by Alexis Angel
"It's true; I feel like a whole new person," I reply with a smile. "I've been seeing Connor … a lot lately."
Christine takes a sip of her drink and chuckles.
"I figured that much," she says, smiling. "Does that mean you two are … serious?"
"I mean, I really don't want to jump the gun and jinx things, but … I think so," I say. "We're so different, Connor and I."
"But don't you see? It's the couples who are the most different who make the best pairs. It's what happy ending are made of! Jump into any good book or movie and you'll see what I'm talking about."
"You're probably right. If people are too similar, they either bore each other to death, or they want to kill each other. Connor and I are opposites on so many levels—his wealth, ego, and liquid courage, but I feel so good around him—like I can take on the world, you know?"
"I'm so happy for you Natalie. You deserve to be happy."
"But even though I'm happy, and things are good—Connor is so different from all of the men I've dated in the past."
"No kidding," Christine laughs. "He's a prince … and a real man. No offense, but your past boyfriends were far from men. Like those spineless guys from the Harvard Porc club. I mean, how different can you get from a Prince?"
"It's not just that," I say. "I've just never dated around much, and I'm a bit more conservative with who I sleep with—case in point about those Harvard guys—and I definitely never considered that I'd be dating a playboy. But then Connor came along and he got me out of my shell. I've really opened up to him, and let down my guard."
"I'd say he got you out of more than just your shell … like maybe your clothes?" she laughs. "But in all seriousness, that's great, I just want you to be careful girl."
"What do you mean by that?" I ask.
"Just take it slow, okay? You're one of my best friends and I don't want to see you get hurt. Don't go too far too fast, you know what I mean?"
Christine's always been a worrier and over protective, so I dismiss her.
"Come on, you don't need to worry about me," I say. "I know what I'm doing. Connor is a good guy, I swear. I've really gotten to know him over these last few weeks."
"I'm just looking out for you," Christine says with a serious expression on her face.
"I appreciate that, but Connor and I are great," I reply.
The next morning I have a smile the size of a watermelon wedge on my face. This is possibly the happiest I've ever been in my life. I walk into the offices of Gage Price, but I quickly realize that everyone is looking at me. Instead of the usual office chatter, it's unusually quiet. The people who are talking, are now communicating in hushed tones. Is it just me, or are people trying hard not to stare?
I approach my desk, and settle in. I power up my computer and place my purse on my desk when I see a note. It's from my manager, George Brown.
"Please come see me as soon as you get in. Thanks, George"
He never leaves me handwritten notes like this. What's going on?
My smile disappears and my pulse picks up as my heart feels like it's trying to kick a hole in my chest. I start growing dizzy with worry, so I take a deep breath to calm myself down, and I walk to George's office.
When I stand in front of his door, it's open, but I give it a quick knock to signal my arrival.
He looks up from his computer. "Natalie, please come in," he says. "We need to talk."
Now, I don't know about you, but for me, those four words raise my anxiety levels by about a thousand. Mark my words; it's never ever a good thing when someone suggests a sit-down conversation with those four words.
I walk in and take a seat.
"I received a letter today," George says. "It came from Nadia Scow, the press officer for Connor D’Avington.”
Now he really has my attention.
Why would Connor have Nadia send George a letter? He's been working with me from the beginning. I'm his point of contact at Gage Price. I'm his PR consultant.
"It's not good," George continues.
Now my pulse is really racing, but I try to keep my cool and just nod my head, urging him to go on. Maybe this is all just a misunderstanding.
"He's instructing the Royal Press Office to terminate his agreement with Gage Price," George says.
"He's what?" I ask, nearly shouting. "Why would he do that? I feel like this is coming out of left field. Did he give a reason?"
"He did," he says, matter of fact.
"And?"
"He says it's because of you."
What? I can hardly believe his words. As soon as he says this, my heart sinks. It seems to travel straight through to the floor.
Looks like Christine was right.
I was such an idiot for being so blind. I let my guard down.
I should've been more careful.
122
Connor
I salute the doorman as he holds the door open for me. I spent the morning working out and then I got it in my head to do something nice for Natalie. I went over to the Time Warner Center, which is really close to the New York Athletic Club where I train, and bought some nice sexy lingerie for Natalie from La Perla.
Who am I kidding, right?
She's going to put this shit on, and I give it all of maybe 30 seconds for it to stay on.
Sure, if I let her, Natalie can gyrate around for me a little bit. Look all sexy as fuck as she could maybe back that nice ass of hers against me, into my cock.
Fuck, just thinking about her in this thong is getting me hard as I get into the elevator.
I wonder if she's coming straight to my place or if we're meeting for dinner?
One thing is for fucking sure, love, and I know it in my fucking bones. I think I'm in love with this girl.
But yeah, I haven't told her anything yet.
A large part of that is that I've never been in this situation where I've fallen for a girl and she's been pretty aloof from me.
I mean, think about it, love. Ever since the first day when I fucking fell from the sky, she hasn't put up with any of my bullshit.
Remember the fucking tongue lashing she gave me at the United Nations?
Remember the honest assessment she gave of my public image?
Sure, she's loving and caring. But she's also smart as all fuck and she doesn't suffer fools.
For the first time in my life, someone expects more from me than just to show the fuck up and get my award.
In fact, you may not think it, but my swearing has come down a lot too, love.
I'm serious. I don't swear as much. Unless I'm with her and we're about to have sex that is.
Then, all bets are off.
Speaking of which, thinking about how I love her is fun and all, but the elevator doors are opening up to my floor and I'd much rather imagine what she's going to look like in this La Perla that I bought for her.
I think the best course of action is to go open some wine for her, pour some scotch for myself, call her, tell her to come over, give her this underwear, tell her to wear it, then rip it off of her, and proceed to fuck her brains out.
Maybe she won't be so smart after my cock is done with her, but her intelligence hasn't been affected so far, so I think I'm fucking good, love.
I'm actually quite pleased with my plan as I walk into my apartment.
But when I look around my apartment, I freeze.
That's odd, there's shit all over the place.
I mean, I know it's not like I've been ransacked. It's just I see a travel bag of Natalie's that's on the dining table.
I see her iHome that she brought over to charge her phone and play music unplugged.
What the fuck is going on?
"Hello?" I ask as I walk through the apartment.
Probably for the first time ever, I kick myself for having such a big place to live in New York City.
You're going to think I'm a fucking asshole for telling you I literally hate myself for having six bedrooms right about now.
<
br /> I find her though in the Master Bedroom.
She's carrying a handful of her clothes from the walk-in closet that I cleared out for her and dumping them on my bed.
"What the fuck is going on?" I ask. She seems so intent on getting her clothes out that she gives a start when I speak.
"What are you doing, babe?" I ask her again.
She's silent. She's not even looking me in the eyes.
"Natalie?" I ask.
This shit is starting to seem kind of fucking mental. I take a couple tentative steps toward her and raise a hand to caress her cheek.
It's like I pushed a trigger or something.
"Don't you fucking touch me, you asshole!" she shrieks, taking a step back.
Almost as if forgetting me and going back to what she was doing, she walks into the closet and emerges in a few seconds with more blouses and dresses. She brings these to the bed and hastily stuffs them into a duffel bag.
"What the fuck are you doing?" I ask. "Besides creasing your fucking dresses. That dry cleaning bill isn't going to be cheap."
She looks at me with eyes smoldering with fire.
"Don't worry, I'd rather pay any dry cleaning bill than take up any more of your precious time or lead you astray, Your Highness," she says with a cold edge to her voice.
Something is definitely not right here.
"What are you so upset about?" I ask her, looking around. "And why the fuck does it look like you're moving your shit out?"
Natalie looks at me like she's about to laugh through some tears.
"Are you fucking serious?" she asks me. "After everything we went through and everything we did you're wondering why today I'm moving my shit out? And yes, I'm getting everything out of here. I won't be troubling you anymore."
But that can't be why, can it?
Was it her birthday?
Was it our anniversary?
"Listen, babe," I say, trying to figure what the most expedient thing will be to say. "I'm sorry."
She pauses.
Bingo.
Maybe I got something.
"I really am sorry, Natalie."
But whatever it was, it wasn't good enough for her.
She zips up her duffel bag with the last of her clothes and turns to me.
"I'm really sorry too, Connor," she says.
I watch her, still puzzled and a bit concerned as she grabs her iHome and the other bag, and walks out the door.
Jesus.
Maybe I should've told her I love her a lot earlier instead of waiting.
123
Connor
"I swear to all that is fucking holy I have no fucking idea what you're talking about," I say, not without a little fucking exasperation to Christine.
Fuck, I don't even know if Christine is the best person to contact. All I know is that after last night, this morning I went to the first of Natalie's friends that I could find. All I know is that I remember her from some party at the United Nations and over the last month or so she's been out with us half a dozen times.
Always seemed pretty solid. Maybe a bit immature, but then again this is coming from the man who calls himself Prince Pleasure, right, love?
"You have to have known something, Your Highness," Christine says to me, leaning back on her bench.
Christine is a young graduate student at NYU and when I came looking for her she was sitting on an outside picnic table reading something for class.
"Christine!" I yell out, and at first after she got done being startled, she didn't want to have anything to do to me.
"I'm not trying to do anything more than simply figure out what I did that pissed Natalie the fuck off!" I yell at her. This may or may not have calmed her down and got her to look at me curiously.
"You don't know?" she asks me.
I shake my head.
"All Natalie told me was that if I was going to drop Gage Price, I could've at least had the decency to let her know so she could've tried to fix whatever was wrong," I say to Christine. "The problem is I never dropped Gage Price."
Christine shrugs at me. "Well, she's out of a job most likely because they all think you dropped them because of her," Christine says. Then she narrows her eyes at me. "It's 12 noon right now. Do you know where your press officer is?"
At first I'm about to snort and laugh at this question. What a fucking joke.
But then I start to think.
Christine looks at me and raises her eyebrow.
"Think about it," she says to me. "If you didn't do anything, but Natalie thinks you did, then who else would be the one to know enough about your involvement to remove you from Gage Price?"
Fucking hell.
I tell Christine that I have to go and I start walking to my motorcycle.
I call Jacques before I get on the motorcycle.
“Jacques,” I tell him. “Get ready to go to St. Albans. Call me when you land. We’re going to have some digging to do.”
I get a call from Jacques that evening.
"Jacques, tell me everything we know on Nadia Scow," I speak into the phone. "And I don't just mean the standard shit we ask before someone starts working for the Crown. I mean I think Royal Intelligence needs to do a quick scan of her right now."
Jacques is nothing if not efficient because it takes him literally all of two days to get back to me.
It's not as if I'm sitting around on my ass during that time.
I do as much research onto the Constitutionalists as I can. If they’re focusing on me, I can’t help but feel that somehow this is all fucking connected.
Sure enough, there’s websites already running as to ‘the Crazy Prince’ and how he’s biting the hands that feed him - firing his PR company.
I place a call to Silas the next day.
"Tell me everything the Constitutionalists have been up to," I ask my brother Silas as I call him. He takes my call, despite being in the middle of a Cabinet meeting and sighs.
"They've mainly been pointing to the shenanigans of the Royals of St. Albans and calling us unfit to lead," he says wearily.
This doesn't make any fucking sense.
"Wait a second," I say to Silas as I talk into the phone. "Mom and Dad abdicated the throne to enjoy retirement and I doubt they warrant much gossip, and you're a family man with kids. That means they're all fixating on..."
I trail off as I make the connection in my head.
"Yeah, baby bro," Silas says. "They've started focusing on you. It's nothing you did or didn't do. It's that the rest of us are too boring and by using you they think they have the greatest chances of stirring up a popular revolt."
"What if I was in the process of cleaning up my act?" I ask Silas.
"Well then firstly I'd probably have to pinch myself," Silas says with a chuckle. "But you'd probably cut the Constitutionalists at the knees. In fact, baby bro, this last month you've been on some good behavior, haven't you? I think I read about how the Anti-Royalist factions in St. Albans were starting to get worried."
We talk for a few more minutes but everything is starting to make sense.
I hang up. It only took three days. But it all makes sense now.
It’s one thing to go to Natalie and tell her sorry for anything.
But in order to really win her back, I need to show her I’ve fucking changed. I’m not the impulsive fuck anymore.
I have all my shit together.
And then Jacques calls.
"Sire," Jacques says. "I'm sending over some security forces to your location. We have some definitive proof that..."
"Right, Jacques, listen, just track my motorcycle," I tell him and hang up before he can protest. I know I cut him off, but I already know what he's going to say. I’ve already figured this shit out.
I’m buzzing down Broadway within the half hour and it takes me no time to get to Gage Price.
I approach the receptionist at the lobby.
"Mr. Thomson and Mr. Brown aren't in right now," the receptionist tells
me. "They're conducting the exit interview with a client."
No shit. I'm the client. But she's just staring at me dreamily. If I tell her I'm the prince of St. Albans I don't think it'll do me any good.
"I'm here to stop them from fucking doing that," I tell her. "I'm Prince Connor D'Avington from St. Albans."
The dreamy look disappears. It's replaced.
With fear.
"My Prince.." the receptionist says, trying to clear her head.
"Where are they?" I ask, politely.
"The Frying Pan," the receptionist says simply.
I nod. I know exactly where that is. I run out and hop on my bike.
In seconds I'm weaving Midtown traffic like a fucking boss.
The Frying Pan is on the West Side. Think extreme west side.
I see it in the distance.
So, just something really quick about this restaurant.
It's built on an old salvaged barge and it floats on the Hudson River. It's not actually on land. It's a giant barge that's tied up to a dock.
And within seconds I see where Natalie is sitting with George next to her. I see Nadia sitting across from them.
Fuck, I actually think Nadia sees me coming because I get the sense that her body stiffens.
No use slowing down now.
I've got to get fast enough to jump across the water that separates the barge from land.
And then there's gonna be a fucking reckoning.
124
Natalie
I almost wish that the corporate mindset didn't require me to have to be so professional where I had to smile and be polite to this stupid bitch Nadia.
Sorry, I shouldn't call her a bitch. That's really not fair.
But she's sitting right here, smiling at me sweetly, as George and I basically sign exit interview papers that will mean the dissolution of the partnership between Gage Price and the kingdom of St. Albans.