Chapter 154 

Alexei had known this party would be boring before he even turned up. 

Rich people stood around pretending they weren’t about to talk shit the moment your back turned. And the women? They flocked like peacocks in glitter and stilettos, beaming like landing lights, hoping the world’s most notorious royal bachelor would single them out. He wasn’t up himself. It was just a fact of life when you were royal. 

God, he could walk around with a brown paper bag over his head and women would still want him. 

Of course, he didn’t disappoint. He never did. Alexei, the second son and second in line to King Theodore, always gave the crowd a good show. 

Even if he was barely paying attention. 

“…so I said, ‘You really like your yacht that much? Why don’t you marry it?“” the blonde beside him said breathlessly, her laugh like broken glass. 

He blinked, vaguely realizing she was telling a story. Possibly about herself. Probably not very well. 

“Mmh,” he said in response, taking a too–long sip of champagne, wishing it was scotch. It did nothing to dull his irritation or his persistent, nagging thoughts. 

Keira. 

Bloody. Keira. 

His assistant. His brainache. His personal hurricane in heels. Infuriating woman. 

He’d seen her face when the photos hit the tabloids… murderous and pink–cheeked, jaw clenched and those scorching blue eyes blazing as she rapid–fired damage control from the corner of her “converted” cubicle outside his office. 

He hadn’t even slept with the model in the photos. She’d begged for attention. He hadn’t intended to give the cameras anything. The model had pulled at his towel before he could stop her. It had been her way of getting media attention. Now there were questions about them being an item. She had gone out the next day sporting a ring on her finger. 

But he had still enjoyed the pleasure of pissing Keira Warner off. 

Because watching her fury spark? That was his new favorite hobby. 

God, she was exhausting. Bossy. Blunt. Rude. Delightfully rude. No one else ever fought back the way she did. Not in the palace. Not in 

business. 

She fired his blood in an argument better than any woman had in his bed. 

Well–correction. No one had been in his bed in a while either. 

Had it really been a month? 

Alexei adjusted his cufflink with a frown. He was… annoyed. And horny. Not a great mix. 

The blonde beside him had taken it upon herself to be his company tonight. 

Last 

He let her stay there. For a moment. Why not? It served a purpose. Keira would definitely see the photo. And react. Which, for reasons he refused to examine too closely, made the whole damn thing worthwhile. 

1/4 

 

Across the room, Julian raised an eyebrow at him. Palace Communications. Translation: his father’s eyes and ears. There was also Mark at the office. Alexei would bet he had given Keira a hard time about the media coverage. 

The only problem was they reported to his father like he was twelve years old and not thirty–one. Alexei was guessing he was going to be getting a phone call from His Majesty at any moment. Fucking delightful. 

The last time King Theodore had called, he’d ranted about the “peril of perception” and the “crown’s dignity.” As if Alexei had any real claim to the crown. That was his brother’s problem. 

Niko. Married for two years and still no heir. 

Which meant Alexei was still stuck in second–in–line–to–the–throne limbo. 

Close enough to power to be a headline. Let’s be honest, he would always be of interest to the media. 

“You’re so quiet,” the blonde purred, moving her hand from his shoulder to lightly trace his bicep. She smiled, batting lashes like she was auditioning for Miss Universe: 1950s Edition. “Penny for your thoughts?” 

“I charge a bit more than that, darling,” Alexei said with a faint smirk. 

She giggled. Of course, she did. They all did. They always did. He could say anything to them, and they would laugh. 

Except Keira. 

Keira would snort, roll her eyes, and call him something obscene, probably while making him a triple–shot espresso and outlining his next five meetings. The woman had practically weaponized eye rolls. 

And yet, increasingly, it was her unimpressed look that he pictured when he was alone. Keira wasn’t impressed with his title, and she’d tell anyone she wasn’t impressed by him. He liked being around her, even when she was hating him with her eyes. He was surprised she hadn’t quit. 

The thing was, he couldn’t figure out what was wrong with him. He should have preferred agreeable women, but they bored him with their predictability. Keira, on the other hand, was anything but predictable, which might be why he enjoyed provoking her so much. 

It wasn’t that he was lonely. He had options, plenty of women eager to be close to him, especially when his shirt came off. Thanks to zoom 

lens photography and beach paparazzi, half the world had seen parts of him. 

But women like the one at his side… they bored him. 

Keira never bored him. She challenged him. Pushed back. Got visibly frustrated every time he pressed one of her buttons–which, fortunately for him, he had memorized. 

It’s part of the reason he had been messaging her throughout the night. She made him laugh. 

He smiled as he remembered one of her texts: “Currently drowning in photos of your ass.” It made him grin because it hadn’t even been his ass the photographer snapped a photo of. 

“Do you want to get out of here?” the blonde asked in his ear, way too confident, like they were already halfway to foreplay. She ran a red- 

nailed hand down his chest and a little too close to his cock. Daring. 

He glanced down at her. She was pretty. Of course, she was. They always were. 

But she wasn’t– 

“No,” he said, voice crisp. 

 

Surprise flickered in her expression. 

“I’ve got an early day tomorrow.” He stepped away, straightened his jacket, and handed off his empty champagne glass to a passing waiter. “Pleasure meeting you, Miss…?” 

She opened her mouth like she didn’t quite believe it was happening. She had just offered herself to him, and he had said no. 

He didn’t wait to hear her name. 

Outside, the car was waiting. As were two of his father’s ‘staff‘ meaning security. He couldn’t go anywhere without security. 

“Going back to the penthouse, Your Highness?” one asked. 

“Yeah.” He rubbed at his jaw. He was tired. 

In the back of the car, he thumbed through his phone. 

One unread message. 

From her. 

Keira: You’re not even close to my type. 

He grinned. 

Victory and frustration warred somewhere inside his gut. 

It didn’t even matter that she’d meant to push him away, to reaffirm that she wasn’t interested. She’d been thinking about him at 11 p.m. That was enough. 

His fingers hovered over the keyboard. 

Then he hit reply. 

Alexei: Yeah? Then why are you still up thinking about me? 

He could imagine her face now–eyes glinting like fire and ice, lips pursed, teeth nibbling at the corner like they always did when she was flustered but trying to hide it. 

Infuriating Keira. 

No one in his life made him feel the way she did. Amused and intrigued. 

He wondered what she was like in the sack… Where the fuck had that thought come from? 

There was no way. She might be fiery, but he had a feeling that if he so much as made a pass at her, she’d freeze his dick off. 

She didn’t fall at his feet like other women did, so he hadn’t known what to do with her. So naturally, he teased her. Tested her patience. 

Drove her half–mad. 

He told himself it was just to keep things interesting. She was no yes–woman. 

He liked that she didn’t melt under pressure. That she showed up every day, even when he gave her every reason not to. 

She was dynamite with a very short fuse. 

 

And he was a pyromaniac at heart. 

Tomorrow, she’d be giving him evils again. Probably slamming down coffee cups and sarcasm like ninja stars.