Santina's Scandalous Princess(5)

‘We could make another bet,' he offered. ‘If you can hack it  here for thirty days-'

 ‘Thirty days-'

‘A month,' he clarified, and she narrowed her eyes to  slits.

‘I can count, Mr- Ben. Thank you  very much.'                      
      
          



      

‘Glad to hear it. Read and count.  You're really quite accomplished.'

She said nothing, but her eyes blazed fury and something even   deeper. Darker. Hatred, almost. The emotion in her eyes surprised him;  the  princess had been giving as good as she got. He felt a stirring  of unease at the  possibility that he'd actually hurt her.

‘If you manage to stay the required month,' he said after a  moment,  keeping his voice mild, ‘required by your father, I should add, then our   original bet still stands. I'll be yours to command for the day.'  Last night  that had seemed an almost enticing possibility. Now Ben  rather thought that if  he was under Princess Natalia's command she  would order him to carve out his own  liver with an oyster fork.

She stared at him for a moment, her expression still closed and   really rather remote, so he had no idea what she was thinking. It was  almost as  if she'd physically, or at least emotionally, retreated  from him, so even though  she still stood in this room, her lithe  figure splendidly encased in the pink  shift, she was in actuality a  million miles away. Ben was surprised to feel a  little pang of  regret. Despite her aggravating personality, he'd enjoyed their   sparring.

‘You don't think I can do it,' she said at last.

He could not keep himself from replying, ‘You have given me  little cause to believe you can.'

Another flash across her features that he couldn't quite  discern before her expression closed again. ‘You don't know me.'

‘I've read about you-'

‘Do you really believe everything you see in the papers?' she   scoffed, although he still detected a trembling thread of uncertainty  underneath  her disdain. ‘Your family has been fodder for the  tabloids plenty of times.  Maybe you're the pot calling the kettle  black now.'

Ben stiffened. He hated the kind of press coverage his family   generated, had been trying to rise above it for, it seemed, his entire  life. And  he particularly hated any personal media exposure, having  been dogged by it all  too often when he was younger. Even now he  could remember the look on his  mother's face when she'd read the  papers. She had never been able to resist  reading them, seeing and  even studying the photos of Bobby Jackson with his  latest mistress.  Seeing the photo of Ben himself, his tear-streaked face, only  four  years old. She'd let out a cry of anguish then that still reverberated   through Ben thirty years later and made him avoid reporters and  their invasive  cameras as much as possible. ‘It's true my family has  fed the British press for  far too long,' he told her evenly, ‘but  it's been my experience that even the  most outrageous stories hold a  grain of truth.'

‘A grain.'

‘Are you saying you've been maligned?'

She pressed her lips together. ‘I'm saying I'll do it,' she  finally  said. ‘Clearly I have no choice, and in any case I look forward to   winning this ridiculous wager of yours.' She drew herself up, her eyes   glittering, her cheeks high with colour. She really did look  magnificent. ‘I  look forward,' she told him, ‘to telling you just  what you can do with yourself  for an entire day.'

Ben let out a reluctantly admiring laugh. ‘And I look forward  to  obliging you, I'm sure.' He reached into his desk drawer and pulled out  the  T-shirt he'd reserved for her. ‘Here's your uniform.' He tossed  it to her, and  she caught it on reflex, staring down at it in  incomprehension.

‘It's a shirt,' he explained kindly. ‘You wear it.'

She stared at the logo on front, her brow furrowed. Was she  really  going to object to wearing a shirt with his name on it? From what he'd   already experienced of her, probably.

‘Jackson Enterprises Youth Sports,' she read slowly. She  glanced up  at him, gave him a wicked smile. ‘You've got your name all over this   project, haven't you?'                      
      
          



      

‘What should I have called it?' Ben snapped. He leaned forward,   suddenly goaded into proving himself, even though he knew it was  ridiculous.  ‘These camps mean a great deal to me, Princess, and I'd  advise you not to  stretch my patience too far. You have no idea what  I'm capable of.'

She stared at him, the T-shirt clutched to her chest with one  fist.  ‘And I'll say the same to you,' she said quietly. ‘You have no idea what  I'm capable of, Ben Jackson.'

* * *

Natalia stood outside Ben Jackson's office building,  blinking in the bright sunlight and willing her heart to stop thudding.

Thirty days.

How could she do it? How could she survive? Ben Jackson's  mocking voice echoed in her head, reverberated through her body.

 Read and count. You're really quite accomplished.

He had no idea. Thirty days in an office would be a month of  living  hell. She'd had Carlotta's help to cover herself in school, but now … ?  How  long would it take Ben to figure out her weaknesses? Mock them?

And yet despite the fear that coursed through her like liquid   silver, Natalia felt something else just as strong: a blazing streak of   determination. She wanted, more than anything, to prove Ben Jackson  wrong.  Annoying him in the process would be a pleasant bonus.

Her mouth curved into a grim smile as she imagined just how   aggravating she could be to Ben. After all, he hadn't qualified his bet  with any  sort of progress or achievement on her part. All she had to  do was show up and  stick it out. And make his life miserable in the  process … just as he would  undoubtedly make hers.

And then, after thirty days, she would have won. Now she smiled  with  anticipation as she imagined what she would command him to do. Fetch  her  slippers? Write an abject public apology in the press? Have him  follow her  around like a lapdog? Another tantalising possibility  slid through her mind, a  sly whisper of just what Ben Jackson could  do for her … and to her …

She pictured those broad shoulders and trim hips, those eyes   darkened with desire … those long-fingered hands roving over her body with   languorous intent. Then she pushed the images away. No, she had no  interest in  that. Ben Jackson was too autocratic and arrogant to be  anything but her boss.  Besides, she might flirt and date and have it  written up in a tabloid as a  torrid affair, but in reality she was  very choosy with her relationships. That  was one lesson she'd  learned all too easily.

The smile died from her lips as she considered what lay between  her  and winning the wager. Thirty days. Thirty days of working hard-Ben  would do  his best, she knew, to keep her nose to the grindstone. She  sighed, her  shoulders slumping before she drew herself up again.  She wasn't afraid of  working hard. She just didn't know if it could  produce any meaningful  result.

Back at the palazzo Natalia was surprised to find her father   closeted with a handful of advisers and her mother in a ferment of  anxiety. She  asked for Natalia to come to her private rooms upon her  return, which she did.  Despite her party-going antics, Natalia had  yet to disobey a direct order.

‘What's going on?' she asked, and Queen Zoe raised perfectly  plucked eyebrows.

‘What's going on? Only that your foolish sister has run  off!'

Natalia slid her sunglasses up onto her head. ‘Sophia?' she  guessed,  thinking of her father's words this morning. Her own twin, Carlotta,   had already shamed the Santina family by having a child out of  wedlock and was  trying to live a quiet life in Italy. Natalia didn't  think on top of that she'd  just disappear.

‘Yes, Sophia,' Zoe said with a worried huff. ‘Apparently she  would rather ruin her reputation than marry Prince Rodriguez.'

‘Really,' Natalia said, and didn't even bother sounding  surprised.  Wasn't she the same? She just hadn't possessed the courage to take it   as far as Sophia apparently had done. ‘Where has she gone?'