Royal Cocktail by J. Kenner

Chapter Eleven

Skye felt only slightlyguilty about calling Emily at home on a Friday night, but she wanted to contact Leo right then while she was still slightly buzzed from drinks with Hannah and Bart. Because as soon as her head cleared, she was certain she’d lose her nerve.

Now she stood at the door to his suite, having been cleared by the guard posted at the elevator door. Two years ago, he’d lived in an apartment, and there’d been no guards, no procedures. Then again, two years ago she hadn’t known he was a prince.

“Jerk,” she muttered, but even though the word was completely accurate—even though the way he’d bolted still stung—some traitorous part deep inside her hoped that he would accept her proposal. Not because she wanted him, of course. But because Hannah and Bart were right. Who better to teach her how to be calm in front of an audience? Because unless she could control her nerves, no one would be able to understand a single word she said.

And, okay, yes. Maybe she wanted to see him, too. But only for closure.

Just do this.

Right. Okay.

She drew a breath, lifted her hand, and rapped on the door.

A moment later, it opened inward, and she found herself looking at the sharp-cut features and hard, almost-black eyes of Jürgen Braun, Leo’s best friend. Except of course, he wasn’t really. He was an attendant or courtier, or whatever you called someone who worked for a royal.

“Ms. Porter,” Jürgen said, his accent as thick as she’d remembered. “It’s a pleasure to see you again.” He swept his arm to usher her in, and as she crossed the threshold she almost admonished him to call her Skye. They’d been friends, after all.

Except they hadn’t. Not really. It had all been fake.

Her back was to him, and she took a moment to collect herself before glancing over her shoulder to smile politely. “It’s good to see you again.”

He hesitated, and for a moment she had the impression he was going to speak. Then he simply gestured for her to take a seat. “His Highness will be out soon.”

“Right.” Her throat went dry, and she started toward the ornate sofa. She knew the suite well, as the firm often put VIPs up there. It was smaller than she’d expect for royalty with only one bedroom and less than a thousand square feet. But it was beautifully appointed and had a view of Sixth Street from the corner balcony.

She imagined that someone from Leo’s security team stayed up at night on the couch while he took the bedroom. “You’re his security guard,” she said to Jürgen as the pieces fell into place.

He tilted his head in acquiescence. “I’ve been on His Highness’s security team since his thirteenth birthday. I was sixteen and following in my father’s footsteps. His Highness promoted me to the office of security chief on his twenty-first birthday.

“I thought you were friends. But I guess the whole damn thing was one big show.”

Jürgen’s shoulders stiffened. “It is my honor to count Leopold among my closest friends.” He spoke formally, his words clipped. He said nothing else, and although he met her eyes, she couldn’t help but think she saw a hint of regret there.

Yeah, well, she regretted a lot, too.

“Lucky you,” she said, knowing she should stay quiet. “To have such an honorable prince as your friend.”

He didn’t waver from his military rest pose, but his lips parted. Whether it was a reflex or he intended to say something else, she didn’t know because the door to the bedroom opened, and his eyes cut that direction, his body stiffening to attention.

Skye turned, expecting Leo, only to see a petite brunette with an elfin face and cherry red lips step through the doorway, her fingers working the final button on a man’s white dress shirt worn untucked over a gray pencil skirt. A leather tote hung carelessly off her shoulder.

“Thank you, Your Highness,” she said, as Leo followed her out of the room, looking deliciously casual in jeans and a plain white T-shirt. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“I look forward to it.” He gave the girl a quick smile, and she headed out, Jürgen following her into the hallway, presumably to escort her down the elevator, a royal walk of shame if ever there was one.

“Skye,” Leo said, closing the distance between them in two long strides.

She took a step back, suddenly wishing that Jürgen was in the room, because his presence might—might—cool her temper.

“Re…really, Leo?” She cringed, wanting to roll into a ball right then because this was how she came off? Not cool and unaffected, but instead so gobsmacked that her words misbehaved even more than usual.

“Really, what?”

“I called … up. You knew … I was coming. And … this is what … I walk in on?”

His brows rose, but he said nothing.

She exhaled loudly, then shook her head. No longer even caring about how she sounded. “I guess I … dodged a bullet … when you left.”

For a moment, he only studied her. Then he dipped his head. “I suppose you did.” His voice was as polished as it had been in the conference room earlier that afternoon. “But if you’re talking about Talia, you have no reason to be jealous.”

“Jealous?” She took a step back, shaking her head. “I am so over … you. I’m just saying that I knew you were a … ridiculous playboy in your own country. But … I didn’t realize you were playing that game here, too. Should I be honored to be one of your … American contingent? Me and—what was her name? Tabby Cat?”

He raised his brows and she wanted to kick herself for going too far. For letting her jealousy spew out. But, dammit, she’d been unprepared for how strong it was. For how much she’d actually missed him.

And for how much it hurt seeing him with another woman.

She’d read all the articles and seen all the pictures, of course. For a prince who’d before kept a reasonably low profile, he’d been all over the tabloids after he’d left her, his escapades with socialites and film stars and other royals popping up so regularly in her social media that she finally just closed most of her accounts.

It had hurt, yeah. But mostly it had only reassured her that his departure was for the best. He was a player, and not the kind of man she wanted.

She knew that about him. And yet one real live glimpse of him with another woman, and she turned into a jealous girlfriend.

Except, of course, she wasn’t his girlfriend.

For that matter, she never really had been. She’d simply been one in a string. Not photographed or filmed, but part of that chain nonetheless.

“How can I help you, Ms. Porter?”

His voice wasn’t cold, but its formality bothered her more than it should.

No. That’s good. Formal and professional.

She cleared her throat and concentrated on speaking slowly. “I changed my mind.”

His brow rose. “Did you? And what exactly are we talking about?”

“My paper. You said you … wanted to work with me. How exactly?”

For a moment, she thought she saw heat flare in those ice-blue eyes. But it faded as quickly as it came, and she convinced herself it was only her imagination. “An education,” he said. “Talking points. A plan. I want to go back home with the framework of a proposal I can present to Parliament. A plan for amending our constitution, as well as a rationale to support the proposal.”

She nodded slowly. “Why?”

“Considering you wrote that paper, I imagine you already know.”

“My paper wasn’t specific to Avelle-am-see.”

Technically, that was true. But as he studied her face, she was certain he knew exactly what had prompted her to choose an international law topic for her Law Review article.

To his credit, he didn’t call her out on it. Instead, he simply said, “In my country, the monarch stands as head of the executive branch. A king who resembles your president, but with a bit more power, though it is balanced by the role and rights of the parliament.

She nodded. She already knew all of that, of course. It was amazing how much learning your ex-boyfriend was really a playboy prince could lead a girl down dozens of rabbit trails of research.

“In theory, I don’t have a problem with the monarchy. Our country is small, and the royal family is not only integral to our identity, but it also acts as the underpinnings of tourism, which is essential to our economy.”

“But?”

“But I do have a problem with our particular system.”

“Agnatic primogeniture. Only a male heir can inherit the crown.”

He nodded. One quick tip of his head.

“You think you’re incompetent.” She raised a brow as she looked him up and down, then shrugged carelessly. “I could see that.”

To his credit, he didn’t take the bait. “My sister is the first born, and she’s a natural leader. As far as I’m concerned, she’s being denied her birthright.”

“Others would say it’s your birthright.”

“And they would be correct under the law as it now stands. But it’s not my ambition.”

“Physics,” she said, remembering his passion. The way his face had lit up when he talked about his work with Professor Malkin.

He said nothing, and she wondered at his silence, but didn’t ask. Instead, she straightened her shoulders and nodded. “I honestly don’t know how much help I can be, but I can help you understand the issues, the arguments, the pros and cons so that you can go back and advocate for the change.”

“That would be most helpful.”

“But I have a price.”

His brows rose. “Over and above your firm’s already hefty hourly rate?”

“Yes.”

The corner of his mouth twitched, but all he said was, “I’m listening.”

“I … I have to speak. At the symposium. My father thinks … well, he’s wrong. I’ll … mess up, and it … it won’t reflect … well on the firm. And my dad … I’ll end up … disappointing him.”

Leo looked at her for so long that she feared he would say no. Then he slowly nodded. “I can’t help you with how to speak—you already know what to do. The breathing. The pacing.”

She started to argue, but he continued, cutting her off.

“But I can work with you. I can help you become more comfortable in front of a group, so that you don’t rush and so that your nerves don’t get the better of you. In this instance, I think that is key.”

He wasn’t wrong. “You’d do that?”

“In exchange for your help?” He met her eyes, his expression unreasonable. “Yes, Skye. I will do that.”

He smiled, and her stomach flipped over. And right then, Skye wasn’t sure if she’d gotten the help she needed, or if she’d set herself up for heartbreak all over again.