Working Stiff: Casimir (Runaway Billionaires #1) (46 page)

Rox shook his hand. It was an ordinary, firm handshake. His palm was warm and dry, and he smiled a gorgeous smile at her. “A pleasure to meet you, Ms. Neil.”

“Call me Rox,” she said. “Pleased to meet you.”

It was like Casimir had a blonder twin.

Bad thoughts about Casimir and his almost-twin brother in her bed rose in her mind. If anything in the world was sexier than Casimir, it was two Casimirs.

Casimiruses.

Casimiri.

Something like that.

Willem turned back to talk to Casimir. “Good Lord, what did you do to your face now?”

He shrugged, his form-fitting suit moving with his body. “Bit of a car accident. Slight problem with a fire.”

“You should have that looked at. You’ll have the press crawling on us all over again.” He turned to Rox, a warm and amused smile on his face. “They would not leave us alone when he was a child. When he was out with us, the press swarmed all of us. You couldn’t even walk without one of them tripping you.”

“That must’ve been terrible for you,” Rox said, trying not to let one eyebrow rise.

Casimir said, “I was planning to have it looked at.”

“Sooner rather than later, I suppose. I can’t believe that Ana is scheduling a reception for you while you look like that. You’ll wear a bandage or a mask of some sort, of course.”

Oh, that was going too far.

Rox stood a little straighter. “I like it.”

They both looked down at her, two tall, glorious man-gods staring down from the heavens.

She said, “I think he looks manly. It’s just a little scratch, and it gives his face character. It makes him look different than all the other pretty boys out there. I have problems telling those guys apart.”

A hint of a smile curved Casimir’s mouth, but Willem frowned. “Of course he shouldn’t leave it like
that.
He needs to get it fixed.”

“Nope.” She looked right into Casimir’s brilliant green eyes. “I think he looks
better.
I think it’s
sexy.”

Casimir watched her, that small, real smile still playing around his mouth.

Willem’s frown deepened. “He can’t look like
that
when he’s representing the Kingdom of the Netherlands at official functions.”

Rox grinned. “Sure, he can. He has stories to tell about it. People will relate to him better. And I wouldn’t have him change a thing.”

Casimir’s eyes softened. His hand by his side twitched as if he had almost reached to take her hand but couldn’t.

Willem said, “I think it’s disgraceful. Casimir, it’s revolting. How will you ever marry someone of importance looking like that? What would the people say if, God forbid, anything were to happen to Ana and her children and
you
took the throne? There would be riots in the streets if Prince Monster were the king.”

Rox was already swinging her fist at his stomach when Casimir caught her arm.
“You asshole!”

“Now, Rox,” Casimir said, “violence never solved anything.” He sounded far too calm.

Willem watched her, his arms crossed.

She shook her arm, trying to make Casimir let her go.
“I will punch that slimeball right in the kisser.”

“She’s got a temper,” Casimir told his brother. “Perhaps we should continue this discussion some other time.”

“Oh, I’m riled up all the way past angry-Southern-girl level and about to go
biblical
on him!”

Casimir laughed. “Run, Willem.”

Willem rolled his eyes, clearly annoyed at her plebeian outburst. “I’ll see you later,
Casimir.”

That last word was barbed, expressing his disdain for the commoner.

The commoner who was going to tear his face off. “You come back here and I’ll beat your fancy ass! Someone should have whupped you more often to learn you some manners!”

Willem’s last look at Casimir spoke volumes of disapproval, and he strolled out the door.

She snarled, “You let me go and I will make sure that he’s never that impolite to anyone again!”

Casimir pulled her into his arms and held her, his cheek pressed against her hair. “You really can’t threaten to ‘whup’ members of the royal family. The security staff will look askance.”

“Seriously, you’re not going to have a temper tantrum over that?”

“Not here.”

“I—
really?”

“Never.”

“If we were in the office and someone spoke to you like that, you would have
a proper rant,”
she made fun of his British accent there, “and chew his butt a new one.”

He stroked her back. “Besides, I don’t need to. As always, you’ve taken care of the situation for me. I’ll just sign off on it.”

“You’re weird here. I can hardly wait to get you back to the States.”

He bent, and Rox felt him press his cheek to her hair. “Me, too.”

She wrapped her arms around his chest and squeezed. “I
will
whup his ass. What a jackass.”

As she had often heard growing up in the South, evil wears a beautiful face.

PRINCESS ANASTASIA THE NEFARIOUS

Rox fidgeted with her dress. The pale pink formal dress fit her beautifully. Casimir’s sister had even supplied pantyhose and shoes that fit her, somehow perfectly. A woman had arrived to do her make-up and hair, all of which felt exceedingly unnatural.

It was like the Crown Princess of the Netherlands was actually a fairy godmother.

They waited outside huge doors. Two men dressed in royal blue and orange livery, which meant really old-fashioned servant-clothes, faced each other and would open the doors for them in just a few minutes.

Beyond the doors, Rox could hear a crowd muttering and a string quartet playing.

She asked, “Can’t we just meet Ana in your apartment or something?”

Casimir shook his head. “If we were going to be here longer, we probably could have an informal meeting and then do a formal presentation later, but I’m hoping that we can leave within a few days. Maybe we could meet one of my parents at some point, but I think you’ll like Ana better.”

He was wearing full evening dress—a black tuxedo with a white vest and tie—which was just so much more formal than she had ever seen him before. Cash wore finely cut business suits to work, of course, and he dressed in a black-tie tux for the annual Holiday Formal soiree that the law firm threw every year, which really made all the admins and paralegals swoon. It was like he was advertising for them to get in line for the next year’s harvest.

But Casimir in a white-tie tux, tails, and an orange and blue sash with medals even made stone-cold Rox’s heart go all aflutter.
Damn.

Rox slid her fingers into his hand. “You really don’t like it here, do you?”

“I’m more comfortable elsewhere.”

“I’m sorry. I wish I could hug you but I’m sure that the protocol guy would come back here and admonish me again. He sure didn’t like the way I curtsy, and I learned that at Cotillion.”

He squeezed her hand. “It should only take a few minutes.”

The footmen set their feet against the floor and leaned back to open the towering doors.

Contrasting colognes rode the air currents to where they stood: rose and lily and sandalwood, and her nose burned, confused by all the scents.

Rox followed Casimir as he walked from the enormous, cavernous waiting room where they had been standing into an even larger, grander room with ceilings that floated so high above them that Rox had to squint to see the delicate frescoes painted all the way up there among the arches and carved crown moldings. Every square inch of the formal room had been fitted with paintings, even up the arches and on the sides of niches.

And the ceiling! It had to be at least four stories up there. Maybe five. Possibly
six.
Chandeliers hung from wires and blazed with silver light like candles and sparklers hovering in the sky. Rox couldn’t even figure out the perspective, and she felt squished and tiny in the towering room.

High ceilings.

Oh. My. God.

This
was what Arthur and Maxence had been joking about when they had said that Casimir knew a lot about places with
high ceilings.
They hadn’t meant sex clubs like The Devilhouse.

They had meant that Casimir had been raised in a royal
palace.

Now she felt like an idiot.

That sensation was becoming ridiculously familiar.

The crowd moved aside like a yellow brick road parting the poppies, forming a path to a woman standing on a dais in front of a tall, tall chair, twenty feet high, that had a crown hanging over it like a wall teester that held curtains draping over a bed.

The slim, white woman stood in front of the throne, the light from the chandeliers shining all around her, dressed in a pale blue formal dress that precisely reached her toes.

Diamonds glittered in her golden hair.

Rox lost her breath and hesitated. If Casimir had gone on without her, she would have turned and fled, but when she stopped, he stopped.

He turned back and held out his hand.

Okay, so she had to do this with him.

Meeting the family was always nerve-wracking.

She took his hand and walked down the path of people on the actual red carpet trail toward the dais, the throne, and the Crown Princess. After a second, he dropped his hand from hers but touched her back, a calming gesture that was somehow less PDA than holding hands but was, if anything, more possessive.

She liked it, and her shoulders lowered farther. She wished she could lean into him, but the whole crowd was watching her walk, their glistening eyes following her every step in that long, beaded dress that reached her toes.

A man wearing a black suit—which was a relief after all the guys playing dress-up in medieval garb like this was a freaking Renaissance Fair—held a piece of paper and announced their names.

Casimir bowed his head, but the protocol droid, er,
guy,
had told her to curtsy deeply here, fussing that her curtsy was neither deep nor subservient enough.

Rox did her best to bend her knee and not fall on her face, mostly succeeding, she thought.

The Crown Princess Anastasia, who looked about thirty-three-ish and indeed was as beautiful as she was evil, walked down the steps of the dais and held Rox’s shoulders. She whispered, “Up, now.”

Rox stood up, managing to bobble only a little in the high heels and slim skirt, a deadly combination. It was a good thing that she had worn skirt suits to work for years and was used to dealing with balance issues.

Anastasia kept her hands on Rox’s shoulders, leaned in, and
hugged her.

The crowd pitter-pat applauded.

Rox backed up and almost stumbled when her heel caught her skirt hem.

The Crown Princess Anastasia said, “It is a pleasure to meet you, Ms. Neil.”

“And you—ma’am. Please call me Rox.”

“Excellent. Please call me Ana.” She turned to Casimir and shook his hand heartily. “So you warned her about us?” Ana asked him.

“Oh, certainly.” Casimir paused. “Most of it.”

“And you told her that I’m nefarious and evil and will summarily execute her if she offends me?”

His small smile reached his brilliant green eyes. “Absolutely. I told her that part first.”

“Oh, good. I hate that surprised look on people’s faces when I order their beheading. It’s so distasteful.”

My God.
She had Casimir’s dry sense of humor.

Rox smiled.

They were going to get along just fine.

THE ORANGE HALL AT HUIS TEN BOSCH PALACE

The reception lasted until long after midnight, dining and dancing and talking with dozens of new people. Rox fretted about remembering all their names.

When Casimir noticed that she was repeating everyone’s name at least three times in conversation, he whispered to her not to worry about filing them away. If they had an important meeting with any of these people, admins would prep them. She should relax and enjoy the evening.

So she did.

She caught him smiling at her several times throughout the night and a lot while they were dancing.

Everyone seemed fine with Casimir, talking and laughing with him. Indeed, they seemed a little more helpful, a little extra kind, and eager to make an introduction for him or get his opinion on something.

They were all one notch too loud and jovial.

Casimir returned the pleasantries, smiling that elegant smile of his that made his green eyes seem more kind than sparkling, listening to what they said, shaking hands or inclining his head when someone curtsied, but he seemed just a little more reserved than in California, a little more private.

A little more shielded.

When Rox looked back, though, catching people out of the corner of her eye after they thought that she and Casimir had turned away, a lot of people glanced at the floor, something like shame or regret passing over their faces for the brief pause before they turned to greet the next person.

Rox watched them more closely, her instincts finely honed by years of evaluating the legal shenanigans and manipulations by unscrupulous lawyers.

Yeah, they might like Casimir, and they might want him to like them, but there was an undercurrent of a past or other issues between them.

No wonder Casimir didn’t like it here. In California, he could be himself, open and honest and ethical and laughing and everyone’s friend.

Here, he was haunted by Prince Monster.

She saw Willem working the crowd a little ways away from them, and she watched him.

Most of the guests greeted Willem with pleasure, speaking with animation, and walked away smiling, oblivious to what he was. A few people seemed thrilled to see him, pumping his hand and exclaiming, but when he turned away, they swallowed hard or wiped their palms on their thighs. Rox actually saw one of the women shudder, ripples cascading down the silvery beaded fringe glittering on her dress. Others were merely reserved, cordial, but made their escape as soon as propriety allowed.

Sometimes, when Willem thought no one was looking, his icy glance over the crowd or at a certain person or two made Rox clutch her drink more tightly. He was really a lizard, cold-blooded and inexorably crawling through the crowd toward them.