Plaything at the Royal Wedding: An MFMM Royal Romance

by Lana Hartley

  As the limo finally stops in front of the Empire State Building, we both get out of it and start walking toward the main entrance. We do it a brisk pace, hurrying as a light drizzle threatens to turn into a serious downpour. Even Heaven itself seems to be crying over what’s about to happen.

  I follow after Logan as he heads toward the elevator, and we remain in complete silence as we make the climb toward one of the top floors. On the way up, I grab his hand and give it a soft squeeze, just like he did before. It’ll be okay, my gesture says, although I’m not so sure if I can believe that.

  As he leads the way toward the offices where they’ll be signing the contract, I feel my heart beating faster with each step I take. There’s already a young receptionist waiting for us in the front desk of our floor, and she’s the one leading us toward the conference room.

  “They’re already inside,” the receptionist tells us with a nervous smile, waving at the double doors in front of us and stepping to the side. With a confident nod, Logan runs his fingers down the length of his tie and steps forward, turning the door’s handle.

  I follow him into the conference nervously, and my eyes meet Hunter’s in a fraction of a second. He’s sitting in the middle of the table, flanked by what I assume to be his agent and lawyers, and his gaze is as cold as ice.

  I look from Hunter to Logan, expecting them to say something or, at the very least, to acknowledge each other.

  They don’t say a word.

  They simply remain silent, not even daring to look into each other’s eyes. It’s as if there’s a barrier between these two, one that simple words won’t be able to cut through.

  “Hunter…” I whisper and, even though he looks straight at me, the ice in his eyes doesn’t melt. Under the table, Logan holds my hand, lacing his fingers with mine.

  “So, we’re all here,” one of the men next to Hunter says, clapping his hands together and resting a briefcase on the desk. Popping it open, he takes a few documents from the inside, stacking them into two neat piles. He hands one of these piles to Hunter, and the other one to Logan.

  “I’ve take it you’ve already read the copies I’ve sent you this morning,” the man continues. “What you’re holding in your hands are the originals. Just sign them and we’ll be good to go.”

  Hunter is the first to move. Without even bothering to flick through the documents, he grabs the pen in front of him and signs his name on each and every page, his movements tense and angry.

  Logan doesn’t follow suit. Instead, he grabs the contract in front of him and opens it up, taking his time as his eyes run over each line on the page. Then, satisfied with it, he grabs the pen in front of him and signs it, his movements fluid and relaxed. Even though he’s as angry about the whole thing as Hunter seems to be, he doesn’t allow his feelings to run rampant.

  As everyone waits on Logan, the tension in the room keeps growing and growing, becoming almost unbearable. The palm of my hands becomes sweaty, and I start drawing quick and short breaths, too nervous to take a deep breath. How did it come to this? Just a few weeks ago I was a nobody, and now here I am, right in the middle of what’s about to become the fight of the century!

  Still, it doesn’t make any sense. Why would Hunter drag the memory of the woman they loved through the mud? All this because of a fight? Somehow, I don’t believe that Hunter was the one behind the leak. But if it isn’t Hunter, then who?

  “Well, almost done!” one of the men says, getting up from his seat and changing contracts. Now it happens faster: they sign each other’s contracts, and then the lawyers collect them both. “Fantastic, gentleman!” the man, whom I suppose to be the head lawyer behind the agreement, continues. Despite the somber mood inside the conference room, he looks pretty cheery about the whole affair. No wonder, a fight like this will make so much money it makes my head hurt just to think of it. I wouldn’t be surprised if it topped $1 billion in revenue. Yeah, billion with a B.

  “Good,” Logan says, buttoning his jacket as he stands up. Without even looking at Hunter once, he walks out of the office, and I just follow in his footsteps.

  “My God,” I whisper as I catch up to him, grabbing his arms. “It’s really happening.”

  “It is,” he tells me somberly.

  “Who were all these people?”

  “Lawyers. And Hunter’s agent,” he says, and it’s like a light bulb comes to life inside my head. When Fat Ed first told me he wanted me to profile both Hunter and Logan, a couple of men strolled inside his office shortly after. One of them had a scar that went from his chin to his lower lip, and that same man was sitting across from us today.

  “Hunter’s agent; is he the one with the scar?”

  “Yeah, he’s the one.”

  Holy shit, what the hell is going on?

  Natalie

  I shift my weight from foot to foot, waiting as Ed takes a long drag out of his cigarette, wisps of smoke escaping from between his parted lips and climbing all the way up to the ceiling.

  “I’ve been thinking about you, Natalie,” he starts to say, staring at me with his beady eyes in such a way that I can’t help but feel an ounce of disgust.

  “Thinking… about me?”

  “Yes,” he says, crushing his cigarette in the ashtray as he starts to cough, the hoarse sound of it making me wince. If I had to bet, I’d say he’s smoking his way into an early grave. “I want you to cover the fight.”

  “The fight?”

  “Yes, the fight. It’s yours,” he says between coughs, waving one hand at me as if he was offering me something tangible. “I want you to cover the fight for the Gazette. You want to do something important, don't you? Well, there you have it. You’ll be covering one of the most important sports events in history.”

  “No,” I tell him flatly. I don’t care how good for my career this fight would be. I don’t want to make a profit off it. Two men I care deeply about will be fighting each other, and I’m supposed to help the Gazette make money while it happens? No way. Besides, Ed knows I’ve developed a personal relationship with Logan, and I bet he’s trying to exploit that.

  “No?” he asks me with a deep laugh, looking at me through the clouds of smoke escaping from his nostrils. “I’d expect you to be thankful, not to act like a brat.”

  “Have someone else do it. Like Michelle, for instance,” I tell him, standing my ground as I see the corner of his lips curl upward. The bastard’s grinning at me.

  “No, the matter is settled already. You’ll cover the fight, or else you can start looking for a job somewhere else.” He doesn’t break eye-contact, nor does he blink. He just tells me what his orders are, like a general ordering his soldiers to march straight into the jaws of death. “Now get out of my office,” he finally grumbles, patting away the ashes that have fallen on top of his keyboard. “Go on,” he repeats, and I’m too stunned to reply to him. I just turn around and leave, ashamed at myself for not sticking to my guns.

  “Jesus, Natalie, put on a smile,” Michelle asks me as she sees me walking inside the office. She’s nibbling on the end of a pencil, taking some notes on a big basketball game that happened the night before. Something I was supposed to be doing, but I was so distraught with the Logan/Hunter situation that she ended up covering for me… again. Soon enough I won’t owe her dinner; I’ll owe her an entire restaurant.

  “Ed wants me to cover the fight,” I tell her with a sigh, sinking onto my chair and running both hands through my hair.

  “You told him no, I’m guessing,” she whispers, never taking her eyes from the sheet of paper in front of her.

  “I told him no, yeah,” I confirm, “but he wouldn’t budge. He even threatened to fire me if I didn’t do it! Can you imagine it?”

  “Don’t worry ‘bout it. He has already threatened to fire me a hundred times at least. And I’m still here, as you can see.” She stops writing then, setting aside the paper and the pencil. Looking up, she raps her knuckles against the surface of her desk and then smac
ks her lips together. “He probably knows about your relationship with Logan, and he’s trying to play that up.”

  “I know, I know…But this is horrible! How does he expect me to cover the fight when I’m worried about the men in the ring?”

  “It’s not like you have a choice, Natalie…” she says, and I notice the worry in her voice. If she could, I know she’d take over for me in the blink of an eye.

  “No, it seems I don’t…” I sigh, rubbing my eyes. Sitting down on my chair, I close my eyes for a long moment, trying to muster the necessary courage to accept the job I’ve been given.

  I still don’t know how all this happened. Things were going so well… And then that damned leak. How could it happen? I don’t believe that Logan or Hunter would ever tell that story and I was the only other person that knew it. And I destroyed the recording I had. Well, I didn’t exactly destroy it; I threw it into the trash, but that’s—

  Oh, shit. What if someone went through my trash and got the recording? But that doesn’t make any sense, does it? Why would someone go through my trash?

  “Michelle…” I start, finally opening up my eyes. “At what time does the janitor come by?”

  “Midnight? He usually comes at ten, but I heard that his wife was sick, and so he was doing the cleaning a bit later than usual. So he has been coming by at around midnight, I think.”

  Midnight… But the day I threw the recording in the trash, the basket was already empty by ten. Which means that someone picked it up before the janitor swung by the office. I remember the way Fat Ed stared at me as he stepped inside the office, his beady eyes immediately drawn to the recorder in front of me. I tried to hide it, but I was too late… I wasn’t sure if he had seen it, but now I know. Not only did he see it, he also realized that I was hiding something. And, somehow, he managed to get his dirty hands on that tape.

  “Motherfucker,” I growl, jumping up to my feet so fast that Michelle looks at me with an alarmed expression.

  “What?” she asks me, a look of surprise on her face.

  “I’m going to fucking kill him,” I hiss and, without an explanation, I march out of the office.

  Natalie

  “What do you want? I’ve already given you a job, haven’t I?” Fat Ed grumbles from behind his desk, looking straight at me with an expression of disgust. As if he expected me to turn on my heels and leave at once, he returns his gaze to his laptop screen.

  “It was you!” I growl, taking one step toward his desk and staring him down, rage making the blood boil inside my veins. I was always meek and timid when around him, but right now I’m a wild beast. I think that some of Hunter’s wildness has rubbed off on me. And thank God, because right now I need all of that wildness.

  “What are you talking about?” he asks me, slowly raising his gaze from his laptop screen and closing the lid. “And who do you think you are? You can’t talk to me like that.”

  “Just admit it!” I insist, gritting my teeth so hard that a stab of pain shoots up my skull. “You went through my trash, found the recorder and… and you were the one behind the leak! It had to be you.”

  “What if it was me? Maybe I was just doing the job I hired you to do.” Is it just me or is he smiling right now? The bastard is enjoying this!

  “You had no right!” I cry out, balling one hand into a fist and slamming it down on his desk. His eyes widen in surprise and, for a short moment, he seems taken back by my sudden outburst. He has grown accustomed to good girl Natalie, but now he’s face-to-face with a fiercer version; one that’s more than ready to rip his head out.

  “How could you?” I insist, lowering my voice into a whisper. Ed has never been someone I considered to be a good person, but I also never thought of him as a straight up evil one. But I was wrong about it, oh so wrong.

  “Don’t act like a naive stupid girl,” he growls, reaching for the carton of cigarettes in front of him and fishing out a cigarette. “A lot of people want this fight to happen, in case you haven’t noticed it.”

  “What does that have to do with me? I’m just a journalist!”

  “Yeah, sure, a journalist,” he laughs as he lights up the cigarette. “You’re just a hot piece of ass, Natalie, and you were exactly what was needed to make these two come to blows.”

  “You mother --”

  “Uh, uh. Watch your words,” he whispers, still smiling as he puffs on his cigarette. “You still have a career you want to build, right? Don’t fuck it all up just because you feel something for these two.”

  “How do you --?” I start to ask, but then I remember that he listened to the tape. And in that tape was a recording of everything that happened during that night. Everything. Oh, I don’t think I’ve ever hated anyone as much as I hate Ed right now.

  “Yes, smart girl,” he laughs, focusing on how my expression changes as I realize the extent of what he knows. “Now, don’t be embarrassed… You might be a fine piece of ass, but there’s still hope for you; you can be so much better than that.”

  “What are you saying?” I hiss, resisting the urge to jump on top of his desk and strangling him.

  “Use your brain, girl. You have a privileged relationship with both men… If you play your cards right, the sky’s the limit for you. You can go far in the Gazette - maybe even escape that gutter that’s the sports department.”

  “You want me to use them?” I ask him, not sure if I believe what I’m hearing.

  “And you call yourself a journalist? That’s exactly what journalists do, you stupid girl. They use people so that they can get to the truth.”

  “This isn’t about the truth! This is about you being greedy! You don’t care about anyone or anything, you just want to sell newspapers and line your own pockets!” I reply, raising my voice so much that I’m not longer just arguing - I’m shouting at him.

  “Think it over… Play your cards right, you idiot. Soon enough I’ll be retiring, and who knows…? You might even end up running the Gazette. Wouldn’t you like that, Natalie?”

  “And all I need to do is offer my soul in return, right? You want me to work as your spy, to feed you privileged information, and then I’ll have what I want, uh…?”

  “There’s a price for everyone… Even for you,” he growls again, finishing his cigarette and putting it out.

  “No,” I whisper, suddenly realizing the extent of my feelings toward Hunter and Logan. “If I have a price, it’s not one you can afford.” I take a deep breath then and just the let the words explode in my mouth. “I quit,” I tell him, the words coming out of my mouth like flaming cannonballs. With one last disgusted look at Ed, I then turn on my heels and bolt out of his office.

  Screw Ed, screw the Gazette… I don’t need any of it. I have been lucky enough to meet both Hunter and Logan, all the rest is nothing more than a detail. And now that I know the truth of what happened, maybe I can put a stop to all this. I can build a bridge between Hunter and Logan, tell them all about the recording and how Ed played me… Maybe there’s still hope.

  Heading toward the office I share with Michelle, I don’t even respond as she asks me about what happened. She’s talking, but I’m not even listening to what she’s saying - I have a one track mind right now.

  I just hope I’m not too late.

  With trembling fingers, I take my phone out of my purse and dial Hunter’s number. “Please, please, please…” I whisper as I hear the tone on the other side. If Hunter picks up, I’ll tell him the truth of what happened, and then there’s no reason for him to fight with Logan…

  Oh, God, please.

  Please, please, please.

  I keep the phone pressed against my ear for what seems like forever, but Hunter never picks up.

  Even though I know the truth, it seems that there’s no way for me to stop this fight. This is Hunter’s last day before he isolates himself on a training camp, and then there’s no way I can get to him.

  And if that happens, all this will be in God’s hands.


  “Please, Hunter, pick up,” I whisper, hoping that someone up above is listening to me.

  Hunter

  “Hit me again,” I tell the bartender and he fills my glass with the sweet amber liquid of the whiskey. “Just leave the fucking bottle, man,” I instruct the bartender and he pauses. One look at my smoldering eyes and he decides against questioning me.

  My eyes are on fire. My soul is on fire. My heart is on fire.

  No, I take that back. My heart is fucking dead. The world came and stomped on it. Kicked it in the fucking teeth.

  No, I take that back again.

  Not the world.

  Natalie. And Logan.

  My best friend. And the woman I love.

  That’s fucking right. I said it. I fucking love her. I know it’s fucking stupid after the way she used me. Betrayed me. For her own fucking ends. Getting the Gazette it’s big fucking story. They both did.

  And there will be consequences. For all of us. Sarah’s memory is about to be defiled. I start my training regimen tomorrow.

  I start preparing for battle tomorrow. Against Logan.

  I down my whiskey and the bartender doesn’t even get a chance to come near me before I reach out and take the bottle and pour another.

  One gulp and it’s done. Pour another. Gulp. Another. Another.

  The TV and the news has nothing but chatter about the fight even though it’s not for a while. But I don’t care. I don’t care about the purse. I don’t care about the glory.

  All I want to do is take Logan and destroy him.

  I want to break his face. I want to make sure that he never walks again. I want to break his spine. Ruin his pretty boy smile. Beat him into a pulp so hard that not even all his money will ever do anything to fix him.

  I take a final gulp of my drink and wonder if I should call it a night. It's probably for the best. I begin my training tomorrow and I know that I'm going to need to focus. I haven't realized how much anger I'm feeling. Disappointment with Natalie. Spite for Logan. For what they did to me. For what they did to Sarah. For the ruining of our world.