by Tawny Taylor
Ohmygod!
She slapped the paper aside and grabbed her phone.
Was it Mikki?
No.
Detroit.
She didn’t know anyone in Detroit.
She let the call go to voice mail, and once the little chime indicated a message had been left, she listened.
Ohmygod! It was the Great Lakes Conservancy!
Rafe had kept his word. He’d forwarded her resume.
Heart racing, palms sweating, she called the lady back.
With any luck, she wouldn’t be an unemployed, gold-digging American anymore. She’d be a working, independent American who didn’t need a prince charming to fix her disastrous life.
Take that, you bastard!
22
Jenna
They had a photograph of Rafe in the GLC’s lobby?
Of course they had a photograph of him. He was royalty. Prince Raphael Karposh Stojanovski, said the plaque affixed to the frame.
The photographer had caught his likeness perfectly. The silky waves of his hair, the air of power in his expression. The glimmer of something slightly naughty in his eyes.
God, she missed that glimmer. And those lips. And his hands…
“Miss McCall?”
Jenna startled slightly. She swung around, catching the girl at the reception desk staring at her. Then, at the sound of a throat clearing to her left, she saw the woman standing in front of the door at the end of the lobby.
Crap, her face was flushed. She could feel it. Her palms sweaty. And was that receptionist still staring at her?
Yes, she was.
The woman’s expression was tight, formal. “This way, please.”
Already, Jenna felt slightly off kilter. And the interview hadn’t even started.
This wasn’t what she’d thought the GLC would be like. Sure, she’d read up on the nonprofit. She knew they were accomplishing some great things. And to do that, they’d had to battle some of Michigan’s industry goliaths. But she hadn’t expected the corporate environment to be so stiff and formal.
Following her hostess, she peered into the open doorways they passed, catching glimpses of employees knotted up in suits and ties, the women wearing conservative black or blue business suits. The place reminded her of a law office.
“This way.” The woman motioned her into the last office at the end of the hall. Jenna hurried in and took a seat in front of the large wood desk. There was a file folder on the desktop. Hers, she imagined.
The woman sat behind the desk and flipped open the folder. “I’m Sharon Fitzgerald.”
“Thank you for meeting with me, Ms. Fitzgerald,” Jenna said.
“Mrs. It’s Mrs.,” Mrs. Fitzgerald corrected.
Jenna swallowed hard. This interview was off to a less than stellar start. “My apologies.”
Mrs. Fitzgerald studied Jenna’s resume. “I see you graduated in the bottom half of your class.”
Holy crap. Was that strike two? Already?
Jenna hadn’t been exactly thrilled with her grades in college, but she’d been content with them. She’d had to work a lot of hours to support herself. And she’d taken an extra heavy load at school so she could finish early. But if she told Mrs. Fitzgerald that, would it appear she was making excuses?
“That’s true,” she said, deciding to go with a different tactic. She would focus on the positive. “But that is no reflection on my commitment to conservation or to my career. I’ve been focused on working for your agency since my first day of college. I studied both environmental sciences and business. I can operate a computer, type eighty words per—“
“That’s all fine and good, Miss McCall, but you’re lacking in related work experience. And what work you do have is all short term. Nothing that shows any sort of commitment or continuity.” Mrs. Fitzgerald pointed a finger at the work experience section of Jenna’s resume, which she had to admit was lengthy.
Keep it positive.
“It’s true, I took a lot of temporary positions while I was attending school, but in regard to lacking related experience, I feel I have quite a bit. The Operations Coordinator position requires strong administration and communications skills, which I have acquired through my temporary positions—“
“Including that of personal assistant to His Grace, Prince Raphael?” Mrs. Fitzgerald interrupted, her brows slanted. “Communications skills, you say?”
Jenna’s stomach turned.
Something was up. Something bad.
Mrs. Fitzgerald pulled another piece of paper out of the folder. She placed it on the desk then slid it toward Jenna. Smiling, she didn’t even wait for Jenna to read what was printed. “Thank you, Miss McCall, we’ll be in touch should an opening come up that matches your range of skills.”
It was a copy of yet another stupid article. This one’s headline: “Naughty Prince Sows Wild Oats with American Wild Child.”
Wild Child?
Jenna swallowed hard as a mouthful of defensive comebacks rushed up her throat.
No. She would not make a fool of herself. Not here, in front of this woman…who had a metal rod shoved up her ass, apparently. The headlines were wrong. Kind of. She’d done nothing wrong. Really. Sure, she’d done some things with her boss. But she hadn’t slept with him.
So much for her dream of working at the GLC. They didn’t deserve her. Not the way they’d treated her.
She’d talk to Mikki and see what kinds of listings her mom’s agency had. Assuming Mikki hadn’t been fired.
No, Mrs. Pacello would not fire her own daughter.
She hoped.
Of course, her mom wouldn’t fire her.
Yes, Mikki would help her find a job. Eventually. Probably not right away.
Now that she was done with school, she could look at the permanent postings. She just hoped she wouldn’t be waiting too long.
Her life was a trainwreck.
Needing some serious junk food therapy, she stopped at the market on her way home. At least this time she wasn’t wearing boots and a parka; she was wearing her interview best. Her hair was neat, and she had makeup on. If there were paparazzi there, waiting to ambush her, at least they wouldn’t be catching her looking like a homeless girl.
“Are you having a party?” the checkout-girl-slash-super-fan asked as she scanned Jenna’s mountain of junk food.
“Nope.” Not bothering to explain why she was purchasing over fifty dollars of chips, ice cream, and baked goods (aka comfort foods) Jenna swiped her debit card, poked the little machine that magically told the cash register she’d paid and grabbed her bags.
But before she left, she swiveled around to address not only the cashier but also the stupid paparazzi tailing her. “But if you must know, I just had the worst job interview of my life. And it’s all your fault.” She gave the photographers some serious get-out-of-my-way squint-eyes.
With that, she stomped out of the grocery store, pushing through the throng of onlookers.
So what? She’d kissed a prince. Big effing deal!
It didn’t mean anything.
She wasn’t his girlfriend.
Nor was she a tramp, like the woman who’d interviewed her at the GLC implied.
What a joke that had been!
The meeting would never qualify as an interview. The (uptight, thoroughly prejudiced, middle-aged) woman hadn’t asked Jenna a single question about her volunteer work with the wildlife rehabilitator or the park nature center. It was obvious she had no intention of hiring her. Why had she even bothered? Why hadn’t she just cancelled the interview once she found out about the stupid articles?
That was it. Her dream job was lost. Forever. And all because of a few kisses.
Who would’ve imagined that?
And now what?
Ignoring the snapping camera shutters, she dumped her groceries in her trunk and dove into the driver’s seat. She cranked on the radio and hit the gas, rocketing her car through the store parking lot. If the jerks were going to tail her, by G
od, she was going to them work for it.
Good grief, she’d been dealing with this for less than twenty-four hours, and it was already making her crazy! When would it stop? Was there anything she could do to make it stop?
Her car skidded into her apartment’s parking lot mere seconds before her new fans, just enough time for her to grab her bags and sprint to the door.
Wieners! Why wouldn’t they just give up?
Inside her apartment, she left one carton of ice cream on the table and shoved the rest… all five of them… in the freezer. Unlike alcohol and sex, ice cream was the cure for everything. Sore throat. Broken heart. Lost job. She figured this firestorm was going to take mega-doses, thus the cartons of Bear Claw, Rocky Road, German Chocolate Cake, Cookie Dough and Moose Tracks. The Moose Tracks, her fave, was going down first.
Carton and giant spoon in hand, she plopped down on the couch and remoted on the TV.
She was no more than a quarter of the way into the Moose Tracks, and maybe fifteen minutes into the latest episode of The Bacchelor when Mikki came stumbling into the apartment, looking absolutely… joyful. This was a surprise. Yesterday afternoon, Mikki had returned home looking downright depressed. Then she’d updated her resume and gone online and started job hunting.
“How was work? Better than you expected after yesterday?” Jenna shoveled a massive glob of vanilla, peanut butter and chocolate into her mouth. Heaven on earth.
“No, actually, it went pretty good.”
“Mmmm?” Jenna said, her mouth still full of creamy sin. This was good news. As expected, Mikki hadn’t been fired. Mikki would help her find a job. It just might take some time. She’d probably have to wait until things cooled down a bit.
“You have a new job offer. It’s another temp assignment.”
Now that was great news! And totally shocking. After this thing with the prince, she’d assumed she would be waiting for weeks, if not months, to work for Pacello again. Not that she was broke… yet. The temp job for Rafe had paid very well. Well enough for her to take some time to find her next gig. Gratefully, he’d paid her for the full two-week contract even though she left early.
But if she could start earning money right away, who was she to complain?!
Assuming the job wasn’t doing something heinous. Jenna swallowed. “Where? When? Doing what?”
“Personal assistant. To a woman named Nichole Wentz. The kicker is it’s not in the US.”
Another personal assistant’s job? She could handle that! Hopefully this time she’ll actually earn her salary. “That’s probably a good thing, given all the press hounding me right now. Wait, did you say Nichole Wentz? Is this job in a certain puny European country… called Aragonia…?”
“Yes. Do you know this Nichole woman? You didn’t mention her.”
Jenna nodded.
She sure did know Nichole.
That little sneak! What was she up to now?
No doubt it had something to do with Rafe. “She was a houseguest of the prince. We got along pretty well.”
“I guess you did! She wants you to start in a couple weeks. You’ll be there for a whole month!”
A month? Four weeks? In Aragonia? Why the heck not? “It’s a far cry from a Caribbean island but I’ll take it.”
“I assumed you would after I was told the salary you’ve been offered. You haven’t even asked. Mother is pleased. But she has one condition.” Mikki waved an index finger.
“What’s that?” Jenna asked, already having her suspicions.
“You cannot involve yourself in any more scandals. No sex. No parties. No photos of you drunk or in any uncompromising positions. Got it?” Mikki asked, poking that finger at Jenna’s chest.
Scandals? Jenna had had her share of those! Marion Pacello had nothing to worry about. “Sure.”
This girl never made the same mistake twice.
23
Rafael
“I don’t know why you let him get to you like this.”
Rafe glared at his computer.
His oldest brother would never get it. Why? Because Father didn’t treat Vin the same way. Father didn’t treat either of the other two the same.
Vin was the first. The oldest. The future king. Father was hard on him. He was hard on all three of his sons. Because he knew they had to be tough to survive, to defend their places in a country that increasingly failed to see their use.
Like in most European countries, the Aragonian government was a complicated blend of republicanism and monarchy. However, unlike its many neighbors, the country hadn’t yet moved into a fully parliamentary government—which would leave the monarchy as nothing but a figurehead. Still, each year it seemed more power was being stripped from the king and shifted to the parliament.
At the rate things were going, by the time Vin’s children were of age to take the throne, it would be nothing more than an empty position, lacking any power at all.
Thus it was their responsibility to continue to fight for their rights as future kings.
He was no crybaby. Despite recognizing the level of disregard for his accomplishments his father showed, Rafe didn’t let it get him down. Only angry. And more determined.
“Please, go. I have work to do,” he snapped at his meddling brother. Why did Vin insist on constantly being a pain-in-the ass distraction? He had his own problems to solve. Did he feel no passion for his work? Or fear for his future?
“It’s a holiday. No one is working, not even the king.”
Holiday?
Holidays meant nothing to him. What would he do if he didn’t work? “I’ll take my holiday later, when I’m finished with this.” In one month Rafe had managed to double the value of his holdings. Double. That had taken a great deal of work, watching the market, waiting for the right moment, the right positions.
And his father hadn’t even batted an eye.
Because of that effing scandal.
This month he was determined to triple it. If he was smart, and focused, he could do it. If tripling his cash worth didn’t get his father’s attention, he didn’t know what would. One of the arguments against the continuation of the monarchy was the cost of maintaining their properties and lifestyle. If that was no longer any burden on the taxpayers, none at all, would that not cast them in a new light?
He was sure of it.
Which was more reason to fight for it.
And more reason to be frustrated when yet another knock meant he would be distracted. Again.
“I’m busy. Go away.” He shooed his bothersome brother away but just as his brother reached the door, it swung open and a newly arriving uninvited guest barged into the room.
“Is that any way to treat the only sister you have?” Nichole pulled a pout and planted her hands on her hips.
He loved her. He really did. But he was not in the mood to argue with her.
“You’re not my sister.” He stood and clapped his arms around her the instant she was within reach.
“You might as well give up,” Vin said as he stepped out of the room. “You won’t get any work done now!”
“Work? It’s a holiday.” The instant the embrace was broken, Nichole was scowling at his closed drapes. “What are you doing, locking yourself up in this dreary room?” She dragged open the curtains and a splash of blinding light poured through the window. “Look at it out there! It’s a spectacular day! Perfect for hitting the slopes. Or cozying up to a fire in the lodge.”
Skiing? Lazing around a fire? Who had time for that? “I have work to do,” he informed her.
“You always have work to do.” She caught his hand and tugged.
This was true. So why was she not getting it?
“Take a break,” she pleaded. “I have a friend visiting from America. I was going to take her to the lodge for drinks. Join us. Bring your skis. She’s never been skiing. I promised to teach her. You can help.”
“That sounds… delightful,” he lied. “But really, I have—“
“Do I need to remind you of the debt you owe me? For helping you out of a certain sticky situation a couple of months ago?”
Well, damn. She was playing that card again? So she’d played the role of his pretend fiancée to get a certain unwanted groom-hunter off his back. She’d loved every minute of it. “Haven’t I paid that debt by now?”
“You’re not even close.” She gently pushed on his laptop cover, slowly lowering it. “Come on. My friend is already here. She's waiting for us in the car.”
“She?” Ah, so that was it! His crafty friend was up to no good again. Trying to set him up with one of her friends. “I’ve told you before, I’m not interested—“
“It’s not a date,” she insisted.
“You’re up to something.”
“No, I’m not.” She blinked. And again.
Liar.
“The poor girl traveled a long way to see our beautiful country,” Nichole said. “It would be cruel to make her wait any longer. I know you have gear and clothes at the lodge. So there’s no reason to delay another second. And the markets are all closed now. No need to watch that stupid ticker…” She marched to his office door and swooped her arm. “Out. Now. Or I’ll make your life a living hell.”
Of that, he had no doubt.
He let his wonderful, persistent, annoying friend see how frustrated he was with her as he loped through the doorway and down the hall.
“Two runs down the mountain,” he vowed. “That’s it. Then you and your American friend will leave me to my work.”
“If that’s what you want,” she agreed.
“It is.”
She gave him an odd look, one that made him uneasy.
Soon he would be regretting his decision. He just knew it.
24
Jenna
So this was where the royal family lived. This was where Rafe lived.
In a castle.
A massive, gorgeous, stately, majestic castle that was bigger than any building Jenna had ever seen.
Words failed her, the palace was so beautiful. It was hard to believe anyone lived in a place so enormous. How much space did five people need, for crying out loud?