Forbidden Prince

by Zoey Oliver

  “Totally,” she shrugs. There’s not a trace of regret there. Amazing.

  “Perfect,” I answer, matching her breezy attitude. “I’ll just hop in the shower. Looks like a lot of people are waiting for me back in San Francisco anyway. You mind taking a taxi when we get there? I already have a meeting set up.”

  “Sounds great,” she smiles. Like a bank teller, like I expect her to add have a nice day on the end of it.

  We spend the rest of the time we have together acting like coworkers. Logically, I know this is the best way. We both got what we wanted, right? She wanted to shed her virginal roadblocks, get a taste of the good life. I wanted to cross her off my to-do list. And I did.

  Totally fair, no hard feelings, that’s that.

  Once we’re on the jet, Nadine brings out coffee. She gestures toward the champagne that’s always kept on board and I shake my head. This is not a champagne kind of trip.

  Ava slides into one of the captains’ chairs, peering out the window and buckling the seatbelt over her hips.

  “I still can’t get over it,” she muses. “Did you think your life was going to be this way? Did you think you were going to end up the sort of guy who travels the world in a private jet?”

  “Of course I did,” I answer reasonably. “Nobody gets rich by mistake. I mean, it takes luck, but you still have to aim for it.”

  She nods thoughtfully. “I hadn’t thought about it that way.”

  “Well, you should,” I say. “I mean, you should think about where you’re aiming. You should have a plan.”

  She smiles, her cheeks dimpling in that way that I love. I try not to notice.

  “Speaking of plans,” she starts. “Didn’t we have a plan to make a cover story? Aden is going to be all over me like a detective. I need something to tell him, and we never did get to tour your companies and look for a job…”

  “Oh, you’re totally right. Your brother’s going to freak.”

  She lowers her chin and glares at me. “No, my brother is not going to freak,” she retorts, suddenly all sassy. “Because you’re going to keep your word, Ethan. You’re going to give me a job.”

  “Okay, okay,” I answer. She’s right. “Fair enough. A promise is a promise. So, what would you like to do?”

  She shrugs one shoulder, settling back in her chair as we start rolling down the runway. Immediately I remember our first trip on the jet, holding her in my arms, eager to touch her, eager to make her moan in my ear. I push the thought away with prejudice.

  I don’t want to think about that right now.

  “I think I would like… well, not an internship. Something real.”

  “Something real,” I repeat with a smirk. “What does that mean?”

  “Well I can’t go home with just an internship, now can I? Internships are supposed to turn into real jobs.”

  “Sometimes they do, sometimes they don’t. You think your internship went well? You got promoted just like that?”

  “I think my internship went amazing,” she answers with a twinkle in her eye. Does she have to flirt like this? “I definitely think I got promoted. I’m practically running the place now.”

  I can’t help but chuckle. She really is adorable. “Okay then. A real job. Doing what?”

  The jet lifts into the air, leaving the ground behind. Leaving all of last week behind, just like that.

  “Well, do you have something in media? Television? Movies? It is California.”

  “Hmm… not really. Television is kind of a dying industry. I do have a small company that does videos, like short dramas. Web-based.”

  She raises her eyebrows at me. “Like soap operas? Like daytime television?”

  “Yeah, I don’t know if that really exists anymore,” I laugh. “But I think you might like it, now that you mention it. It’s right downtown, as a matter of fact. They have been doing really well, and I know they just lost a couple of production people. Would you be interested in trying something like that?”

  “It sure sounds like a good start,” she says. I search her eyes, looking for a trace of the woman who was in my arms just this morning. Anything. But no.

  “Okay then,” I say finally. I guess it’s all settled.

  The jet lands again in about thirty-five minutes, which goes by so quickly. The taxi is waiting on the tarmac when we get there, and we deplane, chatting in a friendly but awkward, albeit professional, way, I suppose.

  She looks up at me for just a moment before she gets into the taxi, pushing her hair back from her forehead with her hand. I see fifteen years of her, all layered at once. The young girl, the teenager, the young woman, the vixen, and now the savvy negotiator who just talked me into giving her a pretty great job even though I don’t even know what her major was in college.

  “All right, then,” she says brightly, smiling and squinting in the glaring sunlight. “See you soon, Boss!”

  She ducks into the taxi and the door thuds closed. As it rolls away, I wonder if I’ve done the right thing. My stomach clenches.

  I mean, I don’t know what else I could have done. I’ve never done anything else but say goodbye, over and over again.

  So why is this one so hard?

  Chapter Fourteen

  AVA

  “Wait, this is where you work?” Bea asks, her eyes widening. We go through the revolving glass doors and end up in the wide, marble-lined lobby. I let her look around for a couple of seconds and drink it all in. It’s not my building, like I didn’t build it, but I do still feel pretty proud.

  “Yep, this is the place! Fourteenth floor. I’ll show you my cubicle!”

  “Oh good, a cubicle,” she repeats wryly. “I’ve never seen one of those before.”

  We step into the elevator and I thumb the button for the fourteenth floor, sliding my shiny new access card through the slot.

  “Be nice, Bea,” I scold her gently. “It’s just a start. Everybody gets in on an entry level, don’t they?”

  “Not everybody,” she rolls her eyes.

  I make a face, cringing. “You didn’t find anything yet?” I ask carefully.

  She shakes her head, her lips pressed into a tight line.

  “I can’t believe it,” she sighs. “I must’ve given out two hundred resumes, and only three interviews. Still nothing.”

  The doors slide open and we walk out into the reception room. The receptionist looks up and smiles from behind her glass desk.

  “This way,” I say, leading down the hallway on the left to the row of low partitions that divide the cubicles. Bea’s head swivels back and forth as she drinks it all in. It’s pretty nice. A brightly lit space, filled with twenty-somethings trying to battle each other for creative supremacy every day.

  “What do you do here, exactly?” she asks in a low voice, like we’re in a library or something.

  “Whatever they tell me to do,” I shrug. “Officially, my title is ‘producer,’ but that doesn’t really mean anything. Not like I’m a movie producer or something. I just, you know, produce things.”

  “What kind of things?”

  “Mostly PowerPoint presentations,” I chuckle. “Sometimes I even get to produce copies!”

  She opens her eyes wide, dramatically nodding as though it’s the most interesting fact in the world.

  “You should be president by the end of the week!”

  We keep our voices down, but the urge to giggle is almost overwhelming.

  “Can I see the studio? Maybe meet the actors or something? I like that Blake guy.”

  “Oh, do you watch these videos?” I ask her. Somehow the thought hadn’t even occurred to me.

  “I love them!” she sighs. “New media. I’m all about it.”

  “Well, when I really am president, I’ll be sure to give you a job,” I assure her. “Let me just get my purse and we’ll go have lunch.”

  Bea plops down in my swivel desk chair while I log into my computer, checking for new emails before grabbing my purse.

&nb
sp; “Oh my God,” I whisper.

  “What is it?” she asks, stopping in mid swivel.

  “It’s an email… from Ethan.”

  She leans forward, intrigued. I scan the thing quickly. It’s a long email, more than I would’ve expected.

  “What’s it say?”

  “He wants to… go out? Next week?” I answer, confused.

  It actually says a lot of things. But it’s weirdly mechanical, almost like a corporate status update. He even mentions that Ben got the oil changed on his Maserati. It seems weird.

  “Are you going to go out with him?”

  “No,” I answer softly, standing up.

  “What you mean, no? Was it that bad?”

  I look around the office, nodding at my supervisor, a couple of the interns. I like this place. This is a good fit for me.

  “No, I already had to take a sick day. I need to focus.”

  “What does that have to do with anything?” she huffs.

  “I mean, I don’t know,” I sigh. “I’m not sure what to do. I already broke things off with him. There’s no point going back to that, is there?”

  “Well, is he going to buy you dinner? You’re not going to say no to a free dinner, are you?”

  “I don’t know…”

  “I mean, he is your boss. Maybe he just wants to check in? See how you’re doing?”

  I shrug.

  She rolls her eyes dramatically, nudging me with her shoulder and leaning over the keyboard.

  “Here, let me help you,” she starts, typing with her long, clicky fingernails. “Hello, Ethan. Nice to hear from you. I’d love to go out to dinner, thanks for asking. Smooches, Ava.”

  My eyes open wide. “Wait, did you just send that? Did you seriously just send him an email?”

  She shrugs. “Yes, and now I’m famished. Can we go to lunch please?”

  My head starts to spin. “What did you just do?” I demand. “You really just sent that email? Oh my God, I can’t believe you!”

  “God, you’re so dramatic. Get your purse.”

  She saunters out of my cubicle, and I snatch my purse and trot behind her, trying to keep my voice down.

  “Bea, wait!”

  But she just sashays toward the receptionist again. She’s very proud of herself, I can tell. My stomach churns ominously.

  “Hold on,” I gulp. “Ladies room, now!”

  I duck into the ladies room before we get to the reception area, my hands out to steady myself against the counter. The room seems to tip in front of my eyes and I breathe deeply, trying to get a grip.

  “Jeez, Ava, I was just joking… are you okay?” Bea says, coming up behind me. She flips on a tap and wets a couple of paper towels that she hands to me.

  I dab at my forehead, blinking over and over again.

  “Bea, what were you thinking! I did not want to send that email!”

  “You don’t look so good,” she mutters, concerned.

  “Well, you just agreed to a date that I didn’t want!”

  Her hand reaches out, and she pats my arm. “No, I mean it,” she says again. “You don’t look so good, Ava. You okay?”

  I fan myself with my hand, shivering slightly. “I’m fine. Just adjusting to the new space.”

  “Are you tired? Hungry?”

  “Yeah, starving,” I admit.

  “Nauseous? Dizzy?”

  “Those too.”

  She squints at me, staring me up and down. “Is your period late by any chance?”

  My heart stops.

  A mental image of a calendar pops into my head and I count back twenty-eight days, then a few days more... oh no.

  “Oh my God, Bea.”

  Bea snaps her giant purse open, plunging her hand in and digging loudly to the bottom. She pulls out a box.

  “Why do you have a pregnancy test in your purse?” I ask her.

  “It’s for my sister Julie. She freaks out like every other week since they started trying. I always have these,” she answers.

  With shaking hands, I take the test from her and duck into a stall. Three minutes later, we’re both staring at the little plastic stick on the counter, holding our breath.

  “So… what are you gonna do?” she whispers.

  “I have no idea,” I answer, staring at the little plus sign, feeling my life flashing in front of my eyes. “First thing, I’m going to cancel that date.”

  “Oh no you don’t,” she shoots back. “You need to keep the date. You need to keep everything normal, Ava. Don’t do anything rash.”

  “Yeah, but—”

  “No buts,” she insists. “Keep your job. Keep the date. Keep it all a secret. Not forever, just until you figure out what you want to do. Okay? You can do this.”

  “Bea… my family… they hate him.”

  She nods solemnly, stroking my arm sympathetically.

  “We’ll figure all this out, Ava. We will. Everything’s gonna be okay.” She pauses. “You don’t regret this do you?” Her face is screwed up with worry and determination.

  I can’t answer.

  Chapter Fifteen

  ETHAN

  I keep imagining that I hear the elevator car rising up to the penthouse, but every time I look over, there’s nothing. The doors are still shut. She’s not here yet.

  I poke at the wrapped box on the side table, giving it a quarter turn. The silver paper gleams subtly. I didn’t write a card. Maybe I should have written a card. Is there time? Perhaps I could go look for one…

  And the doors open.

  When I turn around, she’s just standing there, lit from above by the LED fixture in the ceiling. The light off her hair is a smudge of molten gold. Her cream-colored dress drapes over her sensually, undulating with every breath.

  “I’m so glad you came,” I say sincerely.

  She gives me a shy smile and rolls her eyes slightly, stepping tentatively into the front hall.

  “So this is your… city apartment? Or a condo? What do you call it?”

  I hold my hands out like a game show host. “This is the place,” I announce proudly. “I spend most of my time here, to be honest. This is the one that feels the most like home to me.”

  She cranes her neck, sweeping her eyes back and forth through the spacious living room, the two walls of windows that look out over the city, the stone fireplace in the middle of the room.

  “It’s gorgeous,” she breathes. “But of course, you knew that, didn’t you? Of course it’s gorgeous.”

  “Yes, thank you,” I nod, noting how edgy she seems. It’s like she’s deliberately avoiding eye contact with me. Instead she’s pretending to be interested in the city skyline that she’s only seen every single day of her life.

  “So I thought we’d head on over to that new place, um…”

  She raises up a hand. “Actually, I don’t know if I really feel like going out. I mean, people could see us.”

  “Does it matter?” I ask, confused. “There are a million people having dinner right now, Ava. Chances of us being seen are—”

  “—one hundred percent,” she announces pointedly. “Maybe not my parents, maybe not my brother, but the paparazzi. People who follow you around all the time, right? Won’t they see us?”

  I scrub my hand over my forehead. “Okay, I admit, you’ve got a point. I’ll just order in for us? Italian?”

  She gives me a relieved smile. “Italian would be great,” she says sweetly.

  I watch her walk around, enchanted by her swaying hips with every step. I’ve got the best Italian restaurant in the city in my contacts, and the chef owes me a favor. I like collecting favors.

  “All right, one Italian feast… should be here in about thirty minutes. Happy?”

  She wrinkles her nose adorably. “Ecstatic,” she chirps.

  “How about if I make a fire?” I offer. “Normally we could eat out on the rooftop deck, but it’s kind of chilly tonight. Lots of fog.”

  She agrees, folding herself onto the end of the
long, leather sofa in front of the fire. In moments I have a roaring, crackling fire in the stone pit. The light dances over the walls and across her pretty, pert features.

  “So, how are you enjoying your new job?” I ask her as I sit on the opposite end of the sofa, carefully leaving as much space between us as possible.

  “Oh!” she exclaims as though surprised I asked. “Actually, I love it. I really do. It was an excellent idea.”

  I’m happy to see her smiling, really smiling. Something about it transforms her face. She must be really enjoying the job, because she’s even prettier than normal.

  “Do you think it’s something you will want to continue doing? If you don’t think it’s a good fit, maybe we can find you something else.”

  “No, it’s perfect,” she insists. “I like everyone there, and I like the work. And I’m making enough money that I can find my own place. Probably something downtown, so I can walk.”

  “Seriously? You know, I own several buildings close to there. I could probably arrange for you to—”

  She holds up her hand to stop me.

  “I don’t need your help,” she says quickly but not unkindly. “I’ve got it all under control.”

  “I’m sure you do,” I say in a rush, hoping that she’s not offended that I’m trying to help her. “I’m just saying that I could expedite it. I mean, if you want me to.”

  She shrugs noncommittally.

  “I mean, if you need anything, just ask.”

  We stare at each other for a few seconds, and I’m grateful when the elevator doors open again suddenly. Perry arrives, carrying bags of foil containers.

  “Wow, that was fast,” she breathes. “I’m famished. Just in time.”

  In a few moments, Perry arranges the spread of delicacies in front of us. Ava’s eyes glitter with delight as she surveys the handmade raviolis, chicken scallopini, and beef marsala. She plucks a sauce-covered mushroom from the plate and pops it in her mouth, moaning dramatically.

  “Oh my God, this is delicious!” she exclaims.

  I don’t say anything. Watching her enjoy her food is a pleasure as always. I’m glad I could do something that made her happy. I get the feeling I already have a lot to make up for.