By the time she made it to the main house, she was gasping and panting. Thankfully, she was used to this, too, which was why these days she had a water canister inside her bag. Taking it out, she flipped the lid open—-
“Aah.” Water had never tasted this good.
“Good afternoon, Fawn.”
Fawn froze.
Hand-sewn loafers. Stylish jeans. Dressy shirt.
Her gaze moved up.
Yup, it was him.
But even so, shock still had her spewing the water out, and she could only gaze in horrified fascination as every of drop of it landed on the prince’s crisply ironed shirt.
Holy crap.
Springing to life, she shoved her water canister back in her bag and hurried to the prince, mumbling, “S-sorry.” As she desperately tried patting his chest dry, she also tried not to think about how, well, hard he felt.
Because Grant’s hard, too, she reminded herself.
“It’s fine.” As the prince spoke, his large, strong hands reached out to capture hers.
Oh.
His touch burned her, and Fawn heard herself garble something out in answer.
Prince. Hands. Hers.
Clinging to the few brain cells she had left, Fawn managed to pull her hands away.
The prince allowed himself a smile at the half-confused, half-terrified look on her face.
Good.
He knew it smacked of pure hypocrisy that he had held back from seducing this girl because she happened to be a virgin. But after her admission about Grant Bennett, he was damned if he was going to play nice, and he didn’t care if he had to use the most underhanded tactics.
“I should have expected this,” he told her as he pulled out his handkerchief and wiped the remaining drops that clung to the silky fabric of his shirt.
His words stung, and she couldn’t help saying defensively, “You know I didn’t mean it. It’s j-just that I didn’t expect you to be here. I mean, everyone said you’d be away for another week—-”
“I apologize,” the prince said in a dry voice, “if I failed to inform you in advance about the change in my schedule.”
“It’s okay.” Then she realized what she had said. “I mean, it’s not okay.”
“Oh? Why is that? Do you miss me when I’m gone?”
Fawn gaped at him.
Pretending not to notice, he turned to walk back into the mansion. “Follow me to the study, please.”
Struggling to pick her jaw from the floor, Fawn forced her limbs to move. What was that five seconds ago? Had the prince actually cracked a joke – and it had to be that kind of joke?
As they headed down the hallway, the prince asked abruptly, “How do you find your work so far?”
She answered right away, “Perfect.”
“And your fiancé? No complaints about your irregular work schedule?” Most girls would have suspected him of having interest in them if they were asked that question, but because this was Fawn—-
“None at all, prince. T-thank you for the concern.”
Dense, the prince thought. This girl was just unbelievably dense. And even more unbelievable was that he actually had some kind of—-
His lip curled in self-disgust.
Interest.
He found her interesting. That was the most he could stomach.
He said finally, “How nice of him.”
“He’s very understanding,” Fawn shared shyly.
“How nice for you, parthena mou.” And now, he was ready to puke the moment she started expounding on her fiancé’s saintly qualities.
He was cursing her again, she thought glumly, which was weird for more than one reason. Listening to the other maids’ gossip had revealed to Fawn that the prince was half-Sicilian, half-Greek, but was raised in England. And yet he spoke Filipino.
Maybe secrets were another billionaire thing, she thought.
They reached the prince’s study then, and the prince murmured, “Sit down, please.” He watched her do as commanded and realized he found himself taking pleasure in knowing that she was doing what he asked.
Maybe next time, he could ask her to do something else. And he would be generous. She could also ask him to do something, too.
But for now, those would have to remain in his imagination.
This girl still thought herself in love with Grant Bennett, and since she had old-fashioned views of love, the prince knew if he pushed too hard too fast, she would bolt and run away without even giving the two of them a chance.
If he had to take baby fucking steps, the prince thought grimly, then so be it.
Fawn tried not to fidget too much as she watched the prince move behind his desk and take his seat. His every move was lethally sexy, and the dangerous aura surrounding the prince only made him seem even more irresistible.
Add to that how just plain gorgeous he was and—-
She quickly lowered her head and trained her gaze on the black carpet, not wanting to risk having the prince catch sight of her reddened cheeks.
It was his fault, his fault entirely, she thought resentfully. Ever since that night, it was like she had been infected with a morbid fascination over the prince. She couldn’t stop thinking about how green his eyes were, how beautifully sculpted his cheeks were, or how amazing his abs were—-
She whitened as she realized where her thoughts were leading.
Oh my God, what was happening to her?
It was almost like she had a c-c-c—-
No. It couldn’t be. This...this was just like when she had started watching The Flash and it was crush at first episode. She had crushed on the lead actor so hard she had even started writing The Flash fan fiction.
But it hadn’t meant that she loved Grant any less.
This thing with the prince was the same, Fawn told herself almost feverishly. He was such a famous playboy he was virtually a celebrity himself, making them belong to two different worlds.
Which means it’s okay to admire the prince, she reasoned. Because he was like a celebrity, too, and similar to The Flash, she had to believe that this fascination of hers would eventually-—
“Once you’re done with your conversation with yourself, perhaps we could start?”
Realizing she had
