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This man was a contradiction in terms. Strong, confident and overbearing, there was a frailty to him that enlisted every single protective instinct she possessed. And that made no sense. “No, sir. I have two sisters though.” She didn’t reveal to many people that she was a triplet. The admission, coupled with her ridiculous cleavage and general appearance, caused more lascivious remarks than she wanted to deal with. And yet she heard herself say, “We’re triplets.”
“Triplets?” He sipped his tea, watching her carefully over the rim. “That must be interesting.”
“Yes.” She found herself relaxing a little, when she thought of Ava and Soph.
“Are you close?”
“Yes,” she responded instantly. “Not geographically at the moment. My sister Sophie is newly married and based in Europe. Ava is in Australia; she took over our vineyard when mum died.” Her voice cracked a little at the admission. No matter how many times she spoke of the loss, it still brought a mist of sadness to her.
Zamir’s eyes were speculative. “When did you lose your mother?”
“Five years ago this Christmas,” she responded, trying to insert some matter-of-factness into her words.
“How?”
Olivia shook her head. “I’m sorry, sir, I don’t like to speak about it.”
If he were under less pressure, he might have known not to push her. But Zamir was curious about this woman, and about her history, and so he used his position to secure his goal. “How?” His word was imperious.
She put her teacup down and crossed her arms. “An accident.” It was the briefest amount of information she could provide.
“Yes?” He prompted, sipping his tea once more.
Olivia ground her teeth together. “With all due respect, and at the risk of being fired, it’s none of your business.”
Zamir, despite his displeasure at being disobeyed, admired her spirit and strength. “Very well,” he agreed, surprising them both.
“Thank you.” It was a small whisper of gratitude.
“How old are you?” He changed the subject with startling speed.
“I … why?”
He laughed, but it was a strangely discordant sound. As though he didn’t have use for his laugh very often, and was out of practice. “I respect your decision not to speak of your mother. I too have known this grief and understand it is a private matter, above our separate positions in life.”
She leaned forward. “Sir, I am happy to work for you. And to work very hard for you. But despite your ‘position’, I don’t believe we have separate entitlements and rights.”
He was almost unmoving in his chair. “Really? Do go on.”
“Well,” she said seriously, “you’re a Prince in your country. And you’re used to people doing what you say, when you say it. But where I’m from, no one gets that kind of special treatment.”
“Yet you make a living from giving people this special treatment.”
“Within the bounds of what I deem to be respectful, yes,” she responded tautly. “I will not sacrifice my self-worth for any client.”
“You do not find this hypocritical?”
“No.”
He leaned forward in his chair, and though they weren’t touching, she felt as though his fingers were lightly grazing her flesh. The hairs at the back of her neck stood on end. “I am not accustomed to people saying no to me.”
“That’s unsurprising.”
“What is surprising,” he mused almost as if to himself, “is that you feel so comfortable disagreeing with me.”
Chastened, she forced a small smile to her lips. “You said you wanted distraction. Am I not distracting you?”
He nodded slowly. “Very much so.”
