Chapter 1

Chantal

            I'm paying for my coffee at my favorite coffee shop when I hear a familiar voice behind me.

         "Chantal?" the man says. I slowly turn around, hoping I'm wrong, and it's not who I think it sounds like. But, as I face him, my heart drops—Jason, who I don't want to see right now. I'm having such a good morning. Why do I have to see someone that will ruin it?

         "Hi, Jason. How's it going?" I ask, not caring to hear the answer. I know it won't be a good answer if he gives me an honest one. I broke his heart a few months ago, and he won't let me forget it.

         "Well, it could be better, considering you dumped me. But you don't care so I won't bother you with my issues."

         I look away, rolling my eyes and trying to find a way around him. He sees my gaze again and continues. "Wow, you are a frigid woman. You break up with me without an explanation and can't even take two seconds to hear the man out?" His volume starts to rise.

         "You know what? I still don't have to take this. Goodbye, Jason." I storm around him and walk out onto the sidewalk, and my heart aches.

No one deserves name-calling. I have a tough outer exterior, but inside his words hurt. I slowly walk down the sidewalk, sipping my coffee and trying to push it out of my head.

His impression of you means nothing. I keep telling myself that until my phone starts to ring in my pocket. I pull it out of my suit coat and see Randolph's name on the screen.

         "Good morning, Randolph," I say as soon as the phone reaches my ear.

         "Good morning, Ms. Fisher. I'm afraid Clive is still not out of bed yet," he says.

         I look at the screen, and it's almost 9 o'clock. Shit.

         "Okay! I'll be right there." I take one last sip of my coffee and throw it into the trash can on the way to the curb. I throw my hands out and wave down a cab. I give him the Estate's address and ask him to hurry.

As soon as I arrive at the Estate, I pay the driver and race into the house. After the horrible run-in with my condescending ex this morning, calling me frigid, I don't need Clive to act out today too! I emotionally can't handle it today.

         Clive is my boss, and literal royalty. Like, he was born into the royal family of a small European country. He can be a bit immature, considering he’s in his thirties and getting a little old for the playboy lifestyle. But, I guess anyone who grew up with the kind of money that he has would probably act a bit spoiled.

He’s really not a bad guy. Just…driftless, I suppose. He cares about his art, and that’s pretty much it. His parents have been pushing him for a long time to act more like a prince, and I think he acts out almost in defiance of them sometimes. 

I go into the kitchen and prepare a hangover tea for him like I always do. Randolph is preparing some tea of his own at the stove.

"Good to see you so quickly, Ms. Fisher."

"I got here as quickly as I could. Can you leave a little bit of that tea for me? It'll be faster if I can add to it!" I say, scrambling around to find everything I need.

         Once it's ready, I carry it to Clive's bedroom door and call his name. No answer. It irritates me a little bit, and my thoughts are less than pleasant. He's a grown-ass man. He should be able to get himself up and out of bed on time!

Until I remember that his plans were to go to the bar last night. This means he probably had too much fun, and it will not be an easy wake-up.

         A few more knocks with no answer, and my head pounds even harder than after my encounter this morning. It's been five years of the same behavior from him. Nothing's different, and he's still the same party boy I've been taking care of.

I don't know why I allow myself to put up with it when there are plenty of other secretary positions elsewhere.

         The knocking turns to pounding until finally, I decide it's not going to work. He's dead asleep, and I'll have to go in. I hate when I go in and wake him because I never know what I will find.

He's a playboy with lots of money and a reputation who wears jeans that compliment his ass perfectly. He pairs them with a leather jacket that draws the babes in like a bimbo magnet. He needs to bring them home with him, and I usually see them all.

It's been years of this, but I always worry about what I'll see next. I slide the door open slowly, trying not to look as I call out his name again. I call louder this time, hoping he'll hear me and I won't have to go all the way in.

         But, even with raising my volume, he still doesn't answer. I brace myself for what I'm about to see and open the door all the way. I see the back of Clive's head and am grateful that he made it home, but three girls are in bed with him.

One girl, for each of the three standard hair colors. Luckily, they're all under the covers like he is, but I can't help feeling my heart break all over again. Knowing that the man I've fallen for behaves this way.

He lets whoever he wants in his bed and has no idea it's crushing me every time. I try to hide the emotions on my face and act like I don't care. This shouldn't bother me, and I don't understand why I can't let go of a man who acts like this.

I've spent the last three years trying to date other men to forget him, but I still find myself stuck on this man. My boss, how crazy can I be? 

         But I can't help myself. He's the only man that really understands the "real" me. Not the persona that I show to the world to protect myself, but the person I am underneath the suits I wear and the tight bun I never let my hair escape from.

He gets me more than anyone else, making it impossible to leave him alone. Our relationship is boss and secretary the way it should be, but over the years, it's grown into so much more.

We spend so much time together that we're more like friends and partners rather than boss and employee. It's entirely platonic for him, but not for me, no matter how much I wish for it.

And it’s not just the way that he understands me. In a lot of ways, I like to imagine that I can see something deeper inside of him, that no one else does. 

Being a royal means that his whole life is spelled out for him with such strict expectations. Whether he’s leaning into them, or rebelling against them, it’s still an act. I feel like I’m the one who gets to see him unvarnished, when he’s just being Clive.

Real Clive, who isn’t being a princely air-head, is actually kind of sweet.

         I let out a huge sigh while trying to toss the thoughts from my mind. I can't let this affect my work. I walk over to the bed, and I gently shake him awake.

"Hey, Clive. I'm sorry to wake you, but it's almost 9 o'clock. I don't want you to be late."

         He turns his head to look at me and pulls his arms out of the covers to stretch. As soon as he rolls over, it wakes the girls. They're giggling like school girls, trying to tease him as he wakes up.

I turn away from it. It hurts too much to watch other women pine for him and touch him how I wish to. I hear the sheets moving and turn back to look as Clive climbs out of them. The girls stand up to dress, and he flops back onto the mattress.

         "Get out," he says to them with a frown while he lounges. The girls stare at him, looking lost at his outburst. It doesn't surprise me when he acts this way, but I still can't believe he doesn't even say good morning to them first….

The girls' clothes are back on, but they still aren't getting that he doesn't want them here anymore. I let out another sigh, knowing that even though they're here because of him, it's my job to make them leave if that's what he wants.

         "Come on, girls, let's move," I tell them, gesturing for Clive's door. I grab two of the women's arms, trying to drag them out when they don't listen. One of his bimbos gets angry and tries to slap me because she refuses to leave.

         Clive calls out to the woman. "Veronica, you're not even good enough to be here. I just let you tag along with your friends. Now get out." She stares at him for a second before bursting into tears and running out of the room. Her friends cradle her, and they all leave.

         I know he says it to help me, but I can't help feeling sorry for her. I shake my head at him. "Clive, you can't keep doing this. It's going to cause problems down the road eventually." I hand him his hangover tea, and he takes a sip. He sets it down for a second and starts chuckling,

         "You're going to be there to clean up my mess, right?"

         "Honestly, I'm not sure anymore," I say, looking at the floor. I can't believe what I'm saying. But nothing this morning has gone according to plan, so what the hell? 

         "Why? Am I not paying you enough? Are you considering looking for another job?" I can hear the surprise in his voice. I pause for a second, knowing my reasoning for wanting to leave.

    But I'm trying to think of a way to say it so that he won't know the truth. I know that I need to resign because I can't continue working for him with these feelings.

How will I move on from him if I do? I keep thinking about how his gentleness is breaking my heart even more. He's such a good boss, and he's been an even better friend. I can tell he genuinely cares about me. He's proven it countless times over the years, including getting the girl after she tries hurting me this morning.

It's just not how I care about him, and it's unhealthy for me to continue working here and feeling like this. I don't want to keep seeing his conquests and having to be a part of it all and keep getting my heart broken.

My heart beats out of my chest when I try to speak. I sigh again. "Actually, I prepared my resignation letter two weeks ago. I want to give it to you now."

Chapter 2

Clive

I place my empty teacup on the antique coffee table then grab my throbbing forehead with my hand, trying my hardest to get a grasp on my reality. “I must be more hungover than I thought. I just had a hallucination where you said you want to give me your resignation letter.”

Chantal takes slow paces along the other side of the table then stops abruptly in the center of the room. “It wasn’t a hallucination.” She folds her arms over her chest, and avoids my gaze by looking to her right at the closed burgundy curtains.

Her smooth brown skin is unexpressive and flat, showing no emotion. The only thing that gives her away is the way that she’s batting her eyelashes more frequently than usual. She does that when she’s nervous.

She must be pretty serious about this to be avoiding my gaze like this. In the five years that I’ve known her, I’ve gotten to know her body language backward and forward. Did I do something that she didn’t like? 

I can’t believe she would have planned this deeply into it after being my devoted secretary for five years. We’ve really bonded throughout that time, and she has become a fixed part of my life.

What the hell do I do in this situation? I would be lying if I said I haven’t become codependent. Not only has Chantal brought some much needed organization to my cluttered life, but she has also made my life so much easier in general. 

I’ve become so predictable to her that she can anticipate what I’m going to do before I do it. Who will I confide in if she’s not around? Everyone else is so obsessed with my public image that they don’t care to know who I really am beneath the wealth and royal lineage.

I abandon my thoughts and return to the present moment once she finally looks at me curiously after the long pause of silence. The only thing that I can think to do is to stall for time. There is no way that I will never approve her resignation so maybe if I drag out the process she will end up changing her mind. 

I rise to my feet with my new mission on my mind. “Let’s pick this back up later. There’s something I really need your help with at the studio. I’m gonna go get cleaned up.” I brush past her on my way to my bathroom, getting a whiff of her usual perfume that smells floral yet elegant. “Meet me downstairs at the car in twenty minutes.”

“Sure thing.” Chantal responds then the sound of her heels clanking against the marble tile grows fainter followed by the sound of the bedroom door closing. All I can think about as the soap suds and warm water flow down my body is the possibility of losing who I consider to be my best friend. 

We always put on a professional exchange in front of others but when we’re alone everything is different. Nobody would ever guess by how we interact that we are employer and employee. We became such good friends due to her job, so I can only assume that by removing herself as my secretary the friendship would go along with it.

I stand in front of the vanity mirror and dry my body off with a large towel then place it on the top of my head, rummaging it around to dry my golden-blond, shoulder-length hair. I often go to a hairdresser whenever I have an event to attend because I personally find doing my hair a chore. My go-to style is just grabbing a handful of gel, running it through my long strands to create beach waves then going about my day. The only reason I continue to grow it out is because it pisses my father off.

Chantal stands at the side of the black Maserati Quattroporte, holding a pleasant conversation with my personal driver, Lionel. I exit the front doors of the family home, descending the white stairs in my red leather jacket, black t-shirt and dark blue jeans. “Good morning, Lionel.”

Lionel smiles widely, opening the back right door for us. “Good morning, Master Clive.”

Chantal climbs into the backseat first then slides over to the left side with her large, Prada business tote that I gifted her for her last birthday. I lower into the seat then extend my long legs in the extra space designated for my 6 foot, 5 inch height. Lionel gently closes the door for me then purposefully strolls around the front of the car to the driver’s side. 

After the car smoothly enters the main road Chantal leans over the center of the backseat to show me the newest viral video of our favorite internet comedian. We both laugh throughout the five minute sketch, then before we know it we’ve arrived at my studio.

I’ve always considered this place my safe haven. It’s the only space that I have to myself where I’m not under the watchful and judgmental eye of my father. It doesn’t matter that I’m a grown man of thirty-two years; he has always been a dictator and will continue to be that way as long as he inhabits this earth. Unfortunately, this is the price that I pay for being born into a monarchy.

Lionel exits from the front of the car then makes his way around to open my door. I exit leisurely, enjoying how the air seems fresher then notice that Chantal is already by my side. “We’ll see you later, Lionel.” 

I start walking to the door of the building that looks more like a townhouse from the outside rather than a business space. I turn my key in the door, push down the handle then gesture for her to enter first. I follow behind her, locking the door behind me. She takes a few steps forward, observing how messy I left the first floor then turns to face me with an annoyed expression.

“I know. I know.” I walk forward to her then cross my arms over my chest as I share her sentiments. “But there’s a perfectly logical reason why I left the showcase space like this.”

“Really?” She turns her body to me, waiting eagerly for an explanation.

“You know the next showcase is coming up.” I leave her side to pick up some of the paintings on canvases that I left in the middle of the room then neatly place them against the left side wall. “That’s what I need your help with. I’m having a hard time choosing which pieces I should feature.”

“I understand that Clive, but I just cleaned this whole room for you a week ago.” She exhales sharply as she still scans all the materials carelessly scattered everywhere. “There’s no reason why it should look like a tornado passed through here.”

“You’re absolutely right. I’ll put this on my to-do list for today.” I continue to walk through the large room that I use for exhibits and sometimes as a concert hall when I debut my new music. 

Chantal drags her feet as she trails behind me. “Don’t bother yourself with it. I can organize it again. You need to practice the piano today. You’ll be playing for a lot of important people even sooner.”

I stand at the base of the stairs, hoping that she’ll accompany me rather than stay downstairs cleaning up my mess. “Are you sure? I could help you and practice later.”

“It won’t take me long. Plus it will be easier to choose which artwork you want when it’s organized again.” She takes off her navy suit jacket then places it on the sofa. “I’ll be up shortly.”

Sometimes I forget who is the boss out of the two of us but it’s a trait that I’ve always admired about her. She takes initiative unlike everyone else who just waits for me to order them around. 

I ascend the stairs slowly to the second floor, reaching the area that consists of a main ballroom and three large rooms. The ballroom has my C. Bechstein piano in the center and other musical instruments around the room. The first room is my office. It’s followed by the guest room with its own en suite bathroom and kitchenette that Chantal often occupies. Last is the room that I crash in when I’m too exhausted to go home.

I sit in front of my piano, exhaling deeply as I crack my knuckles before playing. The first piece I begin practicing is an original composition that I completed recently. I release a grunt of frustration after making several careless mistakes. 

That’s when I realize that it’s impossible for me to concentrate. No matter how hard I try I just can’t ignore the elephant in the room. It feels like the walls of the massive room are closing in on me as I once again confront the issue of Chantal’s surprise resignation.

         There’s no way I’ll get anything done in this state. I need to know why she wants to abandon me. Am I being too sensitive about this? 

I feel like it’s something deeper than the reason she gave me when she was prompted. Have her life goals become greater? That would be of no consequence to me. I would have no problem raising her salary. Hell, I’ll even give her a share in profits if that means she will stick around. 

Perhaps I’ve gotten too cocky after all these years. Do I need to change something about myself? I never imagined that this day would come. If I could have it my way, we would be old and gray still working side by side.

         My phone suddenly rings, pulling me out of my deep thought process. I look at the screen then frustratingly stand up when I see that my father is calling. I only left the house half an hour ago. What the hell could he possibly want?

I immediately dread the conversation but swipe the green call button up like a good son, answering promptly with a low “Hello?”