to fight his first instinct to take her in his arms and kiss her until she stopped resisting him.
Instead, he attempted not to look at her, which took great effort, and continued typing. It was gibberish, of course, random characters that did not even resemble words.
She disliked being ignored as much as he expected.
To press the issue, she opened her large purple purse, which no doubt contained everything she would need for any situation she might encounter, and removed a cream-colored rectangle he would never forget for the rest of his life.
She threw it down on his still-moving fingers.
The envelope. Unopened.
He stopped typing—pretending to type.
So this was to be the end, then. She had come to return the money. In sending it to her, he had only intended to communicate that he was open to discussion. And perhaps, to apologize.
She had taken it as a final insult.
At least she had come. He did not let himself hope that he could somehow win her affection back. No, he had miscalculated in analyzing her behavior that second night in Vegas. The criticism had been too much for her to take.
With any other woman, he would have waited until they were tied together more closely, allowed her the upper hand for a few months, and then broached the subject more diplomatically. Yet, he had no desire to manipulate Stacia that way. He didn't want to play roles with her the way he did with others.
First, he had been cast in the part of the dutiful, grateful guest in another's family's house, dependent on benefactors to support him, always aware that support could be withdrawn at any time. He'd learned to please others, to make himself useful, out of fear of what would happen if he did not. Then he had learned to be the consummate royal son and servant to the nation, somehow still fearing his position would be ripped away from him should he say or do the wrong thing.
But pretending to be Zaq the male escort had allowed her to see a side of himself he never showed to others.
And now the envelope, the final tie between them, rested on his stilled fingers. He slowly raised his gaze to meet her flashing, angry eyes.
“Ah,” he said.
“Ah? That’s all you have to say? I came all the way here, and I get ‘Ah’?” Her eyes narrowed to slits. Every inch of her portrayed belligerence, from the set of her lips to the tension of her fingertips now resting on his desk.
From anyone else, belligerence would have been... unwelcome. He would have felt the need to punish it. But
"You don't really want the TV, do you, ma'am?" Katy Perry cancelled the sale. "Maybe what you want is something you can't buy."
It was Stacia's turn to blink. Something you can't buy .
The envelope weighed a million tons in her hand. It would be easy to give it up. Incredibly hard to carry it. But if she did carry it, its weight would make her stronger than she'd ever been.
"You're wrong. I can buy it. I know how much it costs, and I know where to get it." She slipped the envelope back into her purse. "Thanks for your help today."
Chapter eleven
Like everything else about her, Stacia Keating’s entrance into his office was a surprise.
None of his staff had informed him of her arrival. His security team would have stopped any other person. His efficient executive assistant would not have allowed anyone else into his office without an appointment booked two weeks in advance. Unless advised otherwise by Kayson French.
But one moment he was answering an email and the next, Stacia loomed over his computer, arms crossed under her breasts. Lips he’d kissed were pressed together in a harsh line.
“Welcome to my office, Miss Keating,” he said. “Please, I will only be a moment.”
It took everything in him to keep his hands on the keyboard, to appear calm. He had to fight his first instinct to take her in his arms and kiss her until she stopped resisting him.
Instead, he attempted not to look at her, which took great effort, and continued typing. It was gibberish, of course, random characters that did not even resemble words.
She disliked being ignored as much as he expected.
To press the issue, she opened her large purple purse, which no doubt contained everything she would need for any situation she might encounter, and removed a cream-colored rectangle he would never forget for the rest of his life.
She threw it down on his still-moving fingers.
The envelope. Unopened.
He stopped typing—pretending to type.
So this was to be the end, then. She had come to return the money. In sending it to her, he had only intended to communicate that he was open to discussion. And perhaps, to apologize.
She had taken it as a final insult.
At least she had come. He did not let himself hope that he could somehow win her affection back. No, he had miscalculated in analyzing her behavior that second night in Vegas. The criticism had been too much for her to take.
With any other woman, he would have waited until they were tied together more closely, allowed her the upper hand for a few months, and then broached the subject more diplomatically. Yet, he had no desire to manipulate Stacia that way. He didn't want to play roles with her the way he did with others.
First, he had been cast in the part of the dutiful, grateful guest in another's family's house, dependent on benefactors to support him, always aware that support could be withdrawn at any time. He'd learned to please others, to make himself useful, out of fear of what would happen if he did not. Then he had learned to be the consummate royal son and servant to the nation, somehow still fearing his position would be ripped away from him should he say or do the wrong thing.
But pretending to be Zaq the male escort had allowed her to see a side of himself he never showed to others.
And now the envelope, the final tie between them, rested on his stilled fingers. He slowly raised his gaze to meet her flashing, angry eyes.
“Ah,” he said.
“Ah? That’s all you have to say? I came all the way here, and I get ‘Ah’?” Her eyes narrowed to slits. Every inch of her portrayed belligerence, from the set of her lips to the tension of her fingertips now resting on his desk.
From anyone else, belligerence would have been... unwelcome. He would have felt the need to punish it. But
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