“Who did?” I ask.
“Remember how you wanted your big night to feel as normal as possible?" she asks, doing air quotes with one hand.
"Was that too much to ask?"
"I know you didn't want Officer Stohler and Officer Roderick there because you wanted to let your hair down—"
"They’re incredibly efficient at what they do, but I see those women every single day of my life. If things got out of hand—which they apparently did—I didn't want to feel embarrassed. I'm fully aware there's no getting around this whole security guard thing. It's a constant in my life. I just wanted my shadows to be at arm’s length... for just one night." I exhale.
"You should be entitled to at least that on your big day. The club’s management team took it upon themselves to hire the security for the night. They made sure those guys were vetted by your father’s office. Technically, everything should've gone without a hitch. Alastair, the club's manager, swore up and down that those guys could nail the job with their eyes closed."
"But they didn't." Charlie shakes her head. "Lay it on me. I'm ready." I wouldn’t exactly go that far, but what other choice do I have? I need to know what transpired that night. Half an hour later, Charlie has updated me on everything. I listen with my jaw dropped and my mouth gaping open. I'm so utterly flabbergasted that I can’t even come up with anything to say. Not only am I shocked by the turn of events, but I'm even more surprised that I don't remember much. When Charlie stops talking, a scary thought creeps up. “Why is it that Daddy didn’t call me in a panic? It must’ve been all over the Internet.”
“Don't worry. It wasn't,” she states confidently.
“Charlie, that’s impossible. Two men trespass Britain's Prime Minister’s daughter’s twenty-fifth birthday party, a couple of overzealous security guards decide to play God and the whole thing is witnessed by fifty people or so and it's not on the first page of every single rag in the country? I don't buy it. You don't have to sugarcoat this. I'm a big girl. If I’m the laughingstock of the entire country, I have a right to know."
She narrows her hazel eyes at me. "You underestimate me as a publicist and as your best friend, my dear."
“All right, I’ll bite. How were we able to keep all of this hush-hush?"
"Well, it's a combination of luck and savoir-faire," she waggles her eyebrows. “There were three groups of people to handle. That long driveway kept the limo drivers far away from the action. They only figured something had happened once the police showed up. By that time, it was too late because the officers asked them to drive off the property—"
“How did everybody get home?" This story is becoming more unsettling by the minute.
"At the end of the evening, the club had to hire a fleet of taxis. Needless to say, they had to foot the bill."
"Good Lord," I marvel.
"Luckily, the staff at the Warwick has signed airtight nondisclosure agreements."
Two down. One to go. “How did you handle the guests?"
"No. Mobiles. Allowed. The Warwick has a strict policy for their private events. Everyone was forced to leave their mobiles with a hostess when they arrived. In this age of photos and videos going viral, you can never be too careful. Other than the security team, I was the only one who had my mobile with me.”
“Wow.” I pause, trying to take it all in. "So, who got me on the plane?"
“Officer Roderick and Officer Stohler.”
“Oh, God,” I cringe.
“I called them on the way to your place so they knew what to expect. When we got there, I cleaned you up and made sure you looked presentable for your trip before handing you over to the care of your bodyguards." Incredible.
"What must they think of me?" I worry.
"Honestly?"
"Please."
"They were worried and very upset they weren’t there for you. Those two are so committed to you, it's ridiculous. I don't think you have to be concerned about embarrassing yourself in front of them in the future. Their job is to protect you. From what I gather, I don't think anything else matters."
"Duly noted," I say.
“The big tragedy about that whole evening is that you don't even remember your saviors." My eyebrows knit together. “Honey, those Americans were smoking hot.”
“As in handsome?” I scrunch my nose up.
“As in very fuckable." The expression on her face is pure wantonness. Charlie has a tendency to fall in lust quite often.
When she’s still lost in her reverie, I snap my fingers, "Hello. Earth to Charlie. I thought this was about me?"
"Please forgive me." She looks genuinely remorseful. "Those two were demigods. Just thinking about them makes me drool." She bites her lower lip.
“Just my luck. I’ll never know who they are.”
“That’s the second reason why I’m calling.”
“There’s more?”
"Just as I was about to ask for their names, the police showed up and fucked everything up. I figured you'd want to at least thank them."
"Of course. I take it that they're not members of the club?"
“I’m still not sure. I saw Alastair shaking hands with them and smiling at them at some point. Seems like he knows them, but the club’s manager is absolutely determined to remain tightlipped about it.”
"Oh well, easy come, easy go,” I shrug.
“There’s a part of the story I haven’t filled you in on yet,” she grins like the cat that ate the canary.
“What are you talking about?” I ask cautiously. Charlie finally shares what she left out. My jaw drops. "Come again?"
"You hit on both the Americans fearlessly. Apparently, you were flirting hard."
“I'm mortified," I shout. My hand flies to my face to hide my embarrassment. "Jesus," I mumble inside my palm.
"You shouldn't be. I was beaming with pride.”
"Why? I admitted in public that I have a nonexistent love life. Worse, I did it on the day of my twenty-fifth birthday. In front of complete strangers." My voice raises an octave. "That makes me a loser. Not someone to look up to. Seriously, I could've plastered a poster on my forehead saying, "Shag me, I'm desperate for you to stuff my fanny with your big willy," and it would've done the same thing.”
"Nonsense," Charlie scolds. “Although it has been a while for you...”
“Charlotte,” I scold.
"Okay, okay,” she says with a small laugh.
“Thank God I’ll never see them again.”
“Well...”
“What now?”
"Next Wednesday night the club will have their monthly cocktail party to welcome new members. We’ll both be back in London. Guess what?" She continues without allowing me to answer. "Members can bring a guest. You’ll be my plus one. We’re going to track those guys down if it’s the last thing I do.”
Her determination is legendary. Unfortunately, I'm about to burst her bubble.
"I can't.”
“Why not?”
“Daddy has a big ceremony that night. Remember?"
"Oh, yeah," she grimaces. “Between planning for your birthday and getting my ducks in a row for this trip, it slipped my mind," she explains.
"It’s one of my father’s last formal affairs before he hands over the reins to his successor. I can't miss that to go chasing after two men I don't even remember. Daddy would never forgive me. Not to mention, I'm his date for the evening," I point out.
"Bollocks."
"That's okay. It's good news for you. You go without me. I'm sure you'll bump into them again. I'll attend another long, dreary and unexciting event where I'll be making small talk until I'm cross-eyed and shaking so many hands mine will go numb," I laugh. "As I said before, easy come, easy go."
CHAPTER 6
Brandon
Holden and I have been locked inside the conference room in our office since nine-thirty this morning. We’ve been relentlessly planning a presentation for a very influential businessman we never thought we’d m
eet this early in the game. We might have just arrived in London, but we’re doing it NYC style—fast and furious.
I’m so glad Estelle convinced Holden and I not to rent offices in Canary Wharf. As cool as that area is, getting to it is a bitch during rush hour. The proximity of our penthouse to our current work place in the district of Westminster is a real blessing—one we were able to experience first-hand this morning.
"We need to find a way to thank Carter for connecting us to Sullivan Redmond," I say, pulling my eyes up from my laptop.
"I agree," Holden replies, meeting my gaze. “QuinnAir is a big deal. Sullivan dominates the low-cost airline business in Ireland. We’ll get Estelle on it. I'm sure she’ll come up with something really expensive and sure to be memorable."
"It has to be. This is a big deal that’s landed in our laps. There’s no room for error here,” I stress.
“We’ve got this, Royal,” Holden smiles.
Our small team is already hard at work making sure our Netherlands plant can manufacture a key piece that supports our App to accommodate Carter’s impressive order and potentially Sullivan’s. Time is of the essence here because the Irish mogul wants us to fly to his office first thing tomorrow. He’s adamant his board of directors witnesses our App first-hand. We’re happy to oblige.
“Fuck, Viking, can you believe we’ve been here less than a week and Dublin wasn’t even part of our short list of markets to hit yet?” I exclaim.
“It doesn't get any better—”
A knock on the door interrupts Holden. "Come in, Estelle," we both shout in unison waving at her. The conference room is surrounded by glass, so working here is like living in a fish tank.
Our elegant and impeccably dressed assistant walks inside with a determined step and closes the door behind her. When she pins her closed fists to her waist and bounces her gaze from mine to my best friend I know we’re in trouble.
"Uh-oh. What did we do now?" I ask.
“Gentlemen, I know, ‘the world is not enough for you two’.” She says that with air quotes before placing her hands back down in that motherly position again. "But I hope you’re mindful of the time."
My eyes move up to the big clock nailed on top of the door. "It’s four thirty," I respond enthusiastically. That was easy.
"And you know why I’m reminding you of that?"
"Of course we do," I lie.
"So, you do remember you have an appointment at six?”
"Of course we do," I repeat. Another lie. "Right, Holden?" He gives me a tentative nod. He’s as clueless as I am.
"The car will be waiting for you in the parking lot at the back of the building because traffic on the street will be horrendous at that time of the day," Estelle announces.
"That's good," I say. I flash Holden a furtive look. His eyebrows are knitted in a question.
"You have no idea what I'm talking about, Mr. Buckingham?" Busted.
"I'm sorry, Estelle. There's so much going on today. What are we forgetting?"
“Like everyone else here, I'm incredibly excited about the contract with Mr. Redmond. Go team. Go,” she raises her fist and cheers. That’s as much humor as you’ll get from Estelle. “But there's something else that should be on your list of priorities for today." She's really not making this easy for us.
"Estelle, you know how easy it is for us to lose ourselves in our work. The fact that we’ll be in Dublin tomorrow doesn't help things," Holden explains.
"That's exactly why I’m here, Mr. Barclay,” she pauses, inhales a long breath before saying, “The tailor is expecting you."
Shit. We still have so much work to do. “Can't we do that on our return? Monday or Tuesday?" I suggest.
Estelle narrows her brown eyes. "Mr. Buckingham,” she doesn’t do the whole first name base thing. It's too informal for her liking. “I’ve cancelled your fitting appointment on Monday and again yesterday. We’re Thursday and the ceremony is in less than a week, gentlemen. Today's the day. There’s no two ways about it or else I fear you'll be walking around in ill-fitted tuxedos and I'll have no part of it.” She shakes her head vehemently.
You can imagine that moving to another country is overwhelming no matter how many billions you have to your name. We started working with Estelle Halliwell a year ago. She came highly recommended from an executive recruiter we contacted on Nikolaj’s recommendation. Six months into the job, we decided we wanted her to be a permanent part of our team. We made her an offer she couldn't refuse and we handsomely compensated the recruiter. It was a smart move on our part. There's no way we could’ve hit the ground running like we are right now without her. She’s shouldered far more responsibilities than expected and she keeps surprising us. She’s the compass that keeps us going. She also happens to be tough as nails. There are a lot of things Holden and I do well, but as he pointed out, we can get pretty consumed with work and lose track of everything else.
“Estelle, we’ll be ready and waiting for the chauffeur downstairs," I say to appease her. "On time," I add.
She doesn’t look convinced. “If you walk into the tailor’s shop on Monday, it’ll be cutting it too close. The pair of you aren't small men. It's not as if you could waltz into Harrods and walk out half an hour later set to go. Off the rack isn’t an option for you, nor should it be, considering your unparalleled success." Did I mention that Estelle is a straight shooter? "It takes time for an expert with the right touch to make sure your tuxedos fit you like a glove.”
"Stop worrying about it. Worst case scenario, Brandon and I have other suits. And many are custom-made here in London,” Holden offers.
That's all we wear these days.
Estelle’s head whips towards Holden and her face drops in a horrified expression. “A tuxedo is the norm, sir. Next Wednesday night is a big deal. It's a huge honor. Very few people will ever be in your position. A suit simply won't do," she affirms.
Initially, we had planned on moving to London at the end of the summer, but six weeks ago, we received an invitation that changed everything.
“I promise you won’t have to reschedule our fittings, Estelle,” Holden reassures her. “We’ll be there.”
She holds my best friend’s gaze for a few long seconds before shifting her eyes towards me. “We will,” I answer her unspoken question.
That seems to do the trick. “Very well. I’ll go back to my work now," she says, turning on her heel and walking towards the door. She pauses before grabbing hold of the doorknob and turns to face us. "I'll be back at a quarter to six... just in case you lose yourself again," she adds, before exiting the conference room.
"I guess we've been told," I chuckle.
"She’s taking this a little too seriously if you ask me.” Holden laughs.
CHAPTER 7
Amelia
As I cross my penthouse to change the playlist I had selected on my iPod Touch before I started my makeup, there’s a knock at my door. I freeze in a moment of panic. Here I am prancing around with big rollers in my hair wearing nothing but my lace knickers, clutching a double espresso in one hand and a big powder brush in the other. I’m anything but decent. When I don’t answer, the knocking resumes. "I'm sorry, Ms. Cavendish, Ms. Wentworth is here to see you,” my officer says. What? Why didn’t she just call? “The concierge downstairs tried to ring you, but you’re not answering your phone,” she adds. What is she talking about?
“One second,” I shout. “I’ll be right there.” I drop the cup and brush on the console near the speakers, race back to my bedroom, grab a dressing gown to cover my partially naked body and sprint back to the door.
I swing it open half out of breath to see my friend standing next to Officer Malone.
“Honey, I tried your London number several times on the way here, but I got nada," she pauses. She lowers herself and gives me two air kisses. Instinctively, I get on my toes to receive them. "I think you forgot to change your SIM card and it seems you’ve silenced your home phone,” she says, walking inside.
She drops her gold clutch on the beveled Murano glass console near the door and turns around to face me.
“Gosh!" My palm hits my forehead in realization. "You're right. It totally slipped my mind. I'll take care of it before I leave." I turn my attention to my officer. “Thank you so much, Officer Malone."
"Of course," she says. "I'll resume my post."
"And I'll finish getting ready,” I say.
“Very well, madam. Officer Keenan and I are ready when you are. The car should arrive on time. I’ve already confirmed. You still have,” she pulls out her phone from her trouser pocket, “ninety minutes.”
“That should be plenty of time,” I say before closing the door behind me and leaning against it.
"I gather Roderick and Stohler are off for the night," Charlie observes.
"Had I not insisted on them taking the night off, they’d still be shadowing me. This whole trip to Korea was exhausting and don't get me started on the flight back. What a bloody nightmare. I only got back to London a few short hours ago. Frankly, I haven't got a clue how I'm going to be able to handle tonight without falling asleep." I push myself off the door and take a few steps forward.
“What happened? I thought you were supposed to fly in yesterday,” Charlie asks.
“The storm raging over Japan made its way to Korea. It was dreadful. So much so that the airport shut down. Needless to say, it feels like I'm about to lose my mind. Normally, I'd be soaking in a hot tub right now, but instead, I have to get ready for the ceremony my father is hosting. Fatigue isn't a good enough reason to stand up the Prime Minister of Britain when you're his date.”
"It’s all behind you now," Charlie sympathizes.
"Thank God."
"Good for you for giving Roderick and Stohler the night off. They’re workhorses."
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