The Billionaire's Secret Princess

Or possibly even mocking, unless she was very much mistaken.

“Mr. Casilieris,” she said, lacing her voice with gentle reprove, “I work for you. I don’t understand why you appear to be quite so interested in what you think is happening inside my head today. Especially when you are so mistaken.”

“Am I?”

“Entirely.” She raised her brows at him. “If I could suggest that we concentrate more on matters of business than fictional representations of what might or might not be going on inside my mind, I think we might be more productive.”

“As productive as we were on the flight over?” His voice was a lazy sort of lash, as amused as it was on target.

Valentina only smiled, hoping she looked enigmatic and strategic rather than at a loss.

“Are you lost?” she asked him after a moment, because neither one of them had moved from the great entry that bled into the spacious living room, then soared up two stories, a quiet testament to his wealth and power.

“Careful, Miss Monette,” Achilles said with a certain dark precision. “As delightful as I have found today’s descent into insubordination, I have a limit. It would be in your best interests not to push me there too quickly.”

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