His Royal Highness

by Grey, R. S.

  I thought the shifts I worked with Derek last week were endless and misery-inducing, but somehow, this is worse.

  His theory is a big fat cloud sitting over our heads. I can’t even look at him, especially after a guy tries to get handsy with me and Derek intervenes. Ryan wouldn’t have even noticed. In the ten months I worked with Ryan, I had countless men act inappropriately toward me while I was in costume as Princess Elena. Nothing scary, just sly comments and not-so-sly innuendos, a few phone numbers hastily written on scratch paper and shoved into my hand, but apparently that sort of thing won’t fly with Derek by my side. When a young man—slightly inebriated and very cocky—demands I take a picture with him and then lingers by my side, arm around my waist, Derek forcibly removes him.

  “Aw c’mon, I was just asking her out! Look at her, man!”

  I don’t hear what Derek says to him, but the guy’s face pales and he holds his hands up in innocence before walking away. Apparently, his interest in me wasn’t worth incurring Derek’s wrath.

  When Derek walks back to take his place beside me, straightening his jacket, I offer him a small smile. “Thank you. I appreciate it.”

  He nods, and that’s that. He might as well have said, I’m just doing my job.

  After our shift, Derek surprises me by staying back. Most of the time, he’s the first to leave. Heather is always hovering nearby with her phone pressed to her ear and her clipboard in hand, ready to immediately jump into park business. Today, however, he holds his finger up to her and turns to me.

  “Forgive me for overstepping earlier. It was inappropriate to ask you to dinner while we were at work.”

  His tone is more formal than I’ve ever heard it, steel where before it was velvet.

  I open my mouth, grasping for a response, but I’m left shaking my head.

  I want to tell him it’s okay. I didn’t take offense in the least, but he’s already turning to join Heather, too busy to wait around for me to get my head on straight.

  Later, I wonder if he assumed I’d lumped him in with that drunk guy. I didn’t. Not in the least. Even if I have no plans of giving in to his flirtatious advances, I still want Derek’s attention. It’s an ego boost to the teenager left inside me.

  At lunch, Carrie sits across from me, showing me some of the sketches and fabric samples for the holiday parade costumes. We have our first rehearsal on Friday and the parades start up in a few weeks. She’s worried she won’t be able to get everything done in time.

  While we talk, a shadow falls over us and my gut clenches. I assume it’s Derek. I grab my fork. Then, realizing I don’t need a weapon where he’s concerned, just a rock-solid set of armor, I release the fork and glance up to find Thomas there instead.

  I sag in my seat.

  Carrie lights up like Times Square.

  “Hi Thomas.”

  “Hey, I’m glad I caught you. I know we’re supposed to meet at 3:00 to go over costuming, but is there any chance we could talk now? I have a meeting at 2:30 that might run long.”

  “Of course.” She nods enthusiastically, brushing her half-finished lunch out of the way like she’s not sure why it was there in the first place. Most of it spills onto my tray. Uh, thanks. Her apple rolls onto the ground with a thud, but she doesn’t care. “I was actually just going over designs with Whitney, anyway.”

  As a manager in the Entertainment Department, Thomas is in charge of producing the holiday parade. As it happens, Carrie is helming the costume crew this year. They’ll have to work together closely, and by the sounds of it, neither one of them minds in the least.

  Her gaze finds mine, widens with a silent plea, and already I’m collecting my things.

  “You don’t mind, do you?”

  “No. Not in the least.”

  I get up and move to a table filled with a few of the girls from my dorm. Their joy at having me join them for lunch makes me feel good, like maybe, even with everything going on, I’m still doing a good job as their residence hall coordinator. Then, after my butt barely makes contact with my seat, they all lean in, tones hushed, and demand information about Derek.

  “We know you’re working with him now!”

  Apparently, word has spread.

  “Is he as good-looking as everyone says?”

  I don’t answer that.

  “Are you guys going to have to kiss in the holiday parade or is that just a rumor?”

  Dear God, I hope not.

  I leave the table without a word and decide lunch is overrated. My time would be better spent locked inside my dressing room, hiding from my problems.

  * * *

  Wednesday night at Cal’s should be a nice reprieve. I walk in, toss my bag on the floor beside the door, and go searching for Ava.

  She’s in the kitchen, finishing up dinner. I walk up to her and rest my head on her shoulder.

  She laughs. “Long day?”

  “Longest.”

  “Want to talk about it?”

  “Not in the least.”

  She kisses the top of my head and assures me, “I’ll make your favorite dessert.”

  Unfortunately, Cal doesn’t get the memo to go easy on me.

  “I’m considering bumping Thomas up to Head of Entertainment when Pam retires,” he announces while we eat.

  Makes sense. He’s too qualified for his current role anyway, and his end goal was always to run the department.

  “That’ll leave his current position open,” Cal continues.

  I understand where he’s headed because we’ve gone down this road before. Many times.

  “Could you pass the salt?”

  He ignores me.

  “I think you’re more than qualified to take his position.” I push food around my plate. “And you’re going to have to consider the possibility of leaving your current post one day. Why not now?”

  “I like my job.”

  “What’s your long-term plan?”

  I sigh. “Can’t we just eat dinner?”

  It’s times like this that our roles as mentor/mentee blend into father/daughter. It’s like I’ve forgotten he’s Charles Knightley. Right now, he’s just Cal, pushing me out of my comfort zone.

  I don’t like it.

  I want Ava and her warm apple-pie-baking hugs.

  I can sense he’s not going to drop the subject until I give him an answer.

  With a sigh, I say, “I guess I’ll work where I am until it no longer makes sense, and then I’ll decide what to do then. Hey, maybe I’ll just go back to selling balloons on Castle Drive.”

  He studies me, quiet. His astute ability to cut through my layers reminds me of Derek. Then he nods, “All right. If that’s what will make you happy.”

  I think about that word through the rest of dinner. I haven’t really been happy for the last few weeks. I’ve been living on the edge of my seat. Waiting. If I have any hope of regaining some semblance of happiness, I need to take control of this situation with Derek, steer it in a direction I’m comfortable with. So, just before I leave, I ask Cal for Derek’s new address. If he’s curious about why I need it, he doesn’t let on.

  I head straight to the exec apartment complex after leaving Cal’s.

  Inside, I head for the bank of elevators just past the lobby, but I’m stopped by a woman behind the reception desk. Her hair is pulled up into a severe bun. Her suit is jet black. Her nails are trimmed and neat.

  Apparently, all residents have to show an ID for security purposes. I have my work badge, but it doesn’t suffice.

  “Who are you here to see? I’ll call.”

  “Oh, um…Derek Knightley.”

  Her skeptical glare doesn’t go unnoticed. She likely thinks I’m some kind of groupie here to invade his privacy. Still, she places the call while staring at me down the bridge of her nose.

  “Yes, Mr. Knightley, sorry to disturb you. There’s a Whitney Atwood here to see you. Should I send her up or…?”

  Send her packing.

  The pau
se that follows seems infinite, then she nods and says, “Right, thank you, sir. She’s on her way.”

  The elevator ride is quicker than I would have liked. I’m already at his door, about to knock when I take a moment to glance down. Ah yes, my appearance. I’m wearing a thin cream sweater dress and flats. My hair is still pinned up from my shift at the park, though a healthy amount has escaped. I wished I’d thought to glance in a mirror before leaving Cal’s because if there’s food stuck in my teeth, it’s too late to fix it now. The door swings open before my fist makes contact.

  Thomas grins down at me. “Whitney! I didn’t realize you’d be joining us for poker night.”

  I can feel the color drain from my face as he ushers me into Derek’s foyer then farther into the dining room. Inside the luxurious space, three guys sit around a large circular table, cards in their hands, dark liquor held in thick crystal glasses. Poker chips in towering stacks mark each man’s place at the table. Directly across from where I stand, Derek sits wearing a crisp white button-down, his tan chest barely visible at the collar where he’s undone two buttons. His brown hair is slightly tousled. He assesses me with cool intrigue.

  “Sorry to show up here unannounced,” I say, feeling more foolish than ever. “I didn’t realize I’d be interrupting.”

  One of Derek’s friends, a man I recognize but have never met, grins lazily then lifts his glass in salute. “You can show up at my apartment unannounced any time you like.”

  Derek stays silent, surveying me with warm brown eyes.

  “Cal gave me your address,” I explain, biting my tongue before I add, Blame him!

  Thomas walks back to the table and tugs out a chair. “Join us?”

  The invitation is barely uttered before Derek stands and rounds the table toward me.

  “I’m assuming you’d like a word?” he asks, finally speaking as he walks over and blocks my view of the table.

  One of them groans. “Aw c’mon! Can’t we all hear what she has to say? If you leave, we’re just going to get up and listen at the door anyway.”

  They all laugh, but Derek turns me around and guides me down a hallway with a hand wrapped around my bicep. We step into a room. He closes the door behind us and stands there, waiting for me to say something.

  I would, but my attention is focused elsewhere. Namely, the king-sized bed looming beside us.

  “Is this your bedroom?” I nearly gulp.

  “I didn’t think you’d want to speak in front of the guys.”

  Sure, but he could have just shoved me into a hall closet. This is so much better. Access to his bedroom is like being given free rein of his private life. Sort of. The room is sparse. Don’t get me wrong, the furniture and bedding look like the very best money can buy. I want to rub my face on those sheets and feel how much mine are so desperately lacking. There’s art on the walls, but it’s the kind you’d find in a hotel: abstract sailboats, vague landscapes. No personal items catch my eye except for the paperback on the side table and a glass of water that was probably left there the night before.

  “You look like you’re disappointed,” he says.

  I shrug. “I was kind of hoping for more personal affects, something to blackmail you with. A teddy bear partially hidden under your pillow, that sort of thing.”

  He chuckles and the sound swells inside of me, filling me with courage.

  I turn, clasp my hands behind my back, and say simply, “I’m here because I’d like us to be friends.”

  His brow quirks. Clearly, that’s not what he thought I came here to say.

  “We’ve had a tumultuous few weeks. I know I shouldn’t let it get to me, but it has. I think about you a lot—” There’s a shift in his gaze, a familiar yearning that makes my gut clench. Blood rushes to my cheeks as I clear my throat. “Our predicament, I mean. I think about our predicament a lot. In any other circumstance, I’d say it’d be best to give each other space, but we can’t do that. In fact, we’re only going to be spending more time together come Friday when rehearsals start, so it seems like we might as well make the best of the situation.”

  “So you want to be friends?”

  “Yes, and I want you to forgive me for the way I’ve behaved these last few weeks. In return, I promise to forgive you for everything that happened eight years ago.”

  “A clean slate.”

  I smile. “Exactly.”

  He nods and his gaze flits down my body, just for a moment, before he glances out the window. “You’re right. We’ll be around each other a lot over the next few weeks…”

  I tip my head, trying to meet his eyes. I get the sense that he might not accept my offer, so I amend my terms. “Maybe being friends is too much? How about just acquaintances? If I pass you in the hall, I promise to wave. How about that?”

  When his gaze snaps back to me, my heart thump-thumps in my chest.

  “On one condition.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Derek

  Her gaze widens in fear of what my condition will be. I can’t resist a smirk. She’s so easy to ruffle, at times I can’t help myself. Like a fox toying with a hare, here I am, blocking her way out of my bedroom in an effort to draw a morsel of truth out of her. I’m aware it’s bad form. Modern society is frowning down on me and yet, here I stand, a caveman with a wounded ego.

  I should be ashamed of myself, but I’m not. Whitney came to my apartment. She’s standing in my bedroom. This conversation could have waited until the morning. She could have scheduled a meeting with Heather so we could discuss this during business hours in an office with a sturdy desk separating us, ensuring we keep our hands to ourselves.

  “What’s your condition?” she asks, voice breathy.

  My condition is simple: I want to know if she still has feelings for me.

  The question is poised on my tongue before I catch myself.

  What does it matter if she still has feelings for me? Feelings mean nothing if she doesn’t plan to act on them.

  I reroute.

  “I want you to hold up your end of the bargain. I really want that clean slate you promised.”

  I step forward and hold out my hand. She smiles and tips her head as we shake on it. She thinks she’s getting off easy. I have no doubt she was imagining something much more torrid.

  “Derek Knightley, it’s a pleasure to meet you.”

  There’s a twinkle in her eyes. It’s sweet.

  The fact that I don’t kiss her senseless in that moment is something I should be extremely proud of.

  When we reemerge in the living room a moment later, I see the guys have taken it upon themselves to rearrange the poker table. There’s a fifth chair pulled up between Nick and Allen. No doubt they’ve also skimmed a few chips off my stacks and looked at my hand.

  “Whitney, c’mon,” Nick says. “We’ll teach you how to play.”

  Without pausing, I reach for her shoulders and direct her toward the door.

  “Sorry, Whitney has to go.”

  She laughs at me over her shoulder. “What? Can’t I stay and play?”

  “Not tonight.”

  “Come on, man! Fair is fair,” Allen groans. “You two were only back there for five minutes. Looks like Whitney here made her choice and it ain’t you.”

  “That’s right. Whitney, come take a seat and I’ll show you the ropes. I’m Nick, Derek’s much cooler friend. Just ask him—he’ll tell you I kicked his ass in the last three rounds.”

  I flip them the bird and they all laugh.

  “Nick’s full of shit,” Allen argues. “I’m a much better teacher.”

  “I have always wanted to learn,” Whitney calls back to them as I steer her into the foyer.

  If she thinks I’m going to sit around while my friends throw their hats in the ring for her attention, she’s wrong. I’m not a masochist.

  “Cal tried to teach me a few years back,” she says with a smirk.

  This only spurs them on.

  “Whitney’s going hom
e now,” I insist. “Say goodbye.”

  “Goodbye Whitney!” Thomas and Nick call out in unison.

  “Bye Whitney!” Allen singsongs.

  “Colorful crew you have there,” she teases.

  “Why do you think I’m accepting your offer of friendship? I plan on ditching them after tonight.”

  I unlock the door and hold it open for her.

  She grins. “They seem nice enough. I actually know Thomas from work. You know, while he’s here, you should pick his brain about Carrie.”

  “What about her? He’s in love with her, if that’s what you mean.”

  Her jaw drops.

  I nod like it’s old news.

  “Why hasn’t he done anything about it?!”

  I arch a brow. Yes, why hasn’t he done anything about it, Whitney?

  She closes her mouth and rocks back on her heels, nodding in silent understanding.

  I shrug. “If it’s meant to be, they’ll figure it out eventually.”

  Her jade eyes lock with mine. Vulnerable and gentle, they confirm what I already know.

  * * *

  “How are you and Whitney getting on?” Cal asks me the next day, over lunch.

  “Splendidly. Best buds now, in fact.”

  “Is that right?”

  “Oh yeah. Thick as thieves.”

  “You sound bitter.”

  “Do I?”

  He hums and decides it’s best to change topics. “I’ve had feedback from the board.”

  I lean back in my chair, schooling to my features into cool indifference.

  “Barry tells me even your staunchest critics are impressed with the role you’ve taken on. I know you think this is all a waste of time, but it is working. The board sees you getting down on the same level as your employees, earning their respect. It shows a level of integrity and care. In a few weeks, when I inform them of my plan to promote you, I know the vote will be unanimous. This work isn’t in vain. Remember that.”

  “Doesn’t matter. I’m not doing any of this for them.”

  To be honest, I’m not quite sure why I’m doing it anymore. I tell myself it’s for the betterment of the company, an invaluable experience I’ll carry with me as I take the reins from Cal. But, if I’m honest, I might also be stepping into that costume every day just so I can spend time with Whitney.