“I would have told you who I was.”
Sure.
“Indeed, your Highness,” I repeated like a robot.
“But if I say it upfront then…well, people make a whole bunch of assumptions about me. Many of which I don’t like. And while it’s quite possible that I don’t like them because they’re true, I prefer to be judged for how I am over who I am. Be honest, if you’d known who I was, you’d have treated me differently, wouldn’t you?”
It was a reasonable point, though I waged an internal war with myself against allowing it. “Perhaps, your Highness.”
“Of course you would!” Andrew leapt at the slight capitulation as if it was a lifeline. “But instead, you got to know me for myself and I got to know you without any of that baggage. And it seemed, for a while there, that maybe you actually liked ‘Drew Ellis’. I certainly liked you.”
I said nothing. I’d been waiting for something like this, some way he would try to get past my defenses and get me into bed like so many other women before me. It did look like a very comfortable bed, but that wasn’t anywhere close to the point.
“You can admit it, Keira. I won’t judge you,” he said when I still hadn’t responded yet.
“Admit what, your Highness?” I asked.
“You applied for this job for a chance to see me again. Whether it was more of a subconscious decision, I don’t know, but part of you wanted to see me again, because you did like me.”
This time I almost snorted. Out of all the ridiculously arrogant things he could’ve possibly said, this really took the cake. He really thought I’d applied for this job, packed up and moved to England for a year just to see him again? Anyone who actually did that sort of thing probably needed a stint in a mental health facility.
In fact, maybe he needed some time in a mental health facility, because he was clearly suffering from grand delusions.
“Sorry, but you’re mistaken, your Highness. I’ve been planning this gap year in England for quite some time,” I said. “And I applied for the job here weeks ago.”
He smirked, eyes sparkling with humor. “If you say so.”
“I was under the impression that you needed me for something?” I continued, trying to get off the subject before I was tempted to wipe that smirk off his face with the back of my hand. “Perhaps to explain my duties as your personal maid?”
“I was hoping to get to know you better,” Andrew said. “I liked what I learned about you that night, but I’m sure there’s more, and it doesn’t have to be about…you know. I mean, I know that’s what it was about that night—for both of us, you were just as guilty as me. But now I find I want to know more about you. Tell me about yourself.”
I wondered just how many other women he’d used that exact speech on in the past, and the thought steeled my resolve to never let him get to me.
“I’m your personal maid,” I said. “There’s nothing else you’d need to know about me.”
The glimmer faded from his eyes. “I see. Well, I’m sorry you feel that way.”
“I don’t understand, your Highness.”
“No?” Prince Andrew looked away, then back at me, then away again. “Well, I think I do understand. I was wrong, and I apologize for making you feel awkward. That’ll be all, thank you.”
Well, at least he was polite about being rejected. Some men went bat-shit insane when women made their disinterest clear.
I left the room, proud of myself for having kept my temper and not succumbed to the silver-tongued words of the experienced womanizer. And yet…god, I couldn’t forget how he’d made me feel in those moments back in the bar in New York, and the way my body had responded, practically begging me to throw caution to the wind and take him home for the night. He was just so sexy, and….
I shook my head clear, one thought reverberating throughout my mind now.
Remember who this man is.
Chapter 4
Andrew
Two things were guaranteed for me this morning.
One of them was a consequence of the night before, and the other happened every morning. The first was a hangover, because I’d been to an event last night. I couldn’t remember what it was, possibly a charity, but there’d been a lot of champagne and scotch. I took pride in the fact that I could hold my drink, and with the number of high-class events of one variety or another that a royal life entailed, alcohol had been a regular part of my diet for much of my life. But no one was completely immune, and I’d been profoundly bored at last night’s event, and so I had really drunk. I hoped I hadn’t done anything stupid, or that if I had it hadn’t been recorded by the tabloid photographers that swarmed these sorts of events.