The Billionaire Prince’s Fake Girlfriend by Leslie North
8
Jane couldn’t believe how quickly Ben was able to pull together his “speech”—also known as the Big Diversion. They’d stopped by the hospital, and he’d said that he wanted to pull together a “quick event” to celebrate the healthcare workers and the vital role they played on the island, as well as hopes for future advances and ways to help more people. If they thought it odd that he wanted to do it in two days, they didn’t say anything. In fact, the hospital administrator seemed more flustered that she was talking to the royal heir than whatever it was he wanted to give a speech about. Jane got the feeling he could’ve said “I want to give a talk about balloon animals” and she’d have been on board.
So, after a few days of scheming, going through the plans of the hospital, and getting an impromptu all-access pass card despite it being a breach of hospital protocols, they were ready for Operation: Retrieve the Records.
“I’m going to speak for about half an hour, max,” he murmured to her as the administrator got the crowd warmed up. There were a lot of hospital staff, but there were also people who just wanted to hear Ben talk, and of course, there was the press. “I’ll take questions from the staff if I don’t see you back, but I’m sure that the press is going to have questions and will want to cut the presentation as short as possible. They’ll probably want pictures, which we’ll want to avoid. So if you think you’re going to be late... well, don’t be late.”
“No pressure,” she muttered.
“Which reminds me: don’t get caught, either.”
“You know, helpful advice would be appreciated,” she grumped, even though she made sure her face looked for all the world like a doting, devoted girlfriend. “Not all this stuff I already know.”
He chuckled, then stroked her cheek, which unsettled her already adrenaline-soaked system. “Good luck,” he said, and to her shock, he pressed a quick kiss on her lips, so fleeting that she barely registered it before he was off, striding toward the podium. She went hot, then cold.
Stay focused.
She was still standing in the “wings” of the large room where he was giving his speech. She cleared her throat, then looked at the person next to her, someone in scrubs. “Excuse me,” she murmured. “Where is the restroom?”
“Down this hallway, two lefts and a right,” the woman said helpfully. “There are signs when you get close, you can’t miss it.”
“Thank you.” With her alibi set, she surreptitiously left the room, pulling out her phone, which held the hospital plan and her own notes on how to get to the records room from the large conference room where the talk was being held. She passed some nurses and doctors, but no one paid much attention to her. She could hear her own racing heartbeat in her ears, and kept her head down, given all the security cameras. Like that was going to keep her from being identified… but it couldn’t hurt, right?
The records room was in the “administrative” section of the building, which was largely empty since the occupants were listening to Ben’s speech. Unlike medical professionals, they could afford to leave their desks behind for an hour, which worked perfectly for what she had in mind. She used the master pass card to get into the administrative office, then took the stairs down to the records room.
“Why are records rooms always like this?” she huffed, turning on the lights. The place smelled like dust, reminding her of the records room at the LondonCurrent. That triggered a brief but vibrant memory of the first time she kissed Ben, even if it had been a fraud, just something to convince nosy Emily that there was nothing suspicious going on.
Of course, kissing him a few nights ago had nothing to do with throwing someone off the scent. Actually, if she thought about it, she wasn’t sure why they’d kissed that night. The tickle fight, the proximity...
Oh, she might as well admit it. She was wildly attracted to him, more than she could remember being to anyone in a long time. Considering what they were doing, though, that was very, very ill-advised.
She forced herself to focus, going to the large file cabinets, looking at the years. Thank God the thing was organized chronologically. She went to the older records, thirty-five years back, and then went through the months that were relevant. Babies, especially first babies, could go early or late. She pulled all the files for a full month on either side of the presumed due date.
You have thirty minutes, she admonished herself. Her fingers danced through the folders, looking at the mother’s name. She pulled aside those that were listed as any variation on Kate—Katherine, Katrina, Kathleen—even in the middle name. She finally winnowed it down to about ten files.
Fifteen minutes. She swallowed hard, quickly photocopying the relevant files. These were her leads. Then, as carefully as she could, she put the files back where she’d found them, even going so far as to wipe any potential fingerprints off of the cabinets and the copier. She felt like an idiot, but she was afraid that somehow, she’d be caught and... well, prosecuted. Because this was legally a bit sketchy.
You’re the next Nellie Bly, the next Veronica Guerin, the next Christiane Amanpour, she reminded herself. If you want to be an investigative journalist, then you do things other people won’t. If the king had a child out of wedlock, it was a big, groundbreaking story. It would literally change that child’s life. The truth was worth bending the law a bit, she told herself, as she folded the copied pages and tucked them into her purse.
She heard voices and held her breath. She couldn’t make out what they were saying. Then she heard the voices going softer, as whoever was talking walked away.
She opened the door, looking around. She didn’t see anyone, so she made a break for it, speed-walking out of the administrative building. Another glance at her watch. Thirty minutes. Damn it, she thought.
She rushed in, slipping to her empty seat, slightly out of breath, feeling a bead of sweat from both her running and her nervousness trickle down her back. The woman who had given her instructions looked at her quizzically.
“I could get lost in a paper bag, I swear,” Jane said, hoping that the woman believed her. The woman sent her an indulgent smile, then turned her attention back to Ben.
“In short, I can’t thank the healthcare professionals of Reinia enough, for your unrelenting hard work, for your sacrifices, and for the amazing work that you do. You are valued, and I don’t want you to ever think that we, as a kingdom, don’t appreciate you. We will do everything we can to make sure you have the supplies and equipment you need, to keep our system both cutting edge and personal, state of the art and compassionate. I look forward to your input on our future endeavors. Thank you for letting me speak to you today.”
There was a roaring cheer as he nodded, startling him as he stepped off the dais. She stepped up to him, and he hugged her lightly.
“Did you get what you needed?” he murmured against her ear, so only she could hear.
She nodded, then tilted her head up. “About ten records,” she whispered back.
He smiled. Their faces were very, very close, she noticed. And she was already keyed up from her espionage excursion.
“Prince Ben! Prince Ben!”
She jolted as they were swarmed by the press. She should have expected it—he’d warned her. It said a lot that she was so wrapped up in Ben that she’d let her guard drop like this.
“You’ve been off of the island for almost a month while your father has been ill,” a reporter asked. “What kept you away? Are there any problems in the palace?”
His eyebrow went up. She wondered if anybody at the palace, staff or the like, might’ve spilled the beans. Of course, from the sound of it, there was no love lost between Ben and his father for years. It might just be a fishing expedition—the journalist pushing buttons, seeing if Ben would bite and accidentally confirm something. She was familiar with the technique, not that she used it herself much.
“Nothing wrong at the palace,” Ben said breezily, and she was amazed at his cool reserve. “I just felt like traveling, since it had been a while and I was restless.”
“We see you’ve brought back a companion on your travels,” a woman reporter said cheekily, eyes twinkling. “Care to share about that?”
“This is a friend,” he said, obviously deciding to avoid her name. These were reporters, and they’d dig. Jane turned, avoiding any eager cameras. If they found out that she was a reporter, too, they’d publish about it, and that would freak out the queen, not to mention blow their cover and possibly ruin any chance they had at finding his half-sister. “And that’s the extent of what I’m going to comment on. Thanks!”
He put an arm around her, ready to lead her off as cameras flashed around them.
“So she’s just a friend?” some yelled.
“She’s not his type,” Jane heard a scoffing voice say, and she felt Ben tense next to her before whipping his head around and glaring at the offending reporter. “Well, she’s not.”
Ben’s eyes narrowed. Then he turned back to her, leaning down and kissing her soundly.
She was already keyed up from breaking into the records room. This had her head reeling. She knew that he was trying to prove a point, but her mind blanked and her hands clutched his arms as the kiss spun out of control, going from a demonstrative pressing of lips to something a bit more intimate, more heated. Definitely not something that should be happening in front of paparazzi.
She registered the wolf whistle, but still did nothing. Ben was the one who yanked himself away, his color hectic, his pupils large. Then he shot one last look at the reporter, tucked Jane against his side, and quickly walked out to the waiting car.
When the door closed behind them and the partition went up, he snuggled her. “I am so sorry,” he said. “Both that we got ambushed by the press and that I... well, did that.”
She was still speechless. She raised her fingertips, rubbing them absently over her lip, which were a little swollen. They had kissed for a while, it would seem. Although at least it would be hard to get a good look at her face that way.
“Jane?” he asked.
She saw that he was looking at her, rueful and apologetic.
“What? No, it’s fine,” she said, and her voice sounded hazy.
“Are you sure you’re all right?”
“You’re a good kisser,” she blurted out, then closed her eyes. She had not meant to admit that.
When she opened her eyes, his expression was a mixture of surprise and delight. “So are you,” he said. “I didn’t mean to be quite that persuasive. I got a bit carried away.”
She nodded, not trusting what else she might say.
“Unfortunately, that means they’re going to be digging deep, trying to find out who my ‘friend’ is,” he said with a sigh. “Which puts a bit of time pressure on us, I’m afraid. As soon as they puzzle out you’re a reporter, it’s going to open up too many other questions. I need to find my half-sister, and soon.”
She nodded, desperately trying to keep it together. Then she pulled the records out of her purse. “Don’t worry,” she said. “We’ve got these. We’ll find her.”
He smiled, then covered her hand with his. “I know we will,” he said, his rumbly low voice making her shiver. “I trust you, and I know we can do this.”
She wanted to kiss him again, but instead focused on the papers. She was in over her head... and she didn’t know what to do about it.
