“Is this an interrogation?” Turns out I’m not half bad at this fake flirting thing, and I’m perhaps a bit too proud of the tick in the captain’s jaw at my kidding.
“Consider it a security interview,” he says. “We will, of course, be running a full background check before whatever you have with His Highness goes much further.”
“Naturally,” I reply over the rim of my rocks glass.
“And I’ll have a nondisclosure agreement for you to read and sign before you see him tonight.”
I raise an eyebrow. As if I could forget that the manI’m about to start kind of seeing is an actual freaking prince, the mention of an NDA is a stark reminder that while every little girl wishes to be a princess, this is not a fairytale. “Sounds rather thorough. Shouldn’t you have brought that with you so I could start reading it over now?”
He raises an eyebrow at me. “And draw attention to what we’re up to?”
“Right,” I agree, popping the last cherry in my mouth. “Well, shall we then?”
I remind myself to play the part as we leave the bar together. Standing as close as I dare as we walk to the elevators, I don’t even flinch when he places a hand on the middle of my back. His gentle touch is guiding, but not commanding, and I’m silently grateful he’s chosen not to go with the arm around the waist route.
“You’re a natural at this,” Brenton says as the elevator doors close behind us, and he drops his hand.
He taps a keycard on a pad above the buttons, then presses the one marked ‘PH’. The ride is silent, the protection officer back in his usual parade-rest stance as he faces away from me directly in front of the doors. The elevator dings, the doors open and he stands on the threshold, head completely still as he scans the hallway before stepping aside to let me out.
There are only three doors on this floor. One marked ‘stairs’ with the usual hotel fire plan next to it. Another is labeled ‘housekeeping’, and the last has a man standing in front of it. I recognize him also from my run-in with the prince this morning. He hands mea leather-bound folder with a pen clipped to the front. I glance behind me to Brenton.
He nods at the folder in my hands. “NDA, as we discussed.”
“Right.” I make it through the first page before the legalese starts to jumble together. “Can you just give me, like, a quick summary?”
“This is a legal contract, miss,” the other guard intones. “You’ll want to be certain of all the details.”
I chew the side of my lip. Just then, the door opens and the prince steps into the hallway, stealing the very breath from my lungs at the sight of him in a plain black t-shirt stretched so tantalizingly across his chest and shoulders.
“Oh, leave the poor woman be, Frank,” he says to the officer at the door before turning one of his dazzling smiles on me.
I feel a flutter low in my stomach and a blush rising to my cheeks. I return with my own shy smile and dip into a curtsy, which he waves off.
“Just initial all the way down on each page and sign at the end. It’s all pretty standard stuff. I’ll hit the highlights for you later.”
I give a nervous laugh. “Thank you.”
When I pass the finished document back to the guard at the door, he holds out his hand as if expecting something else as well. I look up at him, puzzled.
“Your mobile, Miss. No unsecured phones while you’re alone in private.”
I clasp my cell phone. “I need to be on hand, in case Lady Maier needs help with the children.”
Brenton comes to my side. “One of us will come get you if the need arises.”
I nod slowly and hand my phone over.
Prince Friedrich claps his hands together. “Great, now that’s all settled, if you’ll excuse us, men.”
He takes my hand, and I can’t help the thrill running up my arm at his touch. Once I step inside his suite, I’m once again stricken by the opulence of his arrangements.
The main room contains a living area, kitchen, and dining space in an open floorplan with windows spaced along all three outside walls, giving an incredible view of the city lit up below, the river a dark ribbon cutting through. The wood floors are polished to a high shine, and I imagine slipping around in my socksRisky Businessstyle.
Prince Friedrich watches me from the bar in the corner of the living room. A slight smile curves his lips. He pours two glasses of what I assume to be whiskey of some sort in cut crystal tumblers.
“Rocks?” he asks, holding up one of the glasses.
“Neat, please.”
