by Katee Robert
She couldn’t talk about what was bothering her. Not without admitting that she hadn’t been completely honest with her friend about her financial situation. Cara knew she was broke, but there was broke and there was drowning. Meg was doing the latter. Admitting that aloud to anyone was as good as admitting she’d failed. Cara might not see it that way, but it was the monkey on Meg’s back. Her problem and her problem alone.
Plus, if Cara knew how bad it was, she’d try to help, and Meg knew all too well how money changing hands changed a friendship. Right now, they were on equal footing. Two graduate students slumming it as bartenders to supplement their income while they pursued their respective degrees—Meg in accounting and Cara in fashion design. If Cara lent Meg money or got involved in her debt in any way, there would be no going back.
No.
She refused to let that happen.
Meg gave a tired smile. “Just stress about next semester.”
“Honey, you can’t start stressing about something that hasn’t even happened yet.” Cara propped a hand on her hip. She and Meg were roughly the same size, but her thinness was the result of model-good genetics and not of subsisting on ramen. She flipped her blond hair off one shoulder. “Do I need to stage another intervention and get you out of your head for a little bit?”
Considering it was Cara’s last intervention that got Meg in this mess with Theo—and Galen, even if he hadn’t showed yet—she wasn’t about to agree to another one. It had seemed so damn simple at the time, a welcome relief from her reality. Cara convinced her to go dancing for her twenty-third birthday. And then she’d met Theo’s gaze over a crowded dance floor and lost her damn mind. Meg forced a smile. “Thank you, but one wild night like that is enough to last me at least a couple years.”
“Gah, you’re twenty-three. Stop acting like you have one foot in the grave.” She angled her head sideways and frowned at the patrons filtering out of the bar. “It’s dead in here. Why don’t you take off? If you won’t let me talk you into going dancing, the least you can do is get some sleep. You look like shit.”
“Jeez, Cara, don’t hold back.”
“The bags under your eyes have their own bags.” Cara touched a gentle finger to the spot in question. She frowned. “Are you sure nothing’s really wrong? Because I’ve seen you stressed before, and it didn’t look like this.” She lowered her voice. “If you were in trouble, you’d tell me, wouldn’t you?”
“Cara—”
“Damn it, Meg, you aren’t alone. I know it feels that way, but you’re not. It’s okay to ask for help.”
A big guy ambled up to the bar and leered at Cara. “Hey, Blondie, how about a little extra sugar with my beer?” He licked his lips, as if the lecherous tone of voice wasn’t enough to get his innuendo across.
“Hey, Big Foot, how about you let the ladies talk?” Cara snapped. “I’ll bring you boys your next round shortly, but if you try to pinch my ass, I’m going to break your wrist.”
His brows lowered. “You can’t talk to me like that.”
“Weird. I just did.”
If Meg let this go on much longer, Cara would start another brawl, and then she wouldn’t be getting out of here until three. She hooked her friend’s arm and practically shoved her back into the kitchen. Meg couldn’t quite smile at the asshole huffing and puffing himself into a tizzy, but she managed a neutral expression. “What are you boys drinking?”
“That bitch can’t talk to me like that.”
She cocked her head to the side. “I’m sure you were just talking about actual sugar with your beer and not sexually harassing one of the bartenders here. Our manager doesn’t think too highly of that sort of thing, and he eighty-sixed the last guy who tried.”
That took the wind right out of his sails. He deflated a little. “It was just a misunderstanding.”
“Of course.” She waited a beat, and then another. “Your beer?”
“Bud.”
Naturally. The beer of the good ‘ole boys. Meg got to work filling new glasses of beer for them and then brought them out to the table. She managed to get out of there without anyone slapping her ass, which was just as well. In her current mood, she was liable to pull a Cara and start a brawl of her own. She poked her head into the kitchen and found Cara pacing. “It’s taken care of.”
“Appreciate it. Those kinds of assholes just get under my skin.” Cara gave herself a shake. “That’s neither here nor there. Get the hell out of here, Meg. Go sleep or drink or do something just for you. I absolutely forbid you to run anything related to numbers until tomorrow.”
That sounded great in theory, but there was on particular number floating around Meg’s head like her own personal demon. Two thousand dollars. That bastard just dropped two grand without even blinking, without even asking me if that was what I wanted. She untied her apron and fisted the fabric. Theo might have grown up playing god with the lives of the people in his country, but she hadn’t asked for his help.
She didn’t want his help.
And, damn it, she was going to tell him that to his face.
Meg clocked out and gave Cara a quick hug. “I don’t deserve you.”
“That’s bullshit. I am beautiful, but I am flawed.” She grinned. “By the way, that new rom-com is out this week. Want to grab snacky stuff and rent it next week on our day off?”
She opened her mouth to demure, but the truth was there wouldn’t be much time for their movie nights once school started back up again. The only time they’d see each other was when they were working, exchanging snippets of life updates and gossip on the go. “Yeah, that sounds nice.”
“Good. I’ll see you later. Be safe.”
“Always.”
But she didn’t feel safe.
She felt angry and reckless and ready to burn something to the ground.
An hour later, Meg stopped on the sidewalk in front of Theo and Galen’s place. It was a state-of-the-art building that backed up to Central Park, complete with an elevator requiring a key to get to the various apartments and floor-to-ceiling windows to maximize the view they’d paid an obscene amount of money for. She didn’t know the kind of people who lived here, but they had to lead as lavish lifestyles as Theo and Galen did.
Not that she knew exactly what kind of lifestyle they lived.
Really, she didn’t know shit about them that wasn’t pulled straight from the tabloids—exiled prince of Thalania, party boy who shirked his duties, a player who constantly had a different beautiful woman on his arm. All of it was from when Theo was still Crown Prince, and none of it mentioned Galen or his relationship with Theo. More than friends but less than dating? Or maybe they were dating and just trolled New York clubs for girls to take home the same way they’d taken Meg home three months ago?
She didn’t know.
She’d never expected to see either of them again.
Nothing was going to get solved while she stood out on the street, glaring at the front door. She squared her shoulders and marched inside. A doorman subtly stepped in front of her. “Ma’am?”
Oh right. Buildings like this operated with high-end security that included a doorman to keep the riffraff out. Meg lifted her chin and tried to look like she belonged. Fat chance of that. I’m as out of place as a donkey at a dinner party. “I’m here to see Theo Fitzcharles.”
The doorman was an older black guy whose suit was so perfectly pressed, it made her eyes hurt a little. He studied her for a minute and stepped back. “Mr. Fitzcharles is expecting you. He’s on the top floor.”
That took the wind right out of her sails. “Oh. Uh. Thanks.” She hadn’t really wanted to get into it with the doorman, but a little confrontation to burn off her excess energy couldn’t hurt. Except you know better than to shit on people just doing their job. Get your head on straight, Meg.
Easier said than done.
Her head hadn’t been on straight since the last time she’d been in this building. Calling Theo and Galen’s home an apartme
nt was laughable. Her tiny closet of a home was an apartment. She could fit her entire place into the bathroom off the master bedroom. Calling it a suite seemed so mundane, though.
Meg didn’t need confirmation on how different their lives were. Everything about Theo screamed money, even though he wasn’t the kind of guy who flashed it around to get attention. He just… was. Even if she didn’t know where he came from, she would have pegged him as old money.
Stop analyzing him and get up there.
The elevator ride felt like it took seven times as long as it should have, and by the time she stepped out into Theo’s apartment, she was shaking. Her anger rode her so hard, it was almost enough to drown out the memories that ambushed her the second she stepped into his place. She stopped short, barely registering the doors sliding shut behind her.
There was the couch where Theo had bent her over and fucked her while Galen licked her pussy. There was the kitchen where she’d stripped out of her robe and told Galen to come and get her. If she followed that hallway back to the main bedroom, she’d find the bed where they fucked until the sun crested the sky, and then slept curled up around each other.
God, it hurt to face those memories.
She rubbed her hand against her sternum and tried to reclaim her anger, but the feeling slipped through her fingers like smoke. She hadn’t signed up for this—for any of this.
A sound brought her around to face the hallway. Theo stood there in nothing but a pair of low-slung lounge pants, surprise written across his face. “Meg.”
It was right around then that Meg realized it was well after midnight. She crossed her arms over her chest, but that made her feel too defensive so she let the stance drop. “Take it back.”
To his credit, he didn’t bother to play dumb. “I see you got my gift.”
“It’s not a gift and you damn well know it. It’s financial blackmail.”
Theo raised his brows. “Apparently I need a drink for this conversation.” He headed for the kitchen and pulled out a bottle of whiskey that cost several hundred dollars. Theo doled it out into two tumblers with the ease of someone who had spent his life bartending. She had no idea where a prince would pick up a skill like that.
I don’t care where he learned to pour like that. That’s not why I’m here.
Theo slid one glass across the counter in her direction, but she didn’t move from her spot by the door. To walk farther into the apartment was to run the risk of memories overriding what little good sense she had. She carefully looked around, studying the shadows lurking in the far corners of the room. Empty. Of course they were empty. She didn’t know what she was thinking—that Galen would hide there and jump out at the opportune time? Even knowing the bare minimum when it came to these men, she knew that wasn’t how he operated.
No, if he was in the apartment, he’d be in her face. Meg turned back to face Theo. “Where’s Galen?”
The edges of his lips quirked up. “He’ll be back in the morning. He doesn’t like to leave me alone for long stretches of time.”
“Considering the bullshit you’ve gotten up to since he left to run whatever errand he’s on, I don’t blame him.” The feeling blossoming in her stomach most definitely wasn’t disappointment that this situation would be resolved and she’d be long gone before Galen got back. He was a prickly asshole, but a perverse part of her enjoyed poking at him.
More importantly, he had the same expectations of their night together that she had. He would agree that Theo crossed the line, and while Meg didn’t have a snowball’s chance in hell of getting the former Crown Prince of Thalania to do what she wanted, Galen probably could convince Theo to take the money back.
Theo leaned back against the counter, the move causing the lights to catch the ripples of his muscles. They were very nice muscles. They looked even better when they flexed as he moved inside her…
Oh my god, stop.
Meg marched over to the counter and downed the whiskey. It burned her throat and warmed her stomach, leaving her with the faintly spicy aftertaste. “Take the money back, Theo. I mean it.”
“Impossible. It’s paid. Your semester is set. End of story.” The playful edge she’d seen when he showed up in the bar was nowhere in evidence tonight. This Theo was intense enough to send her rocking back on her heels. Meg was in over her head and sinking fast, but she was determined to keep her eye on the prize.
She set the glass on the counter with a soft clink. “I’m not a whore.”
“I’m aware of that.” Not even a flicker of surprise or outrage. “If you were a sex worker, you would have made ten times that much for the night we spent together.”
Her jaw dropped. Meg couldn’t decide if he’d just complimented or insulted her, but she didn’t like it one bit. A tiny voice inside her marveled at what she could do with twenty grand, but she shut it down. Having sex for money was—No. She didn’t care if other people did it. It wasn’t her business. But Meg had been accused of being a whore her entire life, and she’d be damned before she lived up to the slur.
Theo sipped his drink as if he had all the time in the world. “Why does it bother you so much to let someone else help?”
His words too closely mirrored Cara’s from earlier. If she explained her situation to Cara, her friend would understand. She’d flirted with true poverty enough times that she’d be able to put herself in Meg’s shoes and empathize. Trying to explain her realities to Theo… she might as well have tried to describe red to a blind man. His world and hers were so different, they were on different planets.
Meg straightened her spine. “I don’t need your help.”
“On the contrary. Unless you had a stash of money in your mattress for just this occasion, you did need my help.” Nothing showed in those blue eyes—nothing except a heat she did everything in her power to ignore. Theo drained half his whiskey. “Your degree is important to you. I don’t have to know you well to know that. Just like I know that you weren’t going to be able to make the remainder of that payment. I have more money than one person can spend in a lifetime. It’s nothing to donate it to a worthy cause.”
She stood there and let the words wash over her. They picked at the shields she worked so hard to keep in place, burrowing deep and spreading their poison through her entire being. All of it boiled down to one word. Charity. She wasn’t a person to Theo, not really. She was a broken thing he thought his money could fix.
If she had any whiskey left, she would have thrown it in his face.
If she was Cara, she would have thrown the glass, too.
Meg marched around the counter and into the kitchen. She grabbed the glass out of Theo’s hand and downed the remainder of his whiskey. It wasn’t enough to drown out the words circling, pecking, pecking, pecking. They mixed with older, harsher, words from her past. Whore. Good for nothing. Waste of space. Failure. She reached for the bottle blindly and nearly knocked it off the counter.
Theo caught it before she cost him even more money. Concern flickered across his face. “What’s wrong?”
“What could be wrong? I’m a whore who’s not even being paid her full worth.” She grabbed the bottle from him and poured a double. Meg didn’t drink much these days, but the current situation called for it.
Theo covered the top of the glass with one of his big hands. “Whore is a derogatory term, princess. I didn’t put that word in your mouth.”
“How very woke of you.” She tried to slide the glass toward her, but he kept it trapped. “Theo, I am so angry, I am in danger of throwing something expensive that I can’t afford to replace.” Which accounted for everything in the damn apartment. “Let me drink.”
“Throw something if it’ll make you feel better.”
His dismissive tone rubbed against her skin like sandpaper. Of course he wouldn’t care if she destroyed everything in this place because he could afford to replace it without blinking or worrying about where his next meal would come from. The sheer privilege he displayed staggere
d her. She glared. “Put the money back, Theo. That’s what I came here to say, and now that I’ve said it, I’m leaving.”
Meg made it a grand total of one step before his voice stopped her. “No.” The word fell between them, an almost physical thing that sank any chance she had of getting out of there without making a further fool of herself.
She turned. Theo wasn’t leaning against the counter any longer. He’d halved the distance between them and there was a look in his blue eyes…
Something akin to possession.
Meg licked her lips, roots growing from the soles of her feet and binding her in place beneath the heat of his gaze. “You don’t own me.”
“I don’t want to own you, princess.” He took another step toward her and, this close, it was impossible to ignore the differences in their size. Meg wasn’t short. Theo was just that tall. He tangled his fingers in her hair and gave it a light tug she felt all the way to her toes. “Stay.”
“Oh, fuck right off.” She pushed his chest, but he didn’t even bother to pretend she was strong enough to move him. “You can’t just lay on the smolder and expect me to drop my panties and jump on your cock. You… You…” She ran out of words to convey her fury and screeching at him like a banshee might feel good but would accomplish nothing.
Meg did the next best thing.
She kissed him.
3
Meg had every intention of ending the contact before it began. She was proving a point, damn it. But Theo dug those big hands into her hair and tugged her close, his big body enfolding her own.
When Meg was twelve or thirteen, she’d adopted a stray cat. It was during one of the good years with her mom, and every day when she’d come home from school, no matter how shitty her day had gone or how many times she’d been humiliated by the other kids, that cat was waiting for her when she walked through the door, purring up a storm and wanting a cuddle.