Ruthless Boss, Royal Mistress

‘If that’s what you think, James,’ she answered tiredly.

‘What else is there to think?’

If he couldn’t see any other reason for her actions, then too bad. At least now she knew exactly where she stood.

Alone.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

LISS spent the morning supervising the final decoration of the ballroom. It took several hours to get the tapestries hung right, but the lights were in place, the chef and his team were having a frantic but fun time.

It didn’t seem possible, but it was actually going to come together. The dodgy DJ showed up and set up his equipment and all she could do was cross her fingers and hope that he wouldn’t play anything too awful.

Tino dropped the dress to her just after lunch. She slipped into it, amazed at how well he’d made it to fit— despite only working from her measurements. It was incredible. And for the minutes she had it on, she felt incredible.

‘You’re very talented,’ she said, twisting to look at the back in the mirror. ‘When I can I’ll be ordering some more dresses from you. But I bet I’ll be joining an ever-expanding queue. Where did you get this fabric?’ She made pleasantries—anything to take her mind off James.

‘Bahrain. Cost a bomb and I’ve been hanging on to it for ages—too scared to put scissors anywhere near it.’ Tino’s grin was shaky, a rare indication of nerves. ‘But I think it’s worth it for this dress. Stunning, isn’t it?’

‘It’s so soft.’ The silk warmed against her skin, but felt so light, as if she were draped in tissue paper. As delicate and fragile as she felt inside. ‘How are the crew looking?’ She stood statue-still as he went to sew a minor alteration.

‘Damn hot,’ he replied, swaggering once more with confidence. ‘Stella’s downstairs overseeing hair and make-up.’

Liss managed a smile, fervently hoping he was right and they were the ultimate in glam serving staff. But if the dress he’d made for her was anything to go by, she was in the clear.

‘I really appreciate all the work you’ve done.’

He stood back and scrutinised her with the clinical eye of the professional. ‘You’re going to knock them dead.’

She smiled, hoped he was right on that front too. But there was only one person on her hit list. ‘You would say that—it’s your design.’

‘That only a figure like yours can pull off. Thanks for the opportunity, princess.’

He turned away while she slipped out of the dress and into her robe. ‘Thank you. You’ve helped me out much more than you realise.’

After carefully hanging the dress in the wardrobe, she walked him to the door of her bedroom. For a moment they stood chatting, him just outside the door, her leaning against the jamb.

‘I’ll be sure to tell every journalist I see who designed the dress.’

‘Excellent.’

‘Make sure you enjoy the party.’

‘You too, princess. You should get some rest now. I didn’t design that dress for it to be worn with bags.’

He tapped below his eyes with a finger.

Of course James had to walk in just then. Dressed in a suit but looking as if he’d been through a storm—his tie askew, his hair ruffled, his jaw stubbled, his eyes burning.

Liss froze, felt incredibly conscious that she was wearing only her robe. She felt more naked than she ever had—even when literally naked and intimate in bed with him. And still, despite her vulnerability, he didn’t see her—not as she really was. He saw no innocence in her or in the situation.

She didn’t need to be a rocket scientist to figure out what he was thinking—the worst. So it was official— he only ever thought the worst. Just like all of them. All he saw was a vacuous party girl with nothing more to offer than a short-lived good time—and offering it to anyone. No matter what happened tonight, no matter how successful the ball was, he’d never see her as anything more.

His stare was scathing, raking over both her and Tino as he strode past, straight into his room. The door slammed.

Tino looked at her with raised brows.

‘Sorry about that,’ Liss said, but made no more excuses, simply showing him out with as polite a smile as she could manage. She’d just shut the door on him when James’s opened again.

‘Who was that?’ Straight to it, a lethal bullet.

‘Why?’

‘I just want to know.’

She walked forward with calm steps that were utterly at odds with the mad beat of her heart and the dread dancing in her stomach. ‘You don’t trust me, do you, James?’

Silence. Her body was washed through with bitter disappointment. She could see the fever in his eyes, the way it was eating him up. He wasn’t capable of listening right now and she was too hurt by it and too tired to fight—to make him see sense. So instead, she decided to tell him his own truth.