by Ana Adams
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Royal’s Arranged Love
By Sophia Lynn & Ana Adams
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Royal’s Arranged Love
By: Sophia Lynn, Ana Adams
All Rights Reserved. Copyright 2015-2016 Sophia Lynn
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Chapter One
Clara surveyed the ballroom through a slit in the doorway, struggling to make sense of who was who from inside the server’s pantry. She unbuttoned her pressed white top, eagle-eying the well-dressed guests gliding through the event.
“Do you see Headmaster Ging?” Her best friend Katy sounded just as anxious as Clara had felt the entire day.
She’d been politely and silently serving them hors d’oeuvre for an hour now, and through the slit in the door, everyone looked like a confusing blur. Ging was her ticket into the biology teacher position at the private school that she’d been eying for months. But she was also on the lookout for the tall, sexy guest who’d just breezed into the event like a gust of summer air—hot, tantalizing, and unexpected.
“I can’t tell.” She slid her top off, dropping it onto the floor as she concentrated. Unbuttoning her pressed black serving pants, she shimmied out of them. “He got a good look at me in the face, so I can’t sneak out this way anymore.”
“This pantry connects to the kitchen, and you can slip back into the ballroom through the side entrance.” Katy’s voice came out as a forceful whisper. This was about the same as a black-ops mission, as far as Clara was concerned.
“Good idea.” She stepped away from the door to focus on dressing. The formal black gown on loan from a friend was folded neatly in the duffel bag she’d deposited in the pantry hours earlier. “Thank god you’re the boss, or else I’d really be worried about how this stunt affects my job performance.”
“Well, with any luck, this won’t even be your job anymore,” Katy said. “So go out there and wow the pants off Ging so he hires you on the spot!”
“I love you for setting this up.” Clara slipped the gown over her head, tugging it into place over her hips. “If I were a better friend, I’d take you out to dinner or something.”
Katy snorted. “You can’t afford that and we both know it.”
“Thanks for reminding me.” Clara smiled wryly as she pushed pearl earrings into place, another loaned item from Katy. “I’ll make it up to you someday, I swear. Once I’m employed and wiping my ass with twenties.”
“Biology teachers make that kind of money?”
Clara sighed, slipping her feet into simple wedge heels. “No, they don’t. But it’s what I need with how many bills I have. Now, give me a half hour and I’ll be back on the clock, shoveling drinks down these people’s gullets. Deal?”
“Deal and done.” Katy gave her friend a final once-over, sealing it with a thumbs-up. “Now go, Cinderella!”
Clara scoffed. “The modern Cinderella, maybe. Instead of Prince Charming, I’m looking for the headmaster. And once the clock strikes midnight, I turn back into the lowly middle-class servant that I am.”
Katy grinned, pushing her toward the door. “Go.”
Clara glided out of the pantry and through the kitchen, snagging looks from a few uniformed cooks as she beelined for the far hallway. In the cool, quiet air of the hall, the guests’ voices in the ballroom were a low hum. She smoothed the front of her dress, drawing a shaky breath of confidence, touching the simple chignon bun she’d pulled her brown hair into.
On the job hunt for close to a year now, Clara was sick and tired of always coming up short. She’d been struggling to land a job in her profession since graduation; but at this rate, any job that paid the bills would do. Loans, credit card debt, and her mother’s emergency medical bills were like a knife at her throat. The most she could do was scrounge for side jobs in her free time just to tread water.
But even treading water wasn’t cutting it. Her rent was months behind, and if she didn’t snag this job tonight, she didn’t know what she’d do.
She breezed into the ballroom, looking confident. She scanned the room, grabbing a champagne flute from a tray nearby. Would anyone notice the transformation of their former server? Most didn’t take the time to even look her in the eyes.
As she sipped at her champagne, the low murmur of voices and laughter soothed her. For a moment, she was able to forget about her own sordid reality. Maybe this was as close to a vacation as she’d get.
“Pardon me.”
Clara stiffened, turning to acknowledge the speaker. A mysterious puff of summer air was at her side, all six-foot something of his glory. Dark eyes trained on her as a smile tugged at his lips.
“Hello?”
“Hello.” He offered his hand, a grin blossoming on his face. “Pleasure to meet you. It looks like we had the same idea.”
She knitted a brow, struggling to focus as his warm, rough hand took hers in a shake. “And what’s that?”
“Staying near the champagne.” He nodded toward the platter of flutes being replaced at her side. “Not a bad game plan for events like these.”
She laughed curtly, gaze traveling to the champagne flutes as a way to test the reality of this moment. When she turned to reply, he was still there. Not a hallucination after all. “You come to a lot of these?”
“Too many. I’m Adrien.” His name came out in the full flourish of perfected French. “What’s your name?”
“Clara.” She bit back a grin, questions sparking about this man. Most of all, where was he from, and why was he so damn sexy? “You say your name like you passed all your French classes in school.”
“I should hope so. I’m from Luxembourg, after all.”
The information thrummed through her. Wasn’t that a tiny country in Central Europe somewhere? Heat prickled the back of her neck. It had been a long time since she’d reviewed European geography, and even longer since she’d been around a good-looking man. Adrien was the ultimate test. Something in his energy made her want to tear her dress off and drag him to the nearest utility closet.
“I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone from that country.”
“We tend to be forgotten between Belgium and Germany.” Adrien sipped at his champagne. “Nobody cares about our beer and waffles when those guys are our neighbors.”
She giggled. “If your waffle can compete on the Belgian level, I think it’s worth a try.”
“You want to try?” He sized her up, his eyes intense. “Don’t kid around. I win waffle-making competitions.”
“Now this I have to see. Do you have a special recipe, or is the art form more in the shaping of the waffle?”
He grinned, sipping at his drink. “A little of both. But the ratios I can never share. A man doesn’t give up his waffle secrets.”
Laughter burst out of her. Those words coming from that man…a combination she’d never dreamt possible. “That is the best thing I’ve ever heard.”
He nodded again, a grin spreading across his face. “But enough about that. So are you here for the charity chatter, or some secret political aspirations?”
His question made her freeze, reminding her of the big event beyond the narrow scope of her mission. Admitting the truth—that she was stalking the headmaster of her dream job—sounded suddenly ridiculous. “A little of both.”
Adrien nodded tersely. “Well played. The best way to trudge through.”
Clara snuck a glance at the refined man at her side. He was all cut lines and sternness, a profile that inspired adoration as much as fear. “So what do you do?”
“Technology.” He took a sip at the flute, jaw flexing. “A
nd you?”
“That’s certainly vague,” she said, narrowing her eyes playfully. “Technology like the telephone, or technology like futuristic stuff used to spy on other countries?”
“I think that would be intel,” he said, a dimple flashing. “And neither, actually. I’m less of an inventor and more of a manager.”
He didn’t look like any sort of middle-management guy, that was for sure. Curiosity licked through her veins. But time was ticking away. She had thirty minutes to schmooze Ging and land a job, not investigate a peripheral guest. Even though he looked like secret royalty.
Focus.
“You haven’t told me what you do.” He lifted his brows.
“Ah. Sorry.” She laughed, sipping at her champagne to buy time. The truth would make him cough and slink away. In this dress, with this flute in her hand, boldness coursed through her. “I work in…television.”
“Goodness.” His eyes widened. “A celebrity.”
Her rational mind scrambled to figure out what the hell she was doing. Lying was not her strong suit—but then again, neither was courting mysterious sex gods in the middle of swanky soirées.
“Hardly,” she said, batting her hand at him. Her heart thrummed behind her rib cage, but she wasn’t sure if it was from the stress of wooing Ging, or the dizziness of beholding Adrien. It was probably both. “I’m not even sure why they invited me.”
“Then why did you come?” His smile glittered.
Because catering is my only source of income right now. She swallowed a knot in her throat. “I thought I might run into you.”
Adrien’s eyes flashed. He seemed both taken aback and deeply intrigued. She couldn’t even say where that smooth comment had some from; it had just sidled out, unbidden, like a snake emerging from grass.
“So you’ve heard of me?”
She laughed, intending to play it off, then realized he might actually be someone she could have heard about. “Hasn’t the entire free world heard about your waffle skills? I’m just kidding. I was trying to be coy. Which, obviously, I am not.”
He relaxed, a smile overtaking his face. “I find you quite coy. In an unassuming way. Which is perhaps even more coy than you’d intended.”
Her cheeks lit up. Being near this man was like inhaling drugs. “Then my game plan is successful.” What are you saying?
“What a man would give to divine the game plans of women like you.” His eyes sparkled as he brought his flute up to his lips.
“Trust me. They’re quite simple. Maybe even more simple than men’s game plans.”
“There couldn’t be anything simpler than that.”
They shared a private smile; electricity crackled between them. For a split second, Clara felt like they’d been together for years. Like instead of two strangers, they were husband and wife finding each other after a long day apart.
Across the room, Ging moved. Clara snapped to attention. “It was lovely talking to you. You must excuse me—”
“Leaving already?” His eyes flashed with something unknown. “Give me your card, at least. So I can follow you on TV. Send fan mail. Things like that.”
She tried to laugh daintily, but it came out more like a hiccup. “I didn’t even bring them with me.”
“Clara.” He held out his hand, his gaze darting to the deep neckline of her dress. Desire swarmed her, made her thighs clench. “Such a pretty name, for such a pretty lady.”
She placed her hand in his, awestruck as he brought the back of her hand to his lips. His breath came out hot against her skin. His mere touch begged her to stay. She brought her hand back, jittery from the unexpected contact.
“It was very nice to meet you, Adrien.” Her attempt at his name sounded a bit strangled. “Maybe we’ll run into each other some other time.”
“I can only hope.” His jaw flexed and his look left a doorway open. The exact type of doorway she’d like to run through if her entire career weren’t dependent on the man across the room. She tossed him a smile and slunk away. Each step away from him felt like a mistake, but the bigger mistake would be letting Ging slip away before she completed her mission.
Breezing up to Ging, she shoved the conversation with Adrien from her mind, no matter how much she wanted to replay it in her head. She tossed a cheeky, confident smile. The tall, lanky man appraised her quietly, nodding to her. She offered her hand.
“Professor Ging, my name is Clara Gables. You don’t know me, but I know you. Can I steal a few moments of your time?”
Over the rim of his glasses, he watched her curiously. They shook hands. “You have my attention.”
“I’ve been following your career for quite some time.” Her voice was strong, but her heart raced. Don’t fuck this up, don’t fuck this up. “Your work at the Manchester School for Advancement is commendable. I must admit, the ways in which you’ve revamped and revitalized the science programs are simply amazing.”
He nodded appreciatively. “We have an excellent team and dedicated servants of education.”
“And that’s a team I’d love to be a part of.” Her vision went blurry once she said it. Steady here…you can do this.
His eyebrows shot up. “In what capacity?”
“Sir, I’m an eager and motivated teacher of biology, and I have dreamt of the chance to join a faculty like yours. I received my master’s degree last year, and have been—”
He held up a hand. “Let me stop you right there.”
Her stomach knotted. “Oh?”
“Let’s just save us both time and energy with the bottom line. The department is not hiring.”
Her face fell from the cheery smile she’d plastered on. “What?”
“Our department has been drastically shortchanged since the last fiscal year. We aren’t taking on any new faculty. The school is in a state of financial emergency.”
Clara’s face fell further. “What? I’ve been researching this job for weeks. STEM programs are booming for recent high school grads, and the demand for educated and knowledgeable teachers is higher than ever. I’ve been practically stalking the science department, and—”
“And you couldn’t have known about what hasn’t gone public yet.” Ging peered over the rim of his glasses. “Believe me, I admire your motivation. This is an admirable place for a pitch. You’ve done your homework. But it has nothing to do with demand at this point. They’re in crisis mode. The scandal will break soon; money has been mismanaged for years. It’s a real shame. Maybe in two years, or three, when the school recovers—if it does—you can try again.”
She gulped back a knot of emotion in her throat. “Thank you, sir. I appreciate your honesty. And thanks for listening.”
They shook hands and she spun on her heels, eager to process this news in private before returning to her work shift. The smiling guests and wafting jazz music were an unintelligible blur as she raced out of the ballroom.
***
Adrien straightened his back, watching as Clara scurried out of the ballroom like the clock was about to strike midnight. The door closed behind her, swallowing up the trail of her black ballgown, sealing her off from him like she’d been a fantasy instead of standing before him only five minutes before.
He surveyed the room for what felt like the millionth time. The faces were always the same—a blur of well-groomed American people, all hard R’s and negotiation. But Clara had been a breath of fresh air. Unexpected and much too brief. He caught himself as he turned to follow her out the door she’d slunk out of.
She’d been talking to the headmaster, a man he knew only peripherally. What an actress had to do with the headmaster was beyond his immediate frame of reference, but he was sure there was a link. Usually involving affairs. Though he certainly hoped that wasn’t the case with Clara.
Not that he should think anything about Clara. A waif of a woman who’d appeared and then disappeared as quickly as any of these passing faces at a charity function. That’s how all the women in the world acted in
his sphere. Brief encounters; fleeting glimpses. Most were married, but all were interested in his namesake. And that made weeding out the duds even harder.
Had Clara recognized him? Energy had crackled between them, like water on a live wire, intense enough to shake him up, make him think far too long about this stranger who was now long gone from the party. Deep in his bones, he sensed she didn’t know who he was. She’d been so innocent, so openly lighthearted and direct. The connection pulled at him with aching fingers, made him want to whisk her away for one night where he could forget about his life, his obligations, and just lose himself in a woman who didn’t give a damn about where he came from.
He downed the rest of his champagne and nodded toward some of the guests as he made his way out of the ballroom. After an hour on the job, it was time to go home. He’d put in the requisite smiles and conversations for the evening.
Once the chatter of the ballroom faded to a pleasant murmur, Adrien let out a sigh. Letting the tight strings of the façade loosen around him was a relief, one he could only practice in moments of solitude. When Mr. Pike, his driver, spotted him exit the front door, he hurried to retrieve the town car. A few moments later, the sleek black sedan pulled into the cul-de-sac.
Adrien let himself into the back seat, the chatter from the ballroom a distant murmur, Clara’s easy smile burning bright in the back of his mind.
Chapter Two
In the cool hall, she pressed back against the wall, drawing a few deep, measured breaths. Keep it cool. No breaking down in public. There will be other chances in the world.
But what other chances? Her throat tightened. The rent on her studio apartment, the most basic of tolerable options in the city, was climbing yet again. With how much she owed, she needed to hit the lottery, and the only future she could see was a long string of shitty, second-rate jobs. Expendable work as she fought to snag a respectable job in her actual field of study. Places where her analytical mind withered, where her thousands of dollars’ worth of education rotted like a forgotten meal.
