The Prince's Playbook

by Pamela DuMond

  “Fine. I’ll hold out hope for you on the organic pretzel thing.” I smiled and schlepped my tray to the long, mahogany bar.

  I unloaded the empty glasses onto the rubber mat. “I need two Jack and Cokes, two Stolis on the rocks, and one fake lemonade. Hey Buddy, how did you find the bucks to buy out Mark Woodman and lose his crowd of dickwipes?”

  “Yes on the drinks, but hell no on the buy-out, Viv.” He mixed and poured cocktails from behind the bar. “I didn’t have the cash. Some swanky corporation did the deed.”

  I looked up at the banner on the dance floor emblazoned with the words, “Ladies’ Night Out every Thursday at Mugshots.”

  I smiled. “I’m liking the job the new majority share investors did updating the joint. A dance floor? A jukebox with better tunes? Score! And Ladies’ Night? What does that include?”

  “Two for one specials on drinks for the ladies from five to seven p.m. A little entertainment. Some swag. Festivities.”

  “Festivities?” Lola hustled up to the bar and unloaded her tray of dirty glasses. “A pitcher of margaritas, that new Champagne that’s on the menu and a pitcher of pineapple daiquiris. What kind of festivities?”

  Buddy shrugged. “Up to the new majority share owners. I don’t know the details. They informed me a couple of hours ahead of time. Said it was on the itinerary and it’s all just supposed to just magically unfold. Tonight’s the first night. Let’s see how magical it is.” He loaded up my tray with drinks.

  I hoisted the tray onto my shoulder. “Have you actually met the new owners?”

  “Nope. The attorneys walked me through the paperwork. Step by excruciating freaking step. Which reminds me.” He stepped out from behind the bar, walked to the jukebox and slid a credit card through the slot. He punched a few keys in the music box’s keypad. “I was instructed by Mugshots’ new co-owners to play this song at,” he looked at the huge clock on the wall that hung over the front door, “now.”

  He waved his arms in the air. “Quiet! Quiet please!”

  The crowd hushed.

  “As you know, we here at Mugshots have loved our customers like crazy for nearly the past four decades. But we’ve been through some changes in the past year. And change isn’t always easy. So thanks for sticking with us. We’re under new management. Again. I’m proud to announce that tonight is our first Ladies’ Night. So if you have any requests, make them known. All liquor is two for one for the ladies! And that includes the good stuff. Thank you. My name is Buddy Paulsen. Co-owner of Mugshots.” He bowed.

  “Get off the fucking stage, Buddy,” Mr. Fitzpatrick yelled. “Attention hog.”

  “It’s not a stage, Easy Rider, it’s a dance floor,” Buddy said, making his way back behind the bar.

  “Ladies’ Night” by Kool & the Gang blasted from the bar’s speakers. A few people actually got up from their tables and danced.

  “Seriously?” I asked.

  “It’s a popular song from the 70s.” Buddy shrugged and poured beers. “You of all people like that music.”

  My gaze was drawn to a four-top table of folks in the far corner of the bar. They wore matching pink ball caps, dark sunglasses, and black leather bomber jackets. They hunched over their drinks. There was a bottle of Champagne resting in a stand-alone cooler next to the table.

  “Psst! Lola!” I said.

  “What?”

  “That’s your table, right?” I nodded at the four-top.

  “Yeah.”

  “Something’s slightly off with them. Who wears sunglasses at night in a bar? And the matching hats? From the looks of them I’d say they’re in a sorority, which means they’re probably underage and we could totally get in trouble and be shut down. And not to be selfish, but I really don’t want to be looking for another job again any time soon.” I squinted. “Except, from here, one of them looks like an older man. Or a very challenged-in-the-looks-department older woman.”

  “Yeah, one of them is definitely an older guy.” She loaded up her tray filled with glasses, pitchers and a sweaty bottle of Champagne.

  I stared at the bottle of bubbly and my eyes widened. “That Champagne’s not on our menu. That’s…”

  “2004 Perrier-Jouet Belle Epoque Rose Cuvee,” Lola said. “And surprisingly, yes, it’s now on our menu. How weird is that? So far I’m liking Mugshots’s new owners.” She hustled toward the table.

  “Wait! Can we switch? Like, seriously, I have a reason for asking. I’ll take their drinks and you take mine to my guys in the corner.”

  She shook her head. “Sorry, mi amiga. I’m under strict orders to be their only cocktail waitress tonight. That might sound weird, but they offered me a huge tip. I need to pay for Mateo’s Christmas presents. You cool with that?”

  “Yes. Yes. Go!”

  There’s no way it could be. It simply wasn’t possible!

  I meandered back to my guys’ table and unloaded their drinks and a big basket of pretzels. “Sorry, Artie. I fear the pretzels are still stale.”

  All the lights suddenly went out but were replaced with twinkly lights from hundreds of strands of Italian light bulbs They lit up the room like a Christmas parade. The jukebox launched into Beyoncé’s “Single Ladies (Put a Ring on It)”, and the next thing I knew the pink hat gang was on the floor dancing.

  I saw a few bump and grind dance moves that reminded me of my Bachelorette Party at Club Tiefencastle. The tall older dude wearing the pink hat kept his head down and made his way gingerly to the mic.

  I wobbled for a second. My free hand flew to my chest. “Oh holy crap!”

  Mr. Fitzpatrick pulled out an empty chair from the table. “You need to sit down for a second, Vivian. You look like you just saw a ghost.”

  “Thanks, but no. I’m fine, really. I’m just fine.” I stayed standing.

  “On behalf of the new co-owners of Mugshots,” the man said into the mic, “we’d like to welcome you to the first Ladies’ Night. We’d like to dedicate this event to one of our favorite ladies, Vivian Marie DeRose.” Mr. Cartwright looked up, smiled and pointed at me. “That’s her, right there.”

  “Ack!” I screamed as Ladies Bea Hapfligher and Joan Brady made their way across the bar. They seized my arms and escorted me to the dance floor.

  “What the hell are you doing here? How did you find me?”

  “We bought the place,” Bea said.

  “We have our ways,” Joan said. “Jeez, Vivian, I’m a barrister. I have a million connections.”

  Esmeralda pulled something bulky into the middle of the dance floor and whipped off a cover to reveal a petite, gilded throne with a pink, velvet seat.

  “Sit down, Vivian,” Esmeralda said.

  “But, but…I’m working.”

  “Your shift’s over for the evening.” She pushed me back onto the chair. “We have a different part-time job for you tonight. Who has the scepter? Did we forget the scepter?”

  “It’s in my satchel under the table,” Mr. Cartwright said.

  Bea strolled to their table, leaned down and rifled through it. “Got it.” She held the small, golden scepter in the air and walked back.

  The crowd was hushed except for Lola who shoved her hands over her mouth, but couldn’t stop giggling.

  “Go ahead, Mr. Cartwright,” Esmeralda said.

  He pulled a piece of paper from his pocket and read it into the mic. “We, the citizens of Bellèno—,”

  “There are five of you here,” I said. “That does not constitute an entire country.”

  “Shut up Vivian,” Esmeralda said.

  “We organized a Changedotorg petition. We received over one million signatures from Bellèno citizens,” Joan said.

  Mr. Cartwright harrumphed. “We, the citizens of Bellèno, on this date do solemnly declare that Vivian Marie DeRose of the hamlet of Chicago in the country of the United States forthwith be called Lady Vivian Marie DeRose, aka, Lady with a Royal Bellèno Heart.”

  Esmeralda, Bea, and Joan joined hands on the scepter
and—

  “Hang on!” Joan said. She grabbed a tiara from the arm of the throne and placed it gently on my head. “Perfect,” she said. “Okay, now.” She placed her hand back on the other hands. “On three. Two. One.” They anointed me.

  And I burst into tears.

  The entire Mugshots crowd leapt to their feet applauding and stamping their feet. There were even a few wolf whistles. All my ladies, including Lola, hugged me. Someone handed me a glass of Champagne.

  “Oh my God!” I said. “I can’t believe you did all this for me.”

  “We saved the best for last,” Esmeralda said.

  The door to Mugshots opened with a bang. And perhaps I was hallucinating, or perhaps I was drunk on adrenaline, or perhaps the gods smiled upon me and saw fit to shower me with pixie dust because Prince Maximillian of Bellèno walked across the bar toward me.

  His hair was still ginger. He wore jeans, scuffed boots, a black leather biker jacket and a big, fat smile on his gorgeous face.

  “Oh my God. Oh my God!” I nearly dropped my Champagne glass.

  “I missed you, Vivian,” he said.

  “I missed you too, Max.”

  “I thought you’d like an update on The Crown Affair.” He unzipped his jacket.

  “Of course…. what are you doing here?”

  “Taking care of what matters, Vivvie. The Crown Affair might have started as a part-time job.” He pulled a black velvet box from his coat jacket and got down on one knee. “But I’m here to ask you if you’d be interested in a permanent position.”

  “Permanent…” I fanned my face. “Position?”

  He smiled, popped open the lid on the box, and revealed the most gorgeous engagement ring I’d ever seen in my life. “Full-time wife. I love you. Will you marry me, Vivian Marie DeRose?”

  “Yes!”

  He slid the ring onto my finger, placed his hands on either side of my face and kissed me long and slow and sweet. He whispered in my ear, “It’s always been you, Vivian. It always will be you.”

  More Champagne bottles were popped open. Toasts were made. And this time I got engaged to the right prince.

  And I learned that maybe, if you hold out hope despite disappointments, if you open your eyes to the magic around you, maybe Happily-Ever-Afters can actually happen. Maybe fairy tales really do come true.

  THE END

  Sneak Peek of The Crown Affair Book Two

  The adventures of Vivian, Prince Max, Prince Leo, and the Ladies-in-Waiting continue in

  THE CROWN AFFAIR BOOK TWO

  * * *

  publishing Spring 2018.

  Sneak Peek of The Client

  THE CLIENT

  * * *

  (A Playing Dirty Romantic Comedy)

  Description

  I was an underpaid assistant working at a matchmaking agency, surviving on Insta-Ramen and dreams. How was it possible that I made a love match that resulted in the society marriage of the year?

  * * *

  Christmas season was upon us and I planned on enjoying this gorgeous wedding by drinking too much Champagne, eating 5 star food, and relaxing for a change.

  I didn’t plan on running into the smoking hot, tuxedo-clad brick wall of a man.

  * * *

  I didn’t plan on him stopping my fall by grabbing onto my boob and Not. Letting. Go.

  * * *

  I most definitely didn’t plan on this gorgeous man being my new CLIENT.

  * * *

  Joe was heir to the Delacroix Hotel fortune, whip smart, hilariously funny, and so yummy. I was tempted to… good God I wanted to... but sleeping with clients was a big, fat ‘No-No.’

  * * *

  It wasn’t fair that our chemistry was through the roof. Not possible that a guy from his side of the tracks wanted someone as broken as me. Practically a sin that we couldn’t be together.

  * * *

  Weren’t some rules meant to be broken?

  PRAISE for THE CLIENT

  “Funny, witty, and hot, hot, HOT! The Client is a steamy blend of heart-warming romance and flirty humor.” ~ Ann Charles, USA Today Bestselling Author.

  * * *

  “The Client is hot and tempting.” Catherine @ Catty Jane Book Lovers

  * * *

  “A captivating love story; simply have no words to describe how beautiful it is.” Sofia Beddable Reads

  * * *

  "5 Hot Waiter Stars" ~ Brandi-Let's Read Romance

  "And don't get me started on the sexy scenes...I found myself panting… ~ Starange13

  * * *

  "2 Thumbs up for a great heart warming story..." ~ Barbara - Amazon Reviewer

  * * *

  "Lots of feels, terrific secondary characters, drama, comedy, angst, this book has it all!" ~ Melissa P. - Amazon Reviewer

  * * *

  "Found this book to be really steamy!" ~ BookAddict'sReviews

  * * *

  “Sexy, effervescent banter and a second-chance romance with surprising depth. I loved The Client, and I think you will too!” Mia Hopkins Author

  * * *

  “The initial meeting between Charlotte and Joe is downright hilarious.” My Book Filled Life

  * * *

  "The perfect balance of funny (like laugh out loud funny), witty, and sexy (sosohot)." ~ Sweet Red Reader

  * * *

  CHAPTER ONE

  Charlotte

  “Tradition insists, Mrs. Lesley Biltenhouse, that I remove your garter with my teeth.”

  The geeky- cute, middle-aged groom knelt and rested his chin on the bride’s thigh. He gazed up at her, smitten. “Or our first year of married life will go to shit.”

  “You just made that up, John.” Lesley smoothed her three-and-a-half carat diamond-encrusted hand across his shaggy salt and pepper hair, tucking a wayward lock behind his ear.

  “But it sounded convincing.” He grinned, dove back to her garter, snagged it between his teeth, and dragged it down her leg. The bride stifled her giggles and the black-tie wedding crowd erupted in laughter and enthusiastic applause.

  I leaned back against the wall of the grand ballroom at the posh Delacroix Hotel on the Magnificent Mile in downtown Chicago and applauded along with them. The skin on the back of my arms erupted in goosebumps.

  Breathe, Charlotte. This is not a dress rehearsal. You made this happen. Breathe.

  I smoothed my designer tea-length gown down my legs, the raw silk scratchy against my bare knees. Its prickly roughness grounded me in reality, which was good. I couldn’t afford to be kidnapped by commercialism, swept away like a chick in one of those stupid commercials for Dead Sea bath salts. I had too much to get done, too much at stake.

  I, Charlotte Louise Bauer, a woman whose income hovered slightly above the poverty line, was the person responsible for brokering the Biltenhouse marriage resulting in the swank, society Chicago wedding of the year. My bosses at the White Glove Matchmaking Agency had rewarded my efforts, promoting me from shlepper of coffee and water-er of plants to junior agent. I’d start my new position on Monday, but this weekend was mine all mine, and I planned on enjoying myself tonight.

  I sipped the top-shelf Champagne and glanced around at all the gorgeousness an expensive, tasteful wedding offered. The Delacroix Hotel was built in the 1920s, a throwback to elegance and old-fashioned glamour. The ballroom was decked out for the Christmas holidays: Italian lights twinkled, draped over wreathes hung on the wallpapered ballroom walls as well as the fifteen-foot Douglas fir in the corner, decorated with sparkling Tiffany ornaments. I inhaled the scent of pine needles and freshly-cut flower arrangements that intermingled with notes of expensive perfumes and colognes.

  Heaven. I’d landed in heaven.

  I tipped my head back and drained my glass of Champagne. The bubbles swirled into my bloodstream and my shoulders slid off my ears for the first time in the year since I’d moved to Chicago. I stretched my neck right to left, then side to side, and decided one more drink couldn’t hurt. I
swiveled to look for a waiter but collided boobs first into a tall, solid, brick wall of a man carrying a tray. “Oof!”

  “Sorry,” he said.

  “I’m sorry!” My face was buried against his rock-hard chest and I spotted only a flash of muscular largeness, a hint of his black tux, and a glimpse of chiseled cheekbones as we mashed up against each other.

  Oh no.

  Oh, fuckity fuck.

  This would not do.

  I’d leased my gown from Cinderella For a Night and had had my hair styled at the South Dearborn Beauty Academy. I needed to fit in with this crowd. These people were potential clients. I couldn’t afford to be seen canoodling in public at this wedding. I leaned back on my heels, sucked in my core, and pulled a few inches away from the hot waiter.

  My small movement pitched him off balance. He bobbled the serving tray high in the air with one hand, and grabbed onto a large decanter with his other, saving it from falling. But a crystal tumbler filled with liquor seized the opportunity to break free and wobbled at the edge of the tray.

  “Fuck!” I said, watching the glass plummet toward my cleavage.

  “Crap!” he said, his eyes widening as he abandoned the decanter and reached for the tumbler.