His Royal Highness

by Grey, R. S.

  “I’d like that,” I said, feeling shy again all of sudden.

  “We’ll meet here again in a month. Your task before then is to make a friend in the program. You’ll need someone to lean on through the next four years.”

  I nibbled on my lip before asking what I thought was a simple question.

  “And you don’t count?”

  The question was meant in innocence. What is a mentor if not a friend? But his brows furrowed slightly as he studied me quietly. Then Heather walked back in, interrupting our meeting. Derek never answered me one way or the other, but the truth is, he was the very first friend I made that fall.

  * * *

  For the next month, Derek and I exchanged emails a few times a week. In each one, he’d assign me a small task: read through this article on economics and management, listen to this podcast on hospitality trends in the US, skim through and take to heart The New Gold Standard: 5 Leadership Principles for Creating a Legendary Customer Experience Courtesy of the Ritz-Carlton Hotel Company. None of the assignments were graded or anything and Derek knew the mentorship program was mostly meant to be an easy one-hour blow-off credit, but I’d complete his tasks soon after he sent them, digesting the concepts and themes as best as possible and composing thoughtful emails back to him. In some ways, I felt like Derek’s equal, which was laughable considering the cavernous gap between my position in the company and his.

  His emails were always time-stamped at odd hours. 4:30 AM. 9:20 PM. 1:23 AM. I wondered if he ever slept.

  All of his subsequent tasks proved easier to accomplish than the first one he’d issued.

  Making friends didn’t come naturally to me, but I could be outgoing in my job. Talking to strangers while dressed up in my Fairytale Kingdom uniform never seemed all that hard. Outside of work, though, I’d slink right back into my shell. I’d never thought of myself as a loner, but before college, I always had Avery. After school and on weekends, life always seemed to revolve around her. I’d never had time to notice my lack of friends.

  Now, it was at the forefront of my mind every day when I’d walk into the dorm cafeteria and realize I had no one to sit with. I had noticed another girl sitting by herself, her head bent low over a book every time I passed her by. I fantasized about waltzing up to her and introducing myself, but I never did. The idea of it nearly made me sick.

  I told Derek about her in an email once. He encouraged me to talk to her; in fact, he said, “If she likes to read that much, she’d make a great friend.”

  I didn’t work up the courage until a week later. Hopped up on an extra cup of caffeine, tired of spending lunch holed up in my dorm room alone, and aware that I was only a few days away from my second meeting with Derek (and wanting to make him proud), I gathered my food from the buffet line and walked directly toward the booth where the girl sat reading.

  “Hi. Is this seat taken?”

  Her head jerked up in surprise. Her black hair, trimmed short at the base of her chin, was set off by her fair skin. She had long front bangs straight from the ’60s and startling blue eyes—blue eyes that were staring up at me in shock.

  Abort.

  Run!

  Like a trapped animal, I searched around me for an exit. Though the cafeteria doors were yards away, a row of windows were near enough for me to dive through at my own peril.

  Then she finally spoke.

  “Oh, um, no, it’s not taken.” She dragged her backpack off the table and set it down on the seat beside her. “Go for it.”

  I sat down. She closed her book. There was silence so loud I started to sweat. I knew I needed to conjure up small talk, but the part of my brain capable of that function was currently screaming at me to stop being weird.

  “Were you reading ahead for class?” I finally asked, nodding toward her textbook.

  She seemed hesitant to admit she was.

  “I have been too. Honestly, with the semester in full swing, I’m so nervous about getting behind. I’ve tried to stay on top of our assignments.”

  She nodded, unveiling a small smile. “Where are you stationed in the park?”

  “Elena’s Castle.”

  Her brows perked up. “Really? That sounds cool. I wanted to work in the Costuming Department, but I got placed in València over near the Enchanted Forest instead. I’ve had a few shifts where I shadowed the chef or maître d', but most of the time, I’m just bussing tables.”

  “No way! That’s still awesome. I’ve never even been inside.”

  She smiled, viewing her position with new enthusiasm now that I had deemed it cool. “Sometimes at the end of my shifts, they let me take home leftover food.”

  My jaw dropped. The restaurant was Michelin-starred. Reservations were based on a lottery system. There were news stories all the time of celebrities getting turned away.

  We stayed there talking through the remainder of lunch. Small talk gave way to frenzied chatter, each of us talking over the other in a rush to get out all the words we’d been swallowing the last few weeks.

  In the middle of that chaos, I found out Carrie wasn’t living in the dorms.

  “They were booked up by the time I sent in my housing request. I’m staying with a family friend about twenty minutes from the park.”

  I nearly leapt across the table with excitement. “I don’t have a roommate! They never showed up, and to be honest, I’m not even sure administration realizes I’m living by myself.”

  “Really?”

  I nodded, wheels spinning.

  Neither one of us thought it was weird to suggest rooming together within thirty minutes of meeting. In fact, we were both on board. We left the cafeteria side by side and marched to the admin office together. My first task from Derek was officially complete.

  * * *

  For my second meeting with Derek, I wore an emerald green wrap dress similar to the one I’d seen Heather wear the month before. It was brand new and courtesy of the Knightley Company. An electronic gift card had hit my inbox three weeks prior, sent from Heather to make up for the coffee incident. $200 to Nordstrom. I’d stretched every penny of it so it would cover a new dress, a fitted blazer off the clearance rack, and a pair of comfortable yet stylish flats that actually fit. I’d purchased the same pair for Carrie. When I surprised her with them later back in our dorm, her jaw dropped.

  “You didn’t have to do that!”

  I gave her a pointed look. “I think I tried on just about every piece of clothing inside Nordstrom while you sat inside that cramped dressing room. It’s the least I can do.” I push the shoes toward her. “Besides, now we match.”

  The dress was professional and pretty, fitted with a tie at my waist. I felt like a woman about to charge into a boardroom and bark orders to cowering underlings.

  However, my confidence drained as soon as I took a step inside the coffee shop. Derek was at the same table as before, though this time, he stood surrounded by a group of people. He was the sun, and they were planets orbiting, shuffling, vying to be the closest one to him. They listened as he spoke. If possible, they would have snatched his words out of thin air and stuffed them down their throats. I wondered if I looked that desperate when I was near him.

  Of course I did.

  I couldn’t work up the courage to infiltrate the group. Tap tap. Hello, mind if I cut in?

  Instead, I started to head for the counter so I could order a coffee and ask them to glue the lid in place so there could be no danger of me meeting Derek with coffee spilled across my clothes for a second time.

  I was halfway to the counter when Derek’s authoritative tone cut through the hum of conversation.

  “Whitney.”

  Heads turned in my direction.

  I was slow to look over my shoulder, as if even after a month of near-constant emails, I wasn’t absolutely certain I was the Whitney he was calling out to.

  When our eyes met, he nodded for me to join him.

  “Heather already got your coffee.”

&n
bsp; Short of feigning a bathroom emergency, I had no choice but to pivot and head straight for them. Oh goodie. Strolling toward that group of young professionals, I felt the weight of a hundred judgmental stares. It’s a wonder I kept my footing. Their thoughts were projected on scrolling marquees. Who is she? Why is Heather buying her coffee?

  Then I reached the table and Derek made it clear he and I had a meeting. They scattered quickly, but not before desperately throwing out final parting words: “I’ll shoot you an email about that request!” “I’d love to hear more of your thoughts on the expansion.” “I’ll get in contact with Heather about setting up a meeting!”

  Once they were gone, Derek tugged my chair out for me, an act of chivalry I’d never before experienced. For a moment, we stood a smidge too close. His size threw me off. You see a man that tall and toned in an action film and you think, Run. But Derek was no tough guy, at least not that I’d seen.

  He pointed to my coffee, sitting before me on the table.

  “Heather made me promise I wouldn’t spill it on you before she left.”

  I couldn’t meet his eyes when I smiled. Instead, I watched him from beneath my lashes as he rounded the table. The chair that made me feel small looked almost diminutive under him.

  “We have twenty minutes,” he told me, sounding nearly apologetic.

  I wanted to lean forward and start speaking at a rapid-fire pace. Twenty minutes wasn’t enough. It was hardly anything.

  Derek didn’t waste a second.

  “I brought that book for you,” he said, reaching down into his beaten leather messenger bag.

  Without Reservations by J.W. Marriott, Jr., slid across the table.

  I noticed the yellow tabs stuck between the pages.

  “Those are the sections I think you could learn the most from,” he explained. “They’ll help with your profile.”

  “I’ll read the whole thing,” I assured him, knowing I would.

  I wanted nothing more than to impress him, to soak up every small piece of information he felt compelled to offer. He nodded and I noticed a glint of respect in his gaze. He admired my work ethic the same way I did his.

  The book was for a class assignment. I had to profile an entrepreneur in the hospitality industry, and Derek had been the one to suggest I write about J.W. Marriott, Jr. He’d first been assigned the book by a professor at Princeton.

  “How are things going with your new roommate?” he asked after I slid the book onto my lap. Both hands wrapped around it like it was a prized possession.

  “Good. She helped me pick out this dress.” I glanced down at it then shot him a crooked smile. “Thank you, by the way.” His brows furrowed in confusion and I hurried to explain, “Heather sent over a gift card to make up for the coffee-stained suit.”

  “Ah.” Understanding dawned on his perfectly honed features. “I’m glad.”

  Then, for some reason, silence clung to us. He glanced at the dress for only a moment before reaching for his coffee.

  I turned red and tried desperately to come up with another subject for conversation. It felt like I was waiting for him to give his opinion of the dress, but that would be inappropriate. He was my mentor. As long as I was professionally dressed, it was irrelevant what I wore.

  Oh god, does he think I’m waiting for a compliment? Speak! Say something.

  I held up the book. “Thank you for this, by the way. Everyone else in the class is still floundering for who they’ll choose.”

  “I wouldn’t be surprised if more than one of them profiled him as well.”

  “Well, I’ll just have to do it better.”

  We jumped into a discussion about my assignment and how I should approach it. There was no mention of what he thought about the dress, which I thought was for the best. I wasn’t sure I’d survive a compliment from Derek.

  Over the following weeks, Derek and I communicated often, but the topics always stayed professional. We discussed my internship and coursework at school, how I was doing in my classes, what his role as Head of Entertainment looked like. Once, I shadowed him for an entire day. In the morning, we met outside of the coffee shop, and much to my annoyance, Heather remained by our side all day. He barely noticed I was there, too focused on his work. He met with the Head of Casting and discussed the planned performances for the holiday season, ensuring staff was hired and properly trained. We ran from there to another meeting, this one conducted in an office overlooking Castle Drive. Heather told me to sit quietly in the corner, and I did, watching Derek command the room. I doubt I even remembered to blink. I doubt I could have repeated a single sentence uttered. I was too infatuated. I understood that day why Derek paired his slacks with stylish tennis shoes instead of loafers. Though my new flats were comfortable, we covered the entire area of the park at least three times over, and when I made it back to my dorm that night, my feet were killing me.

  I looked forward to our next monthly meeting at the coffee shop like it was something special. I marked the date on my calendar with little red stars. Sleep was out of the question on the night before we met. I lay awake, imagining him sitting at our table, waiting for me, agonizing over how I would greet him. Hi Derek! Heya Derek! Hey there, bud.

  I was lucky. Carrie simply tolerated her mentor. She was an executive in the legal department, a mom of five with barely enough time in her day to use the restroom on a regular basis. “Once, she made me go with her and talked to me through the stall!” Carrie lamented.

  She only met with Carrie when it was absolutely necessary to fulfill the course requirement. Beyond that, they never spoke. Carrie would see me lying in bed in our dorm room, reading the books Derek had lent me and moan about how much she wished Derek was her mentor too. The idea of having to share him made my stomach ache so hard I’d nearly double over.

  I told myself I was only territorial of our time together because I was wringing invaluable knowledge from him, but in truth, it was more pitiful than that. From our very first encounter, my head and my heart were on two different pages when it came to Derek Knightley. Ten years my senior, a full-grown man in a position of power in the company I worked for—logic told me to crush my burgeoning romantic feelings for him. My heart thought logic could go to hell.

  * * *

  My heart caught a break the week before Thanksgiving. On my way to my fourth monthly meeting with Derek, I received a phone call from my parents. We spoke every now and then, but always at night, when they knew I was home from class and work. A call in the middle of the day had me worried. My mind immediately jumped to worst-case scenarios about Avery, but my alarm bells weren’t necessary. She was still fit as a fiddle, but they weren’t going to be able to make it down to Georgia for Thanksgiving.

  The news devastated me.

  I hadn’t seen them since they left for New York at the end of summer. I’d been using Thanksgiving as a lifeline in my head, though I didn’t realize how profoundly until they yanked it away.

  I knew Avery hadn’t landed the role in the off-Broadway play she’d auditioned for months ago, and her agent had her auditioning for any role he could find. He was hopeful she’d land one soon. “He says your sister has the potential to be a real star!” My parents told me it wasn’t a good time to travel. They needed to focus—on Avery. I would have just suggested I fly up to visit them instead, but I couldn’t. The holiday season is a busy time for Fairytale Kingdom with so many children on break from school. Upon accepting my position in the internship program, I’d agreed I would be able to work through the holidays.

  I hurried off the phone, both worried that I was late for my meeting with Derek and too upset to effectively articulate how disappointed I was that they weren’t coming down to Georgia. There was no mention of Christmas plans, but my gut knew the odds weren’t in my favor there either.

  After a steadying breath, I tucked my phone into my bag and rushed into the coffee shop just as Heather was leaving. We nodded to one another, but I didn’t meet her eyes. I bare
ly had a hold on my emotions. I was already sitting down in the chair across from Derek before he even looked up. My hair shielded one side of my face as I busied myself with getting a book out of my backpack to give back to him.

  “Hey Whitney.”

  His voice, though husky and masculine, had such a polite edge to it, an edge that easily pierced my defenseless heart.

  I didn’t speak—couldn’t speak, not with my throat so tight.

  “What’s wrong?”

  I immediately tried to rearrange my features to better conceal my mood. “What? Oh. It’s nothing.” I slid the book across the table and maintained eye contact with its spine. “Thank you for letting me borrow this,” I said, trying to push the conversation into neutral territory.

  “Are you sure you’re okay?”

  “Yes. Fine. It’s a silly family thing. Nothing worth sharing. I really liked that book, by the way.”

  I wiped viciously at my cheeks, angry with the few tears for giving me away. There was already such a distinct age difference between us, and crying would undo all the weeks of work I’d done to present myself in a mature light.

  “I have silly family stuff too. You’re not alone in that respect.”

  He was trying to lighten my load, but I didn’t need him doing that. Nothing good would come from me crying on his shoulder.

  “I bet it might even be sillier than yours,” he goaded. I could hear the teasing smile in his words, but I knew better than to look up. His face was still altogether too much to handle at times, especially in that moment.

  “It’s not a competition,” I chided.

  “Says the person who might lose.”

  I couldn’t believe we were joking about something this serious. I was upset about my family. Wounded. I didn’t want him making light of it. I wanted to feel sorry for myself.

  He began anyway, ignoring my plans to mope. “My mom passed away when I was young and last year, my father remarried for the fourth time. I haven’t met his new wife, though I hear she’s lovely. About my age. She’s French and doesn’t speak a lick of English. Of course, my father doesn’t speak a word of French, so you can imagine how well they get on at dinner.”