The Exiled Prince

by Jeana E. Mann

  “Why didn’t you tell me?” The impertinence of this man never failed to amaze me. While others cowered at the sight of me, Ivan treated me like the unruly child I’d once been.

  “You never asked.” He spoke the truth. Negotiations with Claudette, business meetings, and worries over Milada had eroded my precious time.

  I lifted an eyebrow. “And?”

  “She’s not for you,” he said simply.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “It means she’s a good person, a normal person, and not part of your world of debauchery and decadence.”

  We stared at each other. He knew all my secrets, all my weaknesses and sins, and stood by me in spite of them. “Everyone has a price, Ivan. You know that.”

  “I do.” He clasped his hands behind his back and returned his gaze to the window.

  “So, find her price.” With an irritated sniff, I clipped the silver tie bar onto my shirt.

  “Like I said, she’s not for you,” he repeated, signaling the end of the conversation. “However, I’ve lined up four potential women for your approval later this week.” The weight of his gaze landed on my face. It was my turn to hide my thoughts. “I’m sure one of them will be to your liking.”

  “I don’t need to like her,” I snapped, feeling ridiculous and out of sorts. I was used to having my way and didn’t like being denied. The absurdity of my lifestyle grated on my nerves. What kind of man needed someone to obtain his sex partners? Yet, it was a necessary evil. The need for release itched beneath my skin, a never-ending, relentless discomfort born from too many lonely nights. Unfortunately for me, only one woman fulfilled my fantasies, the one woman I couldn’t have.

  Ivan didn’t reply, just arched a thick Russian eyebrow at my outburst, the same way he’d done when I was ten and hadn’t gotten the pony I’d asked for.

  “I’m sorry.” Regret appeared as quickly as my temper had. I clapped a hand on his shoulder and turned toward the door. “I appreciate your help. Thank you.”

  I made the trek to my study, reveling in the silence of the apartment. With all the chaos inside my head, I craved peace and quiet. The situation with Claudette weighed heavily on my thoughts. I hadn’t spoken to my daughter in almost a month. With every passing day, I died a little inside. She was the only light in the darkness of my life. I had no idea where she was or how she was doing, if she missed me, if she wondered why I hadn’t come to see her.

  The new girl greeted me with a smile and a cup of coffee in her outstretched hand. I gave her a cursory glance—ill-fitting suit, sensible shoes, dark blond hair in an uptight bun. No matter. Looks could be altered with money and effort. As long as she did a passable job, I could learn to live with the rest.

  “Good morning, Mr. Menshikov,” she said, in a broken, croaky voice. The office lights reflected off the thick lenses of her glasses.

  “Morning.” I took the coffee and stared at it. Black and steaming hot, the way I preferred. It seemed like a small thing, but the last few assistants hadn’t been able to grasp the concept.

  “I wasn’t exactly sure what you needed from me this morning. Julie had a previous commitment, so I went over your appointment book. It looks like you have four conference calls and three meetings on the schedule. Do I need to call and confirm any of them or would you like me to reschedule anything?”

  “No.” After a beat, I took my chair behind the desk. My computer was already powered on and ready to roll.

  “I ran through the news headlines for this morning and printed out a few topics of interest.” She pointed to a half dozen sheets of paper. I skimmed the topics. This girl was good.

  “Next time, you can send these to my phone instead of wasting paper.” I tucked the sheets into my portfolio for later. Meanwhile, the pressure between my temples continued to escalate.

  “Do you need anything else?”

  “No.” Everything on my desk had been straightened and arranged, still in coherent piles, but neat and orderly. “That will be all, Renee.” I dropped my gaze to the computer screen, already engrossed by a flood of incoming emails. Her light footfalls treaded toward the door then paused. When she didn’t leave, I glanced up. “Is there something else?”

  “My name—it’s Rourke.”

  “Right.” I returned my attention to the computer screen. “That will be all.”

  Chapter 12

  Rourke

  I closed the office door and stepped directly into the path of a solid man in a black suit. His arms gripped my biceps to keep me from banging my forehead on his chest.

  “Ms. Donahue, pardon me.” The Russian accent laced a familiar voice. “Are you okay?”

  Panic ignited in my chest and raced up my neck. I hadn’t expected him to be here. “Yes. I’m fine.” Following a deep breath, I retreated a step to put space between us. Meanwhile, adrenalin sent my pulse into overdrive. What if he recognized me? I should have come forward about the masquerade in the interview. Then again, there was no interview, and therefore, no chance to confess. At this late date, there was no graceful way to bring up the topic.

  “I am Ivan Petoskey, Mr. Menshikov’s chief security officer.” He engulfed my small hand with his large, square one. Anxiety twisted my insides. If he recognized me, he didn’t let on.

  “Nice to meet you.” To my credit, the words came out confident and calm, the exact opposite of how I felt.

  “I am happy we ran into each other. I need to speak with you for a moment, if I may.” His request prodded my heart from a trot into a gallop.

  “I was just on my way to meet Julie.” I glanced at my watch, eager to escape his prying eyes. The less time we spent together, the better. The less opportunity I had to give myself away.

  “This will only take a few minutes. Let me walk you to the elevator.” He swept an arm toward our left. I fell into step beside him, feeling more comfortable. If he knew anything, he gave no indication. “Did you have any questions?”

  “No, I don’t think so.” The previous day had been a whirlwind of procedures, and briefings. Although I’d forgotten quite a few details, the massive stack of non-disclosure agreements wasn’t one of them.

  “As Mr. Menshikov’s personal assistant, you’ll need to be aware of our security protocol. I have some self-defense classes set up for you to take this week. Nothing too extensive, just the basics: defensive driving, hostage negotiation, kidnapping prevention.”

  “You’re kidding, right?” Laughter bubbled up my sore throat before I could censor it.

  “Not at all. We take personal safety very seriously.” Ivan’s somber stare killed the smile on my face. “His and yours.”

  “Yes, of course.” What had I gotten myself into? My blood chilled with a different kind of fear, one centered around my well-being. “Is he under some kind of threat? Are we in danger?”

  “A man with his kind of history has many enemies, known and unknown. I do my best to diffuse potential threats before they take root, but one can never be too careful.”

  A cold shiver ran down my back. No wonder Menshikov was so dark. “Whatever I can do to help, please let me know.”

  “I appreciate that.” His expression warmed, making him less threatening and almost handsome. “I did not mean to frighten you. Mr. Menshikov insists that all his employees know how to defend themselves out of his concern for their welfare. We have an excellent security team, one of the best in the world. Let me worry about his safety. You’re going to have your hands full with his personal needs. Which leads me to the purpose of this visit. As his closest employee, you’ll have access to certain…aspects…of his private life that require the utmost discretion.”

  The way he said aspects made my stomach flip. Did Roman have some kind of kinky sex cave in the apartment? I’d heard about billionaires with outlandish sexual proclivities. If the Masquerade de Marquis was any indication, Mr. Menshikov could easily belong to this group. Under that line of reasoning, however, I was just as kinky as he was, somet
hing I didn’t want to admit.

  As if reading my mind, Ivan said, “By now, you’ve heard of The Devil’s Playground?”

  My insides began to quake. I nodded, unable to find my voice.

  His unnerving stare bored into me. “From time to time, you’ll be required to assist in tasks relating to the club. I trust you understand how devastating any leaks of information could be to him or the other members.”

  “Yes.” Thoughts of the naked guests writhing in the great hall turned my musings to Prince Charming, and thoughts of Prince Charming made my thighs clench together. Would I run into him or Nicky during my employment? If Ivan was here, the chances of an encounter grew exponentially. Stop being a worry wart, Rourke. No one would recognize me with different hair and the extra weight I’d put on.

  “Ms. Donahue?” Ivan asked.

  An inferno of embarrassment ignited beneath my skin. Goodness, I needed to get away from this man and this conversation before I combusted from mortification. “You don’t have to worry,” I said. “I consider my employer’s privacy to be sacred.”

  By this time, we’d reached the elevator. He pressed the button, and the doors opened immediately. I stepped into the elevator, but he kept the doors from closing with one of his hands. “I trust you’ll keep our discussion confidential.”

  “Of course.” We said our goodbyes, and I rode down the elevator to the next floor with my mind awhirl. The Devil’s Playground, security teams, self-defense training, and aspects? By all accounts, I was in way over my head. This new position threatened to stretch all of my boundaries, both personally and professionally.

  I met Julie at my apartment door. She greeted me with a reserved smile. Her burgundy dress and nude sandals exuded comfort without sacrificing style. I tugged on the placket of my blouse. Everly had never had a dress code. Most of the time I’d worn jeans and tennis shoes. I really needed to step up my game if I wanted to fit in around here.

  Julie spent the next hour going over the layout of the condo, introducing me to the other staff, and outlining Mr. Menshikov’s preferences. Once we’d finished, we rode in a private car over to the Blue Sapphire Building and took another elevator up to the top floor. The doors opened into a sleek reception area.

  “This is the executive floor.” The shiny locks of her chin-length hair swung with each of her steps. “Your office is this way, next to Mr. Menshikov’s.”

  The heels of our shoes tapped on the black granite floor as we walked. Glass doors slid open at our approach. Aside from our footsteps and the clicking of keyboards, total silence blanketed the office. We passed framed black-and-white photographs and metal sculptures on the way to a wall of frosted glass and more sliding doors.

  “These are his office assistants. You’ll need to coordinate all of his personal appointments with his work schedule. They’ll be instrumental to you. I’ll make introductions later.” Six identical glass desks flanked the walkway, three on each side. Five women and one man wore headsets, their gazes trained on their computers. The cut of their suits reminded me to ask about the clothing allowance. Next to their smart chic, my worn suit looked dull and frumpy.

  We passed the glass wall to a normal black door with silver hardware. Julie turned the knob and motioned me inside. “This is your space. It has a direct entrance into Mr. Menshikov’s office. After you go over his schedule each morning at the apartment and between running errands, you’ll hang out here and await any further instructions.”

  Shiny metal and glass surfaces reflected the overhead lights. Blue Sapphire must pay a fortune just to follow employees around and erase fingerprints. I ran a finger over the glass desk, but the view outside the window stole my attention. The morning fog had lifted and provided a rare view of the city. I drew in a sharp, awestruck breath.

  “Amazing, isn’t it?” Julie asked. She joined me at the window.

  “It’s unbelievable.” The office itself was the size of a large closet, but the view opened up the space.

  “You’re very lucky to have a view like this. Unfortunately, you won’t have much time to enjoy it.” She turned, her motions brisk, and logged into the computer with a few taps of the keyboard. “We’re still waiting on your computer access from IT. In the meantime, you can run a few errands. I’ve just emailed the list of tasks to you. It’s nothing too difficult. Pick up a few personal items, lunch, and open his mail. You’ll find the addresses in the contact list.”

  My phone dinged with the message. I scanned over the list. “Okay. No problem.”

  “It’s nine o’clock now. You’ll need to be back here by noon with his lunch. Don’t be late.” A line dented her forehead. “He has a conference call with one of his foreign clients at twelve-thirty. Make sure to hold any calls that may come through. He’s very particular about interruptions. I’ve got a doctor’s appointment at one. I’ll be back afterward to walk through more of your duties then.”

  “Is everything okay?” I pushed aside my concern to study her face.

  “Sure.” The paleness of her complexion suggested otherwise. “Just a checkup. No worries.” She glanced at her wristwatch and motioned toward the door. “You’d better move if you want to get back on time.”

  At five minutes after twelve, I rapped on Roman’s door adjoining my office. When he didn’t answer, I knocked a second time.

  “Come in.” Irritation laced the command. I squared my shoulders, uncertain of what to expect. His suit jacket had been slung across an arm of the sofa, and he sat in his chair facing the window.

  “I’ve got your lunch, sir,” I said.

  He swiveled to face me, a study in coiled power and smoldering confidence. The top two buttons of his white dress shirt had been unfastened, revealing a triangle of tanned skin. A bolt of sexual energy hit me between the legs. I blinked at the sudden jolt.

  “You’re late.” Long, elegant fingers drummed on the desk and echoed the beat of my pulse.

  I swallowed. Geez this guy was intimidating. “Traffic was bad today. There’s a ton of construction going on.”

  “Traffic is bad every day,” he said. “Plan better next time.”

  “Yes, sir, I will.” I placed the sandwich on the desk in front of him. “Can I get you anything else?”

  “Did you pick up my tuxedo?” The paper crinkled as he unwrapped the sandwich. I nodded, my throat raw. “Hang it on the back of my bedroom door.” A scowl darkened his face and sent a tremor down my legs. “What the fuck is this?” He pulled the bread apart and showed the surface to me.

  “Um, mustard?”

  “Yellow mustard. I don’t eat yellow mustard. I specifically asked for Dijon. What part of that is so difficult?”

  “Nothing. That’s what I ordered.” With shaking hands, I dug in my pocket for my phone and called up the order. “See? Dijon.”

  The line of his shoulders fell. He tossed the sandwich in the trash.

  I tried to keep my expression neutral. “Would you like me to get you something else?”

  “It’s too late. Just go back to your office.” He flicked his hand toward my door. “Wait.”

  I stopped in my tracks and curbed a sigh of exasperation. This man was a true piece of work. Everly would die when I told her. She’d been easy to work with, probably because we’d known each other for so long. I’d been able to anticipate her needs without asking, but this man—he baffled me at every turn. Before answering, I smoothed my expression. “Yes?”

  “This call from Germany. It’s very important, and I don’t want any interruptions. Hold my calls. No exceptions. Do you think you can do that, Rita?”

  “Absolutely.” My patience began to fray around the edges. “And my name is Rourke.”

  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 Grace 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.