Page 14 of Royal Cocktail

Skye followed her father to the elevator, then up the two stories to the twenty-second floor, which the firm had devoted to conference space and the firm’s law library. Eight conference rooms dotted the perimeter, offering multiple views of the Austin area. The library and a small refreshment area took up the middle, and as they passed an open doorway, she waved to a few associates who were highlighting briefs and reading case law at the long, wooden library tables.

Since they were meeting only one client, she expected her father would lead her to one of the smaller rooms. Instead, he headed toward the corner conference room with stunning views of both downtown and the river.

The floor’s conference rooms were set up so that the only windows were on the exterior walls, providing complete privacy for what was happening within, and Skye assumed that the client had come with an entourage. What other reason could justify using the largest venue?

As she followed her father, Skye’s nerves started to flutter as they always did before she talked to a stranger. Honestly, maybe she’d made the wrong career decision, after all. Maybe she needed to get an IT job where she could sit behind a computer and not have to talk to a human at all.

Or maybe she should try her hand at writing a legal thriller. Only if it took off, she’d end up doing book signings and book tours where she’d be expected to speak to fans. That sounded terrifying.

Honestly, the truth was that she already had the perfect job, and one that she loved when it worked the way it was supposed to. What she needed was a different father, who didn’t shove her through doors and expect her to become Eliza Doolittle, suddenly polished and proper and speaking beautifully.

She half smiled at the thought. She knew her father loved her and wanted the best career for her. The trouble was that their ideas of best were so disparate. And though he loved her, he didn’t hesitate to push her into situations where she was required to speak.

He thought she would undergo some magical transformation that would let him shed his guilt. She knew that nothing would change, and the clients and colleagues would struggle to understand her slurred and slow speech until, finally, they became accustomed to the cadence and flow and no longer looked at her with pity in their eyes.

That, of course, was the worst. The pity. Or, even more mortifying, that glint that suggested she wasn’t intelligent. That somehow her stumbling speech reflected a stumbling mind as well. She knew it wasn’t true. Her friends knew it wasn’t true, so why the hell did she care what strangers thought? She shouldn’t. But she did.

It was slightly better now. Her pedigree as a lawyer granted her some modicum of respect and the benefit of the doubt. But when she’d been in school...

She shuddered. Those had been hard times.

Her father paused outside the conference room door. “This is an important client,” he said, his voice low, even though they both knew that sound did not travel through those walls. “I’m not telling you that to make you nervous, but to understand that your paper has drawn interest from unusual and important places.”

“Okay.”

Skye wondered who the client could possibly be. It wasn’t as if there were that many people interested in the line of royal succession in countries across the globe. Then again, the paper covered the process of amending a country’s constitution or legislative process, and those concepts could be applied more broadly. So perhaps it made sense that potential international clients wanted to learn more.

Still, though, it seemed odd that her paper was the catalyst.

Her father pushed open the door, and she fell in step behind him, making sure she had a smile on her face and an interested and engaged gleam in her eye.

She thrust out her hand automatically, her mind so full of questions that she wasn’t really looking at who might be in the room. Then her father stepped aside, and she got a full view of the man rising from the chair at the head of the table.

It was Leo.

Chapter Eight

Skye froze, and for the first time she understood the expression deer in the headlights.

“Ms. Porter,” Leo said, stepping toward her with his hand extended. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

He took her hand before she had a chance to either pull it away or melt into the floor. And—damn him to hell—she felt that familiar tingle. A sensual awareness that used to make her deliriously happy.

Right now, it just pissed her off. She withdrew her hand, careful to keep her face unreadable. She could only hope that she was succeeding. “You as well, Mr.—?”

Her father stepped forward, practically bursting with glee. “Skye, I’d like you to meet His Royal Highness, Prince Stephan Leopold of Avelle-am-see.”

Skye swallowed, feeling like she was lost in some nightmare. Or an alternate universe. “What are you doing here?”

Her father stiffened, looking at her with utter shock. And no wonder.

“Skye,” Douglas Crane said, his expression stern. “The prince is here to discuss international law.”

She should keep her mouth shut—she knew that—but emotion had taken over, and apparently she’d forgotten how to exercise control. “Why?” she demanded, looking between the two men.

“I’m attending the symposium,” Leo said, his eyes locking on hers. “And I’m intrigued by your firm’s expertise.”

“The prince read your article,” her father said, a question in his eye and a hint of anger in his voice.