Liss worked alone in the conservatory at the laptop. James spent most hours of the day either in meetings or locked in telephone and video conference calls. This time she wished he’d take more of an interest in what she was doing. She badly wanted to ask him what he thought, whether what she had come up with so far was going to be OK. She didn’t have any of the over-confidence she’d had only last week. Things seemed to be slipping from her.
But he was so obscenely busy she knew the last thing he needed was tedious neediness from her. She was distracting him enough in other ways as it was. She was the first thing he reached for when walking back in after a few hours’ absence and at night they had quite some time active in bed before actually getting to sleep.
He seemed to have no interest in being her boss any more—it was lovers’ talk, lovers’ laughter. She was the good time, the light relief, the relaxation in his spare moments. That was the role assigned to her—the box for her to be kept in.
And so, when he appeared in the doorway, she pulled on her perky persona. It was what he expected, after all. And she was determined to hide from him how wobbly she was feeling—not just about the party but about everything, especially him.
He’d awakened in her feelings she’d never experienced—a longing to be with him long term. She’d never thought of permanence before; now it was all she thought of. She pushed the fantasy from her mind and forced herself to focus, knowing it could only be a temporary fling. He’d told her so. His lust would be filled and he’d send her away.
She was always being sent away.
But even though she knew that, it didn’t stop her from trying to fight the inevitability of it—working harder, wanting to do such a wonderful job that he’d want her to stay.
She needed to work out something exceptional with the lighting—forget the impending heartache and focus on achieving something amazing. At first she’d thought candles, little votives or tea lights everywhere—creating a lover’s grotto. The flicker of warm light would flatter the skin of the beautiful people in attendance. Except, it would be a major fire and safety risk, the little candles would have to be replenished halfway through the evening—a complete hassle—and there was no way she could have the tapestries hanging in a smoke-filled atmosphere. So, the lighting was going to have to be electric. While the chandelier was magnificent, she wanted something more. Fairy lights could work. But like every other idea it had been done to death. And they’d look tack-a-rama next to the majestic chandelier.
What she needed was some good advice. Not James—too busy of course. And she needed to do this herself, wanted to surprise him, wanted to give him the intimate he’d joked about that night at the art gallery.
She could only turn to the familiar. The club she used to frequent as a teenager had always had an awesome light show and special effects and she went to see Ben, the owner, late in the afternoon. It didn’t go so well.
‘You want me to do this basically for free?’
‘Everyone will know who provided the lighting—it’ll be in the media kit—huge publicity for you.’
‘You had a ball there last week, didn’t you? Weren’t any of those contracts paid either?’
Awkwardly Liss shuffled her feet. ‘This situation is a little different. I need a favour here, Ben. For old times’ sake?’
‘Shame you didn’t think to ask me last week. I heard half the contractors were flown in from as far away as Australia.’
Liss wanted to kick herself for her stupidity. She’d got half the locals offside for flying in her own team—killing the budget and destroying what goodwill she might have had. A few summers partying at Ben’s club several years ago obviously wasn’t enough.
‘It’s a top night at the club—we need the gear here,’ he said gruffly. ‘I can’t help you, princess.’
Liss stared at him amazed—aghast. ‘But, Ben—’
He turned away. Literally turned his back on her. She was left standing, feeling foolish. In the end she had no option but to walk out—alone and empty-handed.
She tried another club only to discover her old ‘friend’ was now barely an acquaintance, uninterested and unable to assist. She left that one more quickly than the first, decided to try just one more. The streets seemed dark and foreign. She couldn’t believe it—this was her home turf and yet she felt like an unwelcome stranger.
She started to wonder if there was anyone on Aristo who she could turn to. None of the people she’d thought she could count on were willing to help her out. Had she been away so long they’d forgotten? Or hadn’t they been her friends in the first place? Had they only encouraged her company back then because she brought in more customers? Now she no longer lived here she didn’t have that to offer—and they weren’t interested. Humiliation seeped into her. She felt like such an idiot. Such a naïve fool to have thought they might actually have liked her for her. It was all about the publicity, the crown, the money. She stood outside the third club and had to dig deeper for the courage to go in. She didn’t stay long—could tell from the manager’s face that he wasn’t willing. She didn’t want to try any more—just wanted to slink back to the hotel, lick her wounds and build her defences. But James was there and with James she needed more defences than ever. Rejection threatened her from all sides.
The next day James surprised her as she sat staring
at her laptop, despairing.
‘Come and have lunch with me.’
They took a taxi into the heart of Ellos, selected a small restaurant that had privacy and fast, excellent food. They sat and she looked through the menu. He got a message on his Blackberry and, with an apology by way of a wink, sat and tapped out a reply.
Knowing how long he might take and how hungry she was, she summoned the waiter and ordered for both of them.
He looked up as the waiter departed, surprise on his face.
‘Is what I ordered for you OK?’ She smiled.
‘It’s exactly what I would have ordered.’ He switched off the Blackberry and pushed it to the side.
She’d observed him at enough dinners and seen him hoovering enough hors d’oeuvres to understand his appetite. ‘I know what you like.’
He regarded her, the glint in his eye steady but somehow more intense. ‘That you do.’
Her tingling sensation spread from the inside out. It wasn’t just desire that he was reflecting. He seemed to be looking at her with fresh eyes—could see more clearly—and he liked what he saw even more. A little thrown, she put the focus back on him.
‘Do you always work this hard?’ He rarely seemed to have time out. But he never complained. He seemed to thrive on it.
‘My father ground a strong work ethic into us. It didn’t matter that we were born into wealth. We were still expected to prove ourselves—to succeed independently.’
And he had of course. And she knew he thought the same couldn’t be said of her. ‘What would happen if you didn’t?’
He blinked. ‘There’s no question we wouldn’t. You put in the work, you get there.’
‘You really think it’s that simple?’
They both sat back as the waiter placed their plates. ‘Sure. With effort everyone gets there eventually.’
Ha. She knew all about putting in effort and still not quite making it. But then, maybe her effort hadn’t quite been big enough. ‘How many brothers and sisters do you have?’
‘Two brothers.’
‘Let me guess, you’re the eldest.’
His smile was immediate. ‘How did you figure that?’
‘You’re responsible. Perfectionist. You’ve taken on the family expectations and more than met them. And if you’re going to get into trouble you’ve learnt to do it discreetly.’
He chuckled. ‘So what about you?’
‘I’m just one of the spares.’ She shrugged, losing her appetite for her Caesar salad.
‘And fast learned getting into trouble publicly gives you the attention you need?’
Why wo
uld being yelled at and then sent away be what she needed or wanted? But she hid the pain, shrugged off his gentle ribbing with a playful smile. ‘Maybe.’
He spent a moment concentrating on his freshly steamed fish, then asked, ‘If you weren’t a princess what would you do? What would you want to be?’
She sensed a trap. And she decided not to answer in the way he wanted—things were the way they were. ‘There’s no point thinking that way. It’s what I am. The princess thing is literally bred into me. It’s the way I was born—like the colour of my eyes and hair.’
‘You can change the colour of your hair. And the style.’
‘Why would I want to?’ She put her fork down and pushed the plate away. ‘Why are you so determined to change me? I am what I am, James. This is it.’
‘Is it? It feels to me like there’s more to you than the party image you project.’
‘Don’t go looking for things that aren’t there.’ She needed to listen to her own advice. Not go looking for friendliness or tenderness or understanding—the elements she was all too tempted to read in his expression.
‘You make out like you’re so surface, so selfish, and yet you give of yourself in ways that I don’t think even you’re aware of.’
Her laughter was brittle. ‘Give what, James? I shop, I party. That’s it.’
‘You also like helping people. You like putting them at their ease. You’re generous with your time and spirit.’ He paused. ‘You’re generous with me.’
Of course she was. She liked him—but right now she wished he’d let her be at ease. She didn’t want to peel back whatever other layers were there. Soon, probably very soon, he would send her away. She already knew that—even if he hadn’t made it clear that this wasn’t anything more than a playful fling, she knew to expect it because it was what always happened. She wasn’t wanted—not long term, not by anyone. Not her family. Not her lover.
And if she revealed everything to him, his rejection would hurt all the more. And she didn’t need the humiliation of the pity and embarrassment he’d feel if he found out what he was starting to mean to her. It was best to keep up the front so he wouldn’t discover how much more she wanted—to love and be loved.
But still he probed. Leaning in, asking the question with an air of invitation, of intimacy. ‘What’s the one thing in the world you don’t have but that you want?’
For an infinitesimal moment she closed her eyes, seeing it immediately. A house she could call her own. A collection of cafés and cute boutiques on the corner of the street. A sense of permanence. A place to belong. And no threat of ejection or rejection.
A home—something she never seemed to have had.
He’d laugh, of course. And if she bared her secret dreams to him, she bared her hurts as well. She didn’t need those sharpened and highlighted by his sarcastic wit. So quickly she came up with an answer appropriate for a superficial party princess. ‘An unlimited supply of designer dresses and shoes—for free.’
He leant even closer, eyes laser-sharp. ‘That wasn’t the first thing that came into your mind.’
‘What makes you say that?’
‘Because for a moment your face went all soft and wistful. Then you thought up the answer you gave me and you closed over again.’
She flinched. Abandoned the idea of eating altogether. Damn him for being so observant.
‘What was that first thought?’
‘You’re so clever, you work it out.’
He sat back and regarded her with that look of mocking challenge. She hoped he didn’t mean it too seriously. ‘Maybe I will.’
CHAPTER TWELVE
SOME things were falling into place. Others weren’t. And Liss’s brain was becoming too scrambled to work properly. In the last few days she’d had the wildest, sweatiest sex she’d ever experienced. James hadn’t been kidding—he never stopped until she screamed. Time and time again he made her orgasm until her whole body ached and she was begging for a break. But inside she was begging for more: more physical and for more than just physical. The stress of both the party-planning nightmare and coping with his potent sensuality was exhausting her.
James was becoming her total focus. She really liked him. He didn’t have to give her this chance. Anyone else would have sacked her weeks ago. And she knew it wasn’t just because they were sleeping together that he was giving her another opportunity to redeem herself. He wanted to believe the best in people. He wanted people to be the best they could be. He expected it of himself and he expected it from everyone else too. But he was fair enough to understand that people might need more than one shot at it. That not everyone was as capable as he.
But she also knew he was no pushover. There wouldn’t be chance after chance. This was it. More than anything she didn’t want to disappoint him. Ultimately, she knew she would. She always did.
Still she was determined to try and make the party the best it could be. So when she was gone he’d look back on this time and not see her as a complete failure, a complete flake. She didn’t want him to send her away but it was inevitable—she’d do something stupid—or not do something sensible—and it would all be over. Or he’d simply fall out of lust with her.
She tried to forget him—for a few minutes at least while she fixed the party. Entertainment was now the biggest problem. She wanted something sophisticated in the early part and then the funkiest DJ to kick up the dance floor later in the evening. But none of her old contacts were interested so she’d have to try some of the newer clubs in town. And she’d have to go and listen to them to see if they would be OK. She could sneak out and listen to part of the set and be back in an hour or so. No way would James want to go with her—he was so busy and she could see the strain of tiredness in his eyes. She wouldn’t bother him with it. After all, it was her mess to sort out.
In the middle of the night, as the club scene was starting to swing, she crept out. She hated leaving the warm cocoon that was his bed. He was sleeping soundly, relaxed, so attractive. For once she didn’t want to be in a crowded atmosphere, the music blaring. As it was the DJ was dreadful and she was ready to cry with frustration.
When she got back into bed, almost two hours later, he stirred, rolling towards her, half waking as he felt her hands.
‘You need warming up,’ he muttered.
She did because inside all she felt was the coldness of failure and the disappointment of being let down by people she’d thought she could count on.
The next day she trawled the streets, finally finding some success for the lighting at the local amateur-dramatic society. There was a kid there, who looked about sixteen, who’d done a ‘marvellous job’ for the local panto show. All Liss could hope was that he wouldn’t wire the place funny and burn it down in some freak accident.
She spent hours talking through the plans with the head chef and maître d’.
‘Last week it was all the best the world has to offer. This time, with the media on us, let’s showcase Aristo—the best we have to offer. But we’re on a tight budget.’ She grinned. ‘It’s a real test for you.’
‘I’ll say.’ The chef still looked anxious, despite having had a few days to get used to the idea.
‘You get what I’m after, right?’
‘Sure.’
Walking back through she noticed the unusual asymmetrical skirt Stella, the hotel secretary, was wearing. ‘Where did you get your skirt?’
Stella looked pleased. ‘My boyfriend made it. He’s a designer.’
Liss looked a little closer at the outfit—checking the clean cut, the tight stitching, the young and funky style. Interesting. ‘Does he have a shop?’
‘Oh, no, nothing like that. He’s only just finished at design school.’
‘You mind if I get his number?’
Looking surprised, Stella gave it to her and Liss arranged to see him right then.
‘Princess Liss.’ Tino, Stella’s man, greeted her casually, as if it were every day that a member
of royalty visited his ‘coolly ramshackle’ apartment. She looked at his sketches and the pieces he’d made for his final portfolio and made up her mind immediately.
‘You want me to what?’ he asked a few minutes later.
‘The most glamorous party dress you can come up with.’
‘In two days?’ He didn’t sound staggered, but he did seem a little sceptical—of her. ‘You don’t usually wear unknown designers.’
True. It was always exclusive and unbelievably expensive.
She smiled. ‘After this, you won’t be unknown any more.’
He looked her over critically. ‘You’re even thinner in real life than you are in the photos.’
She knew she’d lost a little weight this week. It didn’t take much for it to be noticeable. ‘Will you be able to do it?’
‘You know I can’t say no.’
‘Thank you.’
‘You have to let me do my thing though—no interference.’ He came across very sure of himself—but, judging from his work, Liss thought maybe he had the right to be.
She took a deep breath. ‘So long as I look decent, you have free rein.’
‘Great.’ He suddenly looked like a kid in a candy shop and she hoped like hell she could trust her instincts.
‘There’s something else.’ She was glad she’d remembered. ‘I need an army of waiters and waitresses who look really good.’
‘The local modelling agency,’ Tino replied promptly. ‘If the world’s media are going to be there, they’ll do it all for free.’
Of course they would. Young starlets, hungry for fame, would leap at the chance to be snapped at the ultimate society ball. ‘Not free, but standard service rates, OK?’
‘Sure. I can organise it if you like. What do you want them to wear?’
Ruthless Boss, Royal Mistress Page 12
