At His Majesty's Convenience / Her Little Secret, His Hidden Heir: At His Majesty's Convenience. Jennifer Lewis

for next week in Manhattan, and that was a perfect next step to going out on her own.

      “I don’t want to be a personal assistant for the rest of my life and I’m turning twenty-seven soon so it’s time to kickstart my career.”

      “We can change your title. How about …” His dark eyes narrowed. She couldn’t help a slight quickening in her pulse. “Chief executive officer.”

      “Very funny. Except that I’d still be doing all the same things.”

      “No one else could do them as well as you.”

      “I’m sure you’ll manage.” The palace had a staff of nearly thirty including daytime employees. She was hardly leaving him in the lurch. And she couldn’t possibly stand to be here for Independence Day next week. The press had made a big deal of how important it was for him to choose a bride; the future of the monarchy depended on it. He’d jokingly given their third Independence Day as his deadline when he’d assumed the crown three years ago.

      Now everyone expected him to act on it. Being a man of his word, Andi knew he would. Maxi, Alia, Carina, there were plenty to choose from, and she couldn’t bear to see him with any of them.

      Jake put down the guest list, but made no move to take her letter of resignation. “I know you’ve been working hard. Life in a royal palace is a bit of a twenty-four-hour party, but you do get to set your own hours and you’ve never been shy about asking for good compensation.”

      “I’m very well paid and I know it.” She did pride herself on asking for raises regularly. She knew Jake respected that, which was probably half the reason she’d done it. As a result she had a nice little nest egg put aside to fund her new start. “But it’s time for me to move on.”

      Why was she even so crazy about him? He’d never shown the slightest glimmer of interest in her.

      Her dander rose still higher as Jake glanced at his watch. “The guests will be here any minute and I need to return a call from New York. We’ll talk later and figure something out.” He reached out and clapped her on the arm, as if she was an old baseball buddy. “We’ll make you happy.”

      He turned and left the room, leaving her holding her letter of resignation between trembling fingers.

      Once the door had closed behind him, she let out a growl of frustration. Of course he thought he could talk her down and turn everything around. Isn’t that exactly what he was known for? And he even imagined he could make her “happy.”

      That kind of arrogance should be unforgivable.

      Except that his endless confidence and can-do attitude were possibly what she admired and adored most in him.

      The only way he could make her happy was to sweep her off her feet into a passionate embrace and tell her he loved her and wanted to marry her.

      Except that kings didn’t marry secretaries from Pittsburgh. Even kings of funny little countries like Ruthenia.

      “The vol-au-vents are done, cook’s wondering where to send them.”

      Andi started at the sound of the events assistant coming through another doorway behind her.

      “Why don’t you have someone bring them up for the first guests? And the celery stalks with the cheese filling.” She tucked the letter behind her back.

      Livia nodded, her red curls bobbing about the collar of her white shirt, like it was just another evening.

      Which of course it was, except that it was Andi’s last evening here.

      “So did they ask you in for an interview?” Livia leaned in with a conspiratorial whisper.

      “I cannot confirm or deny anything of that nature.”

      “How are you going to manage an interview in New York when you’re imprisoned in a Ruthenian palace?”

      Andi tapped the side of her nose. She hadn’t told anyone she was leaving. That would feel too much like a betrayal of Jake. Let them just wake up to find her gone.

      Livia put her hands on her hips. “Hey, you can’t just take off back to New York without me. I told you about that job.”

      “You didn’t say you wanted it.”

      “I said I thought it sounded fantastic.”

      “Then you should apply.” She wanted to get away. This conversation was not productive and she didn’t trust Livia to keep her secrets.

      Livia narrowed her eyes. “Maybe I will.”

      Andi forced a smile. “Save a vol-au-vent for me, won’t you?”

      Livia raised a brow and disappeared back through the door.

      Who would be in charge of choosing the menus and how the food should be served? The cook, probably, though she had quite a temper when she felt pressured. Perhaps Livia? She wasn’t the most organized person in the palace and she’d been skipped over for promotion a few times. Probably why she wanted to leave.

      Either way, it wasn’t her problem and Jake would soon find someone to replace her. Her heart clenched at the thought, but she drew in a steadying breath and marched out into the hallway toward the foyer. She could hear the hum of voices as the first guests took off their luxurious coats and handed them to the footmen to reveal slinky evening gowns and glittering jewels.

      Andi smoothed the front of her black slacks. It wasn’t appropriate for a member of staff to get decked out like a guest.

      All eyes turned to the grand staircase as Jake descended to greet the ladies with a kiss on each cheek. Andi tried to ignore the jealousy flaring in her chest. How ridiculous. One of these girls was going to marry him and she had no business being bothered in any way.

      “Could you fetch me a tissue?” asked Maxi Rivenshnell. The willowy brunette cast her question in Andi’s direction, without actually bothering to meet her gaze.

      “Of course.” She reached into her pocket and withdrew a folded tissue from the packet she kept on her. Maxi snatched it from her fingers and tucked it into the top of her long satin gloves without a word of thanks.

      She didn’t exist for these people. She was simply there to serve them, like the large staff serving each of their aristocratic households.

      A waiter appeared with a tray of champagne glasses and she helped to distribute them amongst the guests, then ushered people into the green drawing room where a fire blazed in a stone fireplace carved with the family crest.

      Jake strolled and chatted with ease as the room filled with well-dressed Ruthenians. Several of them had only recently returned after decades of exile in places like London, Monaco and Rome, ready to enjoy Ruthenia’s promised renaissance after decades of failed socialism.

      So far the promise was coming true. The rich were getting richer, and—thanks to Jake’s innovative business ideas—everyone else was, as well. Even the staunch anti-monarchists who’d opposed his arrival with protests in the streets now had to admit that Jake Mondragon knew what he was doing.

      He’d uncovered markets for their esoteric agricultural products, and encouraged multinational firms to take advantage of Ruthenia’s strategic location in central Europe and its vastly underemployed workforce. The country’s GDP had risen nearly 400% in just three years, making eyeballs pop all across the globe.

      Andi stiffened as Jake’s bold laugh carried through the air. She’d miss that sound. Was she really leaving? A sudden flash of panic almost made her reconsider.

      Then she followed the laugh to its source and her heart seized as she saw Jake with his arm around yet another Ruthenian damsel—Carina Teitelhaus—whose blond hair hung in a silky sheet almost to her waist.

      Andi tugged her gaze away and busied herself with picking up a dropped napkin. She would not miss seeing him draped over other women one bit. He joked that he was just trying to butter up their powerful