The Exiled Prince Trilogy

by Jeana E. Mann

  He didn’t answer, and I didn’t turn around. Instead, I stormed to my office and flopped behind the desk. I’d heard about the diva behavior of other employers from peers but had never expected to find myself in this kind of situation. The urge to quit stormed through my head. Screw him and his Dijon mustard. Then my personal phone hummed with a voice mail. I checked it.

  “Hi, Rourke. This is Nurse Johnson from the Parkview Retirement Home. Do you think you could stop by this evening? Your aunt is having a particularly hard time today. Seeing you might do her some good.”

  There it was—my reason for suffering through the unbearable behavior of Mr. Roman Jackass Menshikov. Aunt May suffered from early onset Alzheimer’s. After the police had found her wandering the streets in her bathrobe, I’d been forced to find full-time care, and it didn’t come cheaply.

  The office phone at my elbow lit up with several incoming calls. I shoved aside my misgivings. Until something better came along, I intended to give one hundred percent to this job.

  “Mr. Menshikov’s office. This is Rourke speaking.” I put on a smile and used my most upbeat tone.

  “Hi, this is Milada. Can I speak to Mr. Menshikov?” a high-pitched female voice requested. She sounded young, too young to be calling an adult man.

  I wrinkled my nose. Is this what Ivan had meant by aspects? My blood chilled at the thought. “I’m sorry. He’s in a meeting. Can I take a message?”

  “No. I mean, well, yes. Just tell him Milada called, his daughter.”

  I sat up in my chair. The hot ogre had a daughter? “Wait. If you really need him, I’ll go interrupt his meeting.”

  “Um, yes, please.”

  I placed the call on hold, knocked on his door, then entered. He was pacing in front of the window. Thumb and forefinger pinched the bridge of his nose. When I opened the door, he scowled and covered the mouthpiece of his Bluetooth with a hand. I cleared my throat. “I’m sorry to interrupt.”

  “Then get out,” he said. Blue eyes shot ice daggers in my direction.

  “But I think you want—”

  “Out!” His shout vibrated down to my toes. “Don’t make me tell you again.”

  I scurried into the other room. No one had ever shouted at me like that before, and never in my place of employment. It took everything I had to keep from storming out the door. When he got off his call, we needed to have a serious talk. After a deep exhale, I picked up the phone call, but Milada was gone.

  An hour later, Julie returned from her doctor’s appointment. Mr. Menshikov stormed into my office, nostrils flaring and the color high on his cheekbones.

  I sucked up my courage. “I’m sorry for interrupting your call, but your daughter called,” I said, and watched the color drain from his face.

  “Milada?” The name fell reverently from his lips.

  “Yes. I—”

  “Is she on the phone now?”

  I shook my head. “I came back to take a message, but she was gone.”

  “Damn it!” A tide of red swept up his neck. I’d never seen a man so angry before, or so incredibly hot. His nostrils flared, and a vein stood out in his forehead. Every line of his lean body vibrated with masculine irritation. With visible effort, he straightened his shoulders and pointed a finger at Julie. “You. In my office. Now.”

  The door slammed behind them. Even with a wall between us, I could hear every word, and so could the rest of the staff. I winced at each shout. Mortification burned through my body, followed by the sting of ice-cold rejection. He was going to fire me. Maybe it was for the best. Then I remembered my aunt, my lack of residence, and the dwindling dollars in my bank account.

  “I want her gone,” he said. “Today. Before she fucks up anything else.”

  I couldn’t hear Julie’s part of the conversation, but it was easy enough to fill in the blanks. An eternity later, she came into my office and placed a hand on my shoulder. “It’s okay. You had no way of knowing. He’s been on edge for a while now. His ex has been hiding their daughter from him. He hasn’t talked to her in weeks, and he’s been worried sick. This is the first time he’s heard from her.”

  “I tried to tell him,” I said, weakly, fighting against the churn of acid in my stomach.

  “He’ll cool down. Please don’t let this deter you from staying.” Behind her plea, green colored her complexion, and her smile had lost some of its sparkle.

  “Are you okay, Julie? Maybe you should sit down.”

  “I appreciate your concern. I’ll be fine.” The waver in her voice suggested otherwise, but I didn’t pry. She’d tell me if she wished. “Why don’t you take the rest of the afternoon off and go shopping with your clothing allowance?”

  “Sure. I’ll do that.” Several different emotions warred against each other. Part of me understood Menshikov’s distress, but another part of me burned with indignation. No one had ever talked to me like that before, and I didn’t like it.

  Julie left with the promise to continue my training tomorrow. I finished adding a few new appointments to Mr. Menshikov’s calendar. With each passing minute, my anger escalated. How dare he talk to me that way? I was neither incompetent nor stupid. I gathered my purse and knocked on his door.

  “What?” he asked, his voice low and rough.

  It wasn’t an invitation, but I entered anyway. The sight of him stopped me in my tracks. He was seated behind his desk, elbows on his knees, head resting in his hands, the picture of dejection. The inferno in my belly lowered to a flickering flame, but I held my ground. “I need to speak with you.”

  A huge sigh lifted his shoulders. He sat up but didn’t look at me. I walked around his desk until the tips of my toes faced his. For the first time, our eyes met. A jolt of electricity traveled down my body and into my womb. The shock was quickly replaced by sympathy. The depths of his eyes were no longer icy, but liquid and dark and filled with remorse. He was hurting inside.

  “Go on.” Resignation and defeat laced his tone. He shifted back in the chair. Faint shadows smudged beneath his eyes, shadows I’d failed to notice before.

  “I understand you’re upset about the call. I feel terrible about it, but in my defense, I tried to tell you, and you threw me out.” A violent trembling shook my hands. I pressed my palms together, determined to have my say. “You need to know that I take my job very seriously. If you give me instructions, I’ll do my best to follow them. In return, I need to be treated with respect.” He drew in a breath, like he was about to speak, but I blundered on. “I’m more than capable of doing this job. Everly trusted me to run her personal life for six years, and I did a damn good job of it. I can assure you I’ll never give you any less than one hundred percent effort, but you have to give me important information. I’m not psychic.” Thinking I might have crossed a line with my last comment, I bit my lower lip.

  “Everly?” A flicker of interest crossed his face. “That’s right. You worked for Everly Martin.”

  “Yes. We…”

  A new kind of interest flared in his scrutiny. For the first time, he looked at me, really looked, from the tips of my shoes to the top of my head. I felt his gaze, solid as a touch. When those dark eyes scoured my face, I had to glance away, certain my forehead displayed every thought in my head like a scrolling marquee.

  “It’s okay.” With a wave of his hand, he gestured for me to stop talking. “I should have been more explicit in my instructions. I’ll have Julie give you a more detailed list of my personal contacts in order of priority.”

  “Thank you. It’s appreciated.” The lack of animosity in his tone put me on alert. I’d expected more yelling and insults. This twist of personality confused me more than ever. Maybe he was schizophrenic.

  “In the future, if Milada calls, I want you to interrupt me. My daughter takes precedence over everyone and everything else. Understand?”

  “Yes.” Apparently, Satan had a heart after all. Curiosity nibbled at my composure. I had to bite back a dozen questions. Did he have an ex-w
ife? Why did they split up?

  “I’ll be out of the office for the next couple of days. Something unexpected has come up.” With his hand on the small of my back, he ushered me toward the door. The light touch reminded me of Prince Charming and the way he’d escorted me around the masquerade with his hand in that very spot. An excited shiver snaked up my spine. “You can use this time to get up to speed, and we’ll talk when I return.”

  “Okay. I’ll do that.” A mixture of hopefulness, excitement, and wariness bubbled in my veins.

  “And see a doctor about that cold. I need you healthy.” His hand lingered on my back.

  I blinked up at him, turned on by his touch, confused by his concern, and irritated by the rapid vacillation of his emotions.

  “Hey, hey.” A man met us at the door, his hand poised in the air, ready to knock.

  “Nikolay. You should have called,” Menshikov said.

  The air seemed to vacate the room. I stared up into the wide gray eyes of Nicky, looking more delicious than I remembered. A dark pair of jeans hung low on his narrow hips. He pushed up the sleeves of his burgundy sweater and ran a hand through his windswept hair while sliding a glance up and down my figure. “Well, hello. You’re new.”

  “This is Rona, my assistant,” Menshikov said.

  “Rourke.” His continued refusal to remember my name ignited my temper again. The muscles in my forehead tensed. If I hadn’t been in shock over Nicky’s appearance, I would have erupted. “It’s Rourke Donahue. Nice to meet you.” Surely Nicky wouldn’t see past my glasses and shorter, darker hair.

  “The pleasure is all mine.” Taking my hand in his, he brushed a kiss over my knuckles. “You’ll have to forgive Roman for not introducing us. My name is Nikolay Reznik Tarnovsky, but my friends call me Nicky. You may call me Nicky, too.” A pleasant warmth crept up my arm until his thumb brushed over the amethyst ring on my little finger. The moisture left my mouth. His eyes lifted to mine. Recognition sparked in their depths. I withdrew my hand and dropped it into my pocket. Mischief curled the corners of his lips.

  “Ms. Donahue was just leaving.” By his tone, Mr. Menshikov frowned upon fraternization between his friends and employees. I’d have to check the employment contract. At least he remembered my last name this time.

  “Have we met before, Ms. Donahue?” Nicky asked.

  “No.” To hide my anxiety, I dropped my gaze to the floor, trapped between two mouthwatering men, unable to escape.

  “Are you sure? I never forget a face.”

  “I’m sure. I’d remember if we had.” I mustered a polite smile and pushed past the men. “It was nice to meet you.”

  On the ride to my aunt’s nursing home, I stared into space. The last person I’d expected to see today was Nicky. I twirled the amethyst ring around my finger, over and over and over. There had been no mistaking the recognition in his smirk. In the background, the rhythmic clicking of the subway melded with the screech of metal and the hum of conversation and mimicked the chaos in my head. Would he tell Roman that I’d crashed his party? I ran through a thousand different scenarios of how that scene might play out. All of them ended with Roman screwing me on his sparkling glass desk and a blush on my cheeks.

  When I arrived at the nursing home, the sight of my aunt sitting on her suitcase by the curb straightened out my priorities. A summer breeze fluttered the hem of her floral print cotton dress. She smiled as I approached.

  “Auntie? What are you doing?” A box of personal items sat at her feet. The sight of her, small and a shadow of her former self, squeezed my heart.

  “I’m going home.”

  “This is home. You live here now, remember?” Confusion passed over her face, like a cloud drifting in front of the sun. “Come on. I’ll get your bag.”

  “No. I want to go home.” I didn’t recognize the sharpness in her voice. My aunt had always been kind and soft spoken and teeming with warmth. This crazy disease twisted everything.

  “You can’t go back. You sold the house last year, remember?” How long had she been sitting outside in the hot sun? I glanced around for a nurse or security guard but saw no one.

  “No.” Auntie passed a trembling hand across her forehead, and my heart ached for her. “What about Tim? Does he know?”

  “Let’s get inside and we can talk about it, okay?” With a gentle touch, I looped her arm through mine and guided her back to her room. She sat on the edge of the bed and stared at her hands like they belonged to someone else. Pain sliced across my chest, razor-sharp and crystal-clear.

  “I need to see Tim. Will you call him for me?”

  Unshed tears burned my sore throat. I dredged up a smile, took her hand in mine, and patted it. “Uncle Tim passed away, Auntie, four years ago. You know that, right?”

  We’d been over it a hundred times before, but every time was like the first time for her. She sobbed on my shoulder. Her tears left a dark, wet circle on my shirt. Alzheimer’s was like a surging wave, sweeping in and eroding the coastline of her memories. Chunks of her past disappeared each day. It killed me to see the once-shrewd woman reduced to an uncertain child.

  When her tears ceased, I tucked her into bed and went to see the nurse in charge. “What’s going on?” I asked. “How did she get outside like that? She could have wandered away. Why wasn’t anyone watching her?”

  “We’re understaffed,” the nurse said. “Most of us are working double shifts. There just aren’t enough of us to go around. And your aunt, she can be difficult.”

  I sympathized with her problem, but it didn’t make me feel any better. “This is unacceptable. I pay you to watch over her. If you can’t keep her safe, then I’m going to have to move her somewhere else.”

  The nurse shrugged at my hollow threat. We both knew there weren’t any other places available, at least none my aunt could afford. Even with my new job and raise, it would take months to get her into a new facility. I’d just have to pray that fate would provide an answer for us.

  13

  Rourke

  When Menshikov returned three days later, I accompanied Jose, the driver, to the airport with a hot coffee and a copy of The Wall Street Journal. We drove straight onto the tarmac and parked next to a sleek blue-and-silver private jet. Butterflies tumbled in my stomach. In Roman’s absence, I’d been given a crash course on his personal preferences, lifestyle, and basic needs. No amount of studying, however, could prepare me for his temper. I drew in a deep breath and pressed my palms together.

  “Here he comes,” said Jose in his thick, nasally Brooklyn accent. “Ivan says he’s in a pissy mood today. Better buckle your seat belt. It’s going to be a bumpy ride home.”

  “Great,” I muttered and steeled my nerves.

  Sunshine reflected off the clean surface of the jet. I squinted against the brightness, adjusting my sunglasses, and stared at the open door of the plane. A dark head appeared through the opening. My employer stepped out, wearing a baseball cap, sunglasses, white polo shirt and jeans. Heat shimmered over the pavement. Something twisted in my gut. I made a strangled noise and grabbed the door handle.

  “You okay?” Jose glanced at me in the rearview mirror. His bushy eyebrows and warm brown eyes reminded me of my dad.

  “Um, yes. I’m fine.” But nothing could have been further from the truth. The man striding across the tarmac had a confident, graceful stride. Black aviators hid his eyes, and four days’ growth of beard softened the strong line of his chin. He slung his jacket over his shoulder and closed the distance between us. I might have been able to convince myself otherwise before, but not now. Menshikov was undeniably, unmistakably, one hundred percent my Prince Charming. “Oh, shit,” I mumbled, not caring if the driver heard me.

  If he noticed, he didn’t have time to remark. He jumped out of the car, crossed to the opposite side, and opened the door. “Good afternoon, Mr. Menshikov. It’s good to have you back, sir.”

  Hot summer air blasted through the open door. I stared, mouth dry, and trie
d not to panic. Breathe, Rourke. Breathe. I concentrated on the rhythm of each breath. Everly had used the technique to calm her stage fright before a speech. I wasn’t sure why. All it did was make me dizzy.

  “Is that my coffee?” he asked as he slid across the gray leather seat.

  Unable to speak, my voice robbed by shock, I thrust the Styrofoam cup into his outstretched hand. The cabin filled with his clean, intoxicating scent, the same cologne worn by Prince Charming. How had I not noticed? Maybe because my nose had been clogged by a cold and my head muddled by a six-figure salary. He sat across from me, knees spread wide, one arm slung across the back of the seat. A curious vibration hummed through my body, buzzing like bees in my blood. I removed my sunglasses and pretended to clean a speck from the mirrored lenses.

  “I’ve got some serious jet lag,” he said in his rich voice, a voice that had murmured hot, dirty things into my ear. After two gulps from the cup, he set the coffee in the drink holder and trained his gaze on me. Even though I couldn’t see his eyes, I knew he was watching me. The weight of his stare slid over my new wrap dress and down my bare legs. I pressed my thighs together to curb the sudden ache between them.

  “How was London?” I asked to break the awkward tension, and put my sunglasses back on my nose.

  “Rained the whole time.” With a subtle shift of his weight, he turned to observe the blue sky and sunshine outside the window. He extended his phone to me. “Charge this up, would you? I’m down to ten percent.”

  “Sure.” I dug through my bag for the charger with trembling hands. When I finally found it, it took several tries before I could plug the end into the limo’s USB port. His relentless stare didn’t help matters.

  “I’m going to Edinburgh next month. I need you to make sure everything is arranged. Can you do that?” The smooth timbre of his voice washed over me.

  I swallowed and nodded while tapping a reminder into my phone. Julie had given me a list of his favorite hotels and restaurants. He shifted again and rested both hands lightly on the tops of his thighs. From behind the shield of my sunglasses, I stared at the neat, square tips of his fingers, fingers that had been inside me. The moisture left my mouth. I dragged my tongue over the dry surface of my lips.