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"After all that, you’re going to leave without saying goodbye?"
His voice is warm molasses in my ear, smooth and rich.
I look to my right and see the door. The exit.
And I know immediately that I’m not going to take it.
Dammit. I was so close to doing the right thing for once.
“For a head of security, you’re awfully presumptuous,” I croak.
He arches an eyebrow and laughs. “For a naked woman in my office, you’re awfully feisty.”
“I’m not—Wait.” The words freeze on my tongue. Every inch of me ices over until I’m a glacier in this man’s strong arms. “Did you just sayyouroffice?”
Prince Testosterone’s grin ticks one notch wider. “I did. I’m Ivan Pushkin. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
8
CORA
His name is ringing in my ears. He is Ivan. Ivan is him. I’m in a room alone with the man everyone else wants to be alone in a room with.
Holyfuckingshit.
“Wow. Uh, okay. Well, it was great to meet you as well, but like I said, I really should go. This isn’t my scene.”
“No? Then tell me what scene you prefer.”
“I know you can’t imagine a world beyond these palace walls,” I say, sarcasm oozing out of every word. “But some of us don’t live in a fairy tale. Some of us live in the real world. With bills and 9-to-5 jobs and…and…and we have to wash our own dishes.”
“So washing dishes is your scene?”
“Maybe!” I cross my arms and take a step away from him. “Not all of it, obviously. I have… I have other stuff, too.”
“Do tell.”
He draws closer to me. The rest of the world blots out instantly. It’s like a cone of silence has descended over us. It’s me and Ivan. Ivan and me.
Nothing else exists.
“I have…friends.”
He nods, waving me on.
“Jorden and F—” I stop myself, remembering my lies. “Jorden. I work with her.”
“One friend. Quite the scene.”
Now, I know I’m not imagining it—that’sdefinitelyjudgment.
“I’m sure you and your oh-so-close group of hundreds of vague acquaintances here can’t relate. It’s sonormalto have a party where everyone in attendance is only there because they want to marry into your family fortune. Is that what I should strive for?”
He shrugs. “Strive for whatever you want. You said you weren’t here to marry me, but if you’ve changed your mind, you’re welcome to join the queue.”
“That’s not what I—oh, for God’s sake, I’m not talking about wanting to marry you! That’s not why I’m here.”
“Then tell me: whyareyou here?”
