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She would be the chief of staff to the client, mediating between the client and their direct reports as well as being in charge of three personal assistants, all of whom worked together to ensure that the client had three-hundred-and-sixty-degree support whenever needed. There was an insane amount of holiday, scope for travel, working from home options and a more than generous housing allowance provided for the upheaval. Because that was the other thing. The role was located in London.
Looking at a map, she’d realised that the client was based a ten-minute walk from where her father’s offices in Knightsbridge had been. He’d worked there for two years and had met her mother there. He’d promised to take her there one day, but his diagnosis had come before they could ever make the trip. And Henna couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something fortuitous about the job offer. It fitted so many missing pieces she hadn’t known she’d lost in the last few years, as if the universe was sending her a message, or a gentle nudge to take her life into her own hands and step out into the world. She opened the email again and reread the answer to the question she had asked them: why had they chosen to approach her?
Because we have heard that you are the best.
Who would have told them such a thing? Had Freya been the one to tell them? Had she realised that Henna would be better off spreading her wings, or did she also feel that impending change on the horizon, as inescapable as a tsunami and just as terrifying?
She had just switched her computer off when the phone rang. Frowning, she answered, checking her watch. Whatever it was couldn’t be a good thing at nearly seven-thirty at night.
‘Henna, I’m so glad I caught you. Did His Majesty give you the information for tomorrow?’
‘No, he was supposed to give that to you.’
‘He said he would. It’s just that we have the delegation arriving at nine a.m. tomorrow and the kitchen has no idea what to do.’
‘Just call him,’ Henna said, already knowing he wouldn’t.
‘Henna, please.’ The word was a theatrical whine. ‘He’s been in such a foul mood for the last two days and we’ve already had one of the staff in tears. You’re the only one who knows how to handle him.’
‘That is patently untrue.’
Another dramatic whimper came down the phone line and Henna rolled her eyes. ‘Okay, okay, I’ll go.’
But as she made her way towards Aleksander’s office she knew already that she didn’t want to see him. She didn’t trust herself around him. Rather than going away, each time she saw him her feelings got worse, making her say and do and want things that she really shouldn’t.
Henna stopped outside Aleksander’s office door, her gaze snagging on the patch of new plaster and paint covering the damage done by Lykos Livas a few weeks ago and proof that Aleksander drove people to their limits. Even now she felt her heartbeat gather in speed at the mere thought of asking him for the information Sven needed.
No. She wouldn’t lie to herself. It wasn’t the thought of a confrontation with the King that made her pulse rate pick up. Thrusting the wayward direction of her thoughts back, she knocked on the door.
‘Come.’ The sound of his frustration penetrated the closed door and she closed her eyes, gathering herself, before pushing the door open and entering his domain.
The office was bathed in the evening’s shadows, the low lighting making it something altogether different than what she was used to. Logs burnt gently in the fireplace despite the easing of the cooler months into the warmth of summer. A half-drunk whisky was on the mantelpiece and she turned to the lamplit desk that mirrored her own in terms of sheer volume of paperwork. The door to Aleksander’s private living area opened and he came through, buttoning up his shirt, forcing Henna to look away as if she had caught him in a state of undress.
Heat spread to her cheeks that had nothing to do with the fireplace and she cleared her throat. By the time she looked back, Aleksander had looped a tie around his neck and still she felt as if she were seeing more than she should. It was personal. It was...too much.
‘What is it?’ he asked abruptly, looking around the room for something.
‘Sven needs the dietary information for tomorrow’s delegation,’ she forced out around the pulse beating heavily in her throat.
Aleksander threw a curse into the room and leaned over the desk to retrieve a file. Her eyes were drawn to the way his torso turned, his thin hips bracketed by a leather belt, and a low thrum started in her body. It started as something quiet, but as he turned and stepped towards her, closing the distance between them, it grew louder and louder until she could hear it above the pounding of her heart.
Kiss me, kiss me, kiss me.
He handed her the manila folder but hadn’t let it go by the time her fingers had wrapped around the top of the file. They were barely an inch apart. Surprise crossed his gaze before desire drowned it out like an inkblot exploding his iris. At the sight of it, her skin flooded with pinpricks, thousands of them, raising the hair on her arms and peppering her heart with little electric shocks, tripling her pulse and taking away the ground beneath her feet.
‘I’m quitting.’
The words burst from her lips, surprising them both, and Aleksander stepped back, accidentally taking her with him from where she still held the paperwork.
He shouldn’t have been able to hear her words above the roaring in his ears, but he did. They cut through his thoughts like a hot knife through butter, zeroing his focus while simultaneously going to work on the threads of his restraint.
‘Okay.’
The moment he’d said it, he knew it was wrong. There was nothing okay about it at all, even though it really shouldn’t have come as a surprise. But, beyond that, it was clear that Henna didn’t like his response either.
It was in the blank shock in her eyes.
‘Henna—’
