by J. Kenner
It had become a thing at the bar. Unlike the calendar, the men weren’t shirtless and the pictures weren’t published anywhere. But sometimes customers photographed the board and shared the candid photos all across social media. For that reason, #TheFixOnSixth was conveniently displayed over the image board.
It was, on the whole, a great promotional strategy for the bar, and while Leopold respected that, he did not want to participate. What if some royal-watching customer came over to check out the board? What a ridiculous way to have his cover blown.
Except there was Skye doing puppy dog eyes at him with so much exaggeration that he had to laugh.
“Oh, come on, Leo. It will be fun. Don’t you want to memorialize this month?”
“Desperately,” he said, making her laugh from the leer in his voice.
“Okay, disappoint me.” She exhaled an exaggerated sigh. “It’s not like I won’t judge … you for the rest of eternity … for this moment.”
Now, he really was laughing. This woman matched him so perfectly, their senses of humor lining up like a covalent bond. Or back to quantum entanglement.
He saw Tyree approaching with a camera, and knew that he was sunk. Besides, he’d already conceded in his head. As far as he was concerned, what Skye wanted Skye got, and she obviously wanted him to do this silly thing.
“Hey, Leo.” Tyree reached out for a high-five, his large hand practically swallowing Leopold’s. He lifted the camera. “Are you going to be joining our calendar board today?”
Leopold put on his best smile even as he watched Jürgen scowling at him from across the room. “I guess I am,” he said.
A few minutes later, he had a copy of the photo that Tyree had selected from the dozen or so snaps he’d taken.
“I love it,” Skye said, pulling it off the photo printer. “Can I keep it?”
“What? My first cover shoot and you’re taking the evidence?”
She pressed it against her heart, and when she said, “Please,” it didn’t feel like teasing.
“Yes,” he said softly. “Of course, you can.”
“Thank you.” She hesitated a moment, then held it out to him. “Will you sign it?”
Wasn’t that an inconvenient question?
“Great big famous cover model that you are, I want to get a piece of that.” She added a leer to her voice that made him laugh.
“Do you?”
She looked him slowly up and down, making every atom in his body accelerate its spin. “Yeah,” she said, her voice low and a little shy. “I really do.”
“Skye…” He didn’t know what to say. He saw the want in her eyes; he heard it in her voice. And oh, but he wanted it, too.
He held out his hand. “Let me have the picture.”
She did, and he borrowed a Sharpie from one of the passing servers. He wrote the first thing he thought of—Love, Leo—then passed it back to her.
He watched as she read it, her hands trembling slightly. Her teeth grazed her lower lip, and she looked up at him through lowered lashes. Then she rose up on her toes and kissed his cheek, and he felt like nothing he could do as king could feel better than this.
“Thank you.”
“Anything to make you happy.” As he spoke, he realized just how true that was. For no reason other than to make her happy, he’d just shared a part of himself with the world. Not that he expected the photo to get out, but there was a bit of a risk, and he’d taken it for her. He was tumbling off into space, and he knew it.
The weird thing was, he loved it.
They ordered another round of drinks, then sipped their Loaded Coronas. He told her how the research with Professor Malkin was going, and she asked all the right questions. Then he listened as she talked about her summer job at her father’s firm and the federal clerkship she hoped to get after graduation. A one-year term on the Second Circuit in New York, after which she'd return home to Austin and the family business.
At one point, he realized that he hadn’t even noticed the slur in her words or the pauses in her sentences.
“No desire to see what other firm might want you?” he asked. “Or to do something entirely different? Teach or go in-house?”
She shook her head. “That firm is home. I practically grew up there. By the time I was twelve, I was actually proofreading briefs. By the time I was fifteen, I was writing them. It’s not a lack of ambition or me being stuck in a rut. It’s wanting to help continue building something excellent that started generations ago.”
He nodded. “I get that. I’ve worked in my father’s business all my life as well. And I’ve pretty much learned how to run it. Fortunately, I don’t have to yet, but I could if something happened to him.”
“Do you want to?”
“Run the business?” He shook his head. “No. My sister would be much better at that. My passion is physics.”
She nodded. “I can hear how much you love it when you talk about it.”
“I do. But the business is important to the family, and there are reasons why my sister can’t take over. So I’m afraid it may fall to me. No, not afraid. I know that it will.”
Her forehead wrinkled, and she frowned. “I’m sorry. Maybe you could—”
“No. Thanks, but I’d rather not talk about it. Believe me, I’ve spent much of my life wondering how to avoid it. It’s not a fun subject. I’d rather talk about, well, anything else.”
“Fair enough. How about the moon landing? I mean, Neil Armstrong. What a guy, right?”
He practically exploded with laughter. “Yes. The moon landing, and then we can move on to old James Bond films.”
The weird thing was they did exactly that. They talked about the moon landing and the current state of space exploration. They talked about the law, then physics. From there, they somehow managed to move on to Blumhouse horror movies and twist that over to James Bond, with both agreeing that Sean Connery was the best.
They bounced from topic to topic with such seamless ease, it was almost as if they were characters in a play who had rehearsed this conversation over and over again. Or a couple who had been together for years and not just weeks.
Quantum entanglement, he thought again.
It was unexpected. It was wonderful.
And it was so damned inconvenient.
They finally moved their conversation from the bar to the street, then walked back to her place. He paid no attention to their surroundings. He was too wrapped up in the conversation and the feel of her hand twined with his.
Foolish, yes, but Jürgen was out there somewhere, making sure all was well. It was a lack of privacy, true. But one Leo grew up with, and it was so familiar that he barely thought about his constant shadow.
It was past midnight when they reached the door to her condo, and he expected her to invite him in. They’d have a drink, talk a bit more. He’d hold her, kiss her, lose himself in her. But that was as far as it would go, and after a few hours, he’d leave, summon Jürgen, and head back to their rented house.
Tonight, though, she paused after punching in the entry code.
“I have one condition tonight,” she said, her eyes locked on his. “If you come in, you don’t leave until morning.”
He felt the shift in the air as the universe aligned. “Skye, you—we—you know I won’t be staying in America. I can’t promise you—”
“I don’t care.” She slid into his arms. “I’m falling for you, Leo. And maybe I can’t have you forever. But if you let me, I can have you for now. Please,” she added in a whisper. “I trust you. More than that I want you to be my first.”
He should walk away. He shouldn’t claim this moment as his own when he held onto so many secrets.
He should tell her no, but he didn’t. Because he was a selfish ass, and oh, God, how he craved her. Yes, he’d have to go back home, but it wouldn’t be tomorrow or even next week.
They had time, and he wanted to fill it with Skye.
Chapter Ten
Present Day<
br />
“So you said no?” Hannah sat across from her at one of the tables at The Fix. “To working with a prince?” She shot a sideways glance at Bart, Skye’s roommate, and lifted her brows before turning her attention back to Skye. “Do you really think that was a good idea?”
“Of course it was,” Bart said. He reached across the table and squeezed Skye’s hand. “The guy was a son of a bitch.”
Skye squeezed back. Bart hadn’t been around two years ago when everything had fallen apart with Leo, when his abrupt disappearance the morning after the first and only time they’d made love had shattered her dreams. But he was one of her closest friends now, and he knew the story. And, yeah, she appreciated the loyalty.
She cocked her head, looking at Hannah. Hannah was one of her closest friends too. And while she wished that Hannah was on her and Bart’s side, she couldn’t deny that she had to at least give what her friend said a little consideration.
“I know that from a career standpoint, it was probably an idiot move. But his leaving destroyed me. How am I supposed to do that again?”
“It’s been two years,” Hannah said. “And everything’s changed now. And don’t forget—he was the asshole, but you got screwed. This is a chance to fix that, because if you bring him on as a client, at least you’re getting something from him.” She shrugged. “Even if it’s only massive billable hours and clout for the firm.”
Everything had changed? Skye supposed it had. Everything that mattered, anyway. Before, she’d allowed herself the fantasy that they would end up together. Now that she knew who and what he was, she knew that she’d dodged a bullet.
Even if he’d wanted her in his homeland, she couldn’t do it. Being that much in the public eye? It would be a nightmare.
More important, he’d never asked. He’d done the opposite of asking. He bolted back home without even saying goodbye.
She’d been despondent at first, her whole body aching with waves of alternating grief and anger. But then someone had recognized him from the picture at The Fix.
At first, Skye had thought they were just bullshitting her. Then she’d done some research. And, sure enough, he was a prince. A prince who’d left the States to go to the side of his ailing father, the king, who had not been expected to live through the week.
The king had pulled through, and though Skye kept expecting Leo to call or come back to Texas, even if just to see Professor Malkin, he never did. And though the hurt never fully went away, it did fade. After all, the hurt was only about her ego.
The real truth was that he’d done her a favor. She couldn’t even imagine what it would be like to date a royal, even one from a relatively anonymous country. There would be press. She would be expected to make statements.
She’d never taken anxiety drugs, but she had a feeling that a life on Leo’s arm would require intravenous Xanax. No, that definitely wasn’t happening.
Which, of course, meant that Hannah was right. Things had changed. Everything except the way she felt about him.
She reached for her wine and took a sip to hide what was undoubtedly showing on her face, because in the conference room, she’d felt those butterflies again. That warm and wonderful feeling that she’d felt the first time she met him. And she wasn’t sure if she could work with him on a professional level unless those butterflies were exterminated.
“If you don’t face him,” Hannah said gently, “It’s never going to go away.”
Skye sighed. “How do you do that?”
Hannah shrugged and grinned. “You’re my best friend. I can read you like a book. That and the fact that you’ve told me you’d never gotten over him. But you know why, don’t you?”
Skye rolled her eyes, not wanting to say the answer out loud.
Bart looked between the two of them. “So you’re suggesting that she work with this guy so that she can be close to this guy so she can get over this guy? That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard.”
“No,” Skye said. “I actually think it’s pretty smart.” She could hear the misery in her voice. Being close to him wouldn’t be easy. But if they were working on a professional level then once he left, that would be the relationship that lingered. Not the long nights in his arms and gentle kisses. Instead it would be document revisions and strategy sessions for how to approach his advisors. Hardly romantic stuff.
“But it’s not only about getting over him,” Hannah said.
“I know. I know,” Skye said. “It’s important to my dad.”
Hannah rolled her eyes. “To your dad? It should be important to you, too. You know that, Skye. He would be a hell of a client, and all of the branches of the firm are going to know that you’re the reason he came. Because of that article you wrote. This is a way to make absolutely clear that you belong at a firm as important as Porter, Jenson & Kaye no matter what your last name is.”
“Okay, I changed my mind,” Bart said. “Hannah really does have a point. I mean, landing a royal as a client for my firm? The partners would go wild. Hell, they’d give me a crown.”
Skye couldn’t help a grin at the mental image of Bart wearing a crown. He was one hell of a good-looking man, but it was Leo that she was picturing in the royal attire.
Mentally, she waved the image away. She did not need him in her head dressed as a royal or just dressed as Leo. Either way, it wasn’t a good idea.
“He’s in town through the symposium,” Bart said, looking up from his phone. “It says here that the prince is going to New York after that for some meetings at the UN. But that’s a full two weeks you have to work with him. And get him out of your system.”
She pressed her fingertips to her temple. “Two years ago, I would have been thrilled to have him in the audience. Now, it just … makes me even more nervous.” She shuddered. “At least my stage fright is winning out over my angst about Leo.”
Hannah reached over and put her hand on Skye’s in a sympathetic gesture. Bart just frowned, his finger tapping on the tabletop.
“What?” Skye asked.
“You’re nervous because you’re speaking in front of a crowd,” Bart said.
“Thank you for stating the obvious,” Skye said.
He stared at her, then twirled his hand in a come on gesture. She shrugged, clueless.
He sighed with exasperation. “Skye, have you ever taken a public speaking class?”
She gaped at him. “Uh, no. I thought I would … save the world the torture of having to listen to me speak publicly. Not to mention … terrifying.”
“And yet you’re doing it at symposium.”
“Thank you for playing on my worst fears when I’m trying to have a drink.”
“I’m just saying that maybe a little training wouldn’t be a bad idea. And considering how many public speeches a prince makes, perhaps it would be a good idea to ask Leo to help you get ready.”
Hannah sat up straighter. “Oh, yes. You’re already going to be spending time with him doing the work on succession, right? So maybe you should get something in exchange other than billable hours.”
“I don’t know what you two are—oh.” She looked between the two of them then grinned.
“It’s the perfect idea,” Bart said. “You know I’m right.”
Skye sat back unable to fight a small smile. It was the perfect idea.
She only hoped it wasn’t also a perfect mistake.
Chapter Eleven
Skye felt only slightly guilty about calling Emily at home on a Friday night, but she wanted to contact Leo right then while she was still slightly buzzed from drinks with Hannah and Bart. Because as soon as her head cleared, she was certain she’d lose her nerve.
Now she stood at the door to his suite, having been cleared by the guard posted at the elevator door. Two years ago, he’d lived in an apartment, and there’d been no guards, no procedures. Then again, two years ago she hadn’t known he was a prince.
“Jerk,” she muttered, but even though the word was completely a
ccurate—even though the way he’d bolted still stung—some traitorous part deep inside her hoped that he would accept her proposal. Not because she wanted him, of course. But because Hannah and Bart were right. Who better to teach her how to be calm in front of an audience? Because unless she could control her nerves, no one would be able to understand a single word she said.
And, okay, yes. Maybe she wanted to see him, too. But only for closure.
Just do this.
Right. Okay.
She drew a breath, lifted her hand, and rapped on the door.
A moment later, it opened inward, and she found herself looking at the sharp-cut features and hard, almost-black eyes of Jürgen Braun, Leo’s best friend. Except of course, he wasn’t really. He was an attendant or courtier, or whatever you called someone who worked for a royal.
“Ms. Porter,” Jürgen said, his accent as thick as she’d remembered. “It’s a pleasure to see you again.” He swept his arm to usher her in, and as she crossed the threshold she almost admonished him to call her Skye. They’d been friends, after all.
Except they hadn’t. Not really. It had all been fake.
Her back was to him, and she took a moment to collect herself before glancing over her shoulder to smile politely. “It’s good to see you again.”
He hesitated, and for a moment she had the impression he was going to speak. Then he simply gestured for her to take a seat. “His Highness will be out soon.”
“Right.” Her throat went dry, and she started toward the ornate sofa. She knew the suite well, as the firm often put VIPs up there. It was smaller than she’d expect for royalty with only one bedroom and less than a thousand square feet. But it was beautifully appointed and had a view of Sixth Street from the corner balcony.
She imagined that someone from Leo’s security team stayed up at night on the couch while he took the bedroom. “You’re his security guard,” she said to Jürgen as the pieces fell into place.
