The Bossy Prince (Rugged and Royal #3) - Lili Valente Page 0,6

and generally makes me feel so wonderful about my sistering skills that I can’t resist getting her sauced every once and while. Just for the ego boost.”

“Whatever,” I huff with a roll of my eyes.

Sabrina and Lizzy are the only people in my life who ignore me. It’s annoying but also…nice. After five years of heading up the Zurich Union Ten office and calling the shots for everyone working under me, it’s nice to be surrounded by people who don’t know how much responsibility rests on my shoulders.

I’m in deep cover—always have been and probably always will be. No one in my personal life, not even my sisters, knows I’m a spy.

Well, at least no one did. Until Nick.

I still can’t believe the co-directors, Neville and Blaire, picked Nick over me to lead the Northeast Regional office. Not only is Nick a year younger but he has three fewer years in the field. He didn’t join the junior recruit program until he was sixteen, and even if he weren’t practically a child, maturity-wise, he’s too laid back to be taken seriously by the older agents who will be reporting to him from all of northern Europe.

Hell, I can’t take him seriously, and we’re only twelve months apart in age.

Almost exactly twelve months. My sisters and I turned twenty-six tonight, and Nick’s twenty-fifth birthday is a little over two weeks away. He invited me to stay on in Baden-Bergen after our forced family fun holiday concludes for his birthday bash. I declined, of course. Sharing my birthday weekend in Switzerland with him and his brothers, then suffering through the holiday insanity in Gallantia with both of our families will fill my quota for both familial bonding and partying for the next six months.

I don’t like bonding. Or partying.

I like work.

Work is my safe place, my refuge, the realm where I’ve always met or exceeded expectations. At work, no one wants me to be anything but what I am—a highly trained professional who gets the job done and keeps her feelings to herself.

When you grow up the way I did—in a home helmed by flighty narcissists, feeling responsible for your two more fragile and emotional sisters—control is good. Power is even better.

But Nick has the power now.

He knows I’m a spy, he knows I applied for the job that’s now his, and he knows I’m pissed about both of the above.

But he doesn’t know you think about that kiss in Romania way more than you should. At least there’s that.

My inner voice sounds confident, but as I cut a glance Nick’s way, I’m not so sure. The way his eyes flash every time they meet mine, the way he looks like he’s mulling over some private joke and fighting the urge to laugh…

I think Nickolas Von Bergen knows I liked that kiss.

And he intends to use my weakness to his advantage.

Fat chance, pretty boy, I telegraph with my eyes as he slides closer and whispers, “Chat after the lovebirds go to bed? I have a proposition for you, 007.”

My nostrils flare, but I’m careful to keep my expression neutral and my voice low as I ask, “Are you insane?” He should know better than to tease me about work in front of anyone—especially my family.

He smiles. “No, I’m brilliant. Meet me in my closet at two a.m. Sabrina and Andrew should have passed out by then.”

“I will not,” I say through gritted teeth, forcing a smile as Sabrina casts a curious glance our way, clearly wondering why I’m suddenly open to having my head this close to Nick’s when I’ve been treating him like an infectious disease the entire weekend. “You’re not my boss yet. It’s not official until it’s official.”

“True. But…if you play your cards right, it might never be official. Or at least not for long.” He leans over, pressing a quick kiss to my cheek before adding in a louder voice, “I like you, too, Zanda Panda. I’m so glad we decided to kiss and make up.”

Before I can whip up a retort, he stands. Swinging one leg over the edge of the tub, he dribbles water all over me as he moves, leaving me sputtering.

Sabrina snorts in amusement, and Andrew chokes on his sip of champagne.

“Oh, no. You’d better run, Nick,” Sabrina says, still laughing. “She’s got her spitting cat face on.”

“I do not.” I school my features, but it’s too late. Nick’s won this round. He surprised me, got under my skin, and threw me off my