The boy’s smile widened. “Prince Ash. Is this what they call you in the palace?”
Ash made his face grave. “It’s what my very closest friends call me. You’re one of those now, all right?”
“Your closest friend? Cool!”
Ash wanted to talk to the boy more, but a teacher came and shepherded the child away. The moment was lost. Soon, Jenson was at his side. He’d donned his security guard costume of the day: a dark wig and sunglasses. The Florican government provided the royal family with a security detail, and Ash used to have his own team of in-house bodyguards. Not anymore.
Moments later, Ash cut the large, red ribbon that hung across the entrance to the school and it was his turn to be guided off. For him, it was to the car with Jenson at his side. Exhaustion from the night before seeped into him. He waited until he’d slid into the back of the rusty limo (Jenson had taken the liberty of hiding the rust with a Sharpie, similar to the one he’d just used) before he removed the crown, resting it on his lap.
Bailey rose to the surface of his weary mind. A royal-looking typeface. As if he’d have a problem coming up with something that resembled the term “royal.” He lived royal every day.
But the problem wasn’t with the royal concept. Instead, it had more to do with the client itself. Their business was called Windsor, but it was a spa, not a palace. They needed the royal treatment, but the type design also had to have a note of relaxation and flair to it. Individually, those were easy requirements; combined, they proved a challenge.
True, he could leave that to Bailey’s design, but Ash prided himself on feeding some of the clients’ goals into his typefaces. He believed it made the entire design seamless. That notion alone surprised him. Months ago, he hadn’t known anything about the palace and certainly nothing about earning a wage. He’d become an expert at both.
He toyed with the crown resting on his lap. He ran his thumbs over the smooth, faded gold, turning it over in his palms. That was when the inscription caught his eye.
The man who doth rests this crown upon his head honors thy family, thy country, and thy own true heart.
Ash stared hard at the inscription. He’d read it before, a million and one times. In that moment, it wasn’t the words which held his attention, but the engraving. He’d never seen anything quite like it. It wouldn’t work for the Windsor job. Yet, with some slight modifications, it could be perfect. The familiar a-ha moment pummeled him in the gut.
He pulled the small notebook from the breast pocket of his suit and began drawing. Copying the inscription exactly would be the first step. Afterwards, he’d make modifications to customize it. Finally, he’d have to finish creating the rest of the alphabet. It was only the beginning, one of many steps, but it was a kernel of an idea. A good idea. It was more than he’d had in an age.
With a fountain pen in hand, he shaped the letter T. He worked, not just on mimicking the letters in the same style, but adding flourishes that would make it come alive.
If his new design idea paid off, it would put Ash a little closer to securing the funds he needed to repair the palace’s roof and maybe the limo. He’d be able to do even more for Jenson, too. He just hoped he could pull it off.
CHAPTER FIVE
Bailey
Bailey woke with a start. She blinked the sleep from her eyes. Extending her arms into a long, slow stretch, she worked out the kinks even as her synapses began firing.
Windsor. The project. Jenson’s typeface.
She sprang from the bed, jumped over a sleeping Duncan, and then launched herself across the room to her desk. She swept up her phone. There was a new text.
Just uploaded another design. Hope you like it.
Another ding followed. Jenson’s name also appeared in the heading.
Worst movie ever?
She tapped out a reply. Thank you! Ummm. Anything with Pee wee Herman.
His response was immediate. My respect for you just tripled.
She chuckled, her fingers itching to dig in and review the files Jenson uploaded, but first, coffee. She took her time, grinding the beans and letting the fresh scent fill the kitchen. Once a fresh pot had begun brewing, Bailey closed her eyes and inhaled. The coffee smell was so strong, so familiar, she could almost picture herself in her parents’ kitchen back home in Florico.
Her heart ached just thinking about it. She missed home so much, but there was nothing to go back for. No one waiting there.
New York was her new life. Did it really matter if she never left her apartment? Never even needed to set foot outside for groceries if she didn’t want to?
Duncan nudged her hand, and then rested his paw on her kneecap. His toenails dug into her skin through her cotton PJs.
“I get it. You need out.” Bailey groaned, but shrugged on her robe and opened the door to her apartment, making sure to lock up behind her. That very habit grated on Bailey’s nerves that morning, more than any other. What was it like to go outside without having to latch five deadbolts? She used to know. Not anymore.
She couldn’t take two steps outside without going through that essential safety ritual.
After Duncan had had his morning constitutional, she made her way back inside, locked up again, and poured her coffee. She took one, long moment to inhale the wonderful aroma—a Kona blend with a hint of hazelnut—before she plunked down in front of her iMac, wheeling into position before her massive monitor. She really hoped Jenson had nailed it this time. “Please let it be good. Please let it be good.”
Three clicks and she’d accessed their shared cloud folder. A fourth and she’d opened the file. And then . . .
Her brain kicked into overdrive, processing the images which formed rapid-fire in her mind. Bailey took a fortifying sip of coffee. She wasn’t sure what she’d expected Jenson’s typeface to look like, but it was absolutely perfect in every way. It was like that particular font family had been made for Windsor. As if it could never be used in any other project.
“Yes!” Bailey squealed, scanning the text examples Jenson had provided. His work wasn’t done. He’d only completed enough letters to provide a sample. He’d mapped the typeface to spell out the spa’s tagline: Windsor—Where everyone feels like royalty.
There was no room for doubt anymore. It was the cheesiest tagline ever created.
The font, however, was anything but. It was her turn to start work. Ideas had already begun popping inside her head the way popcorn kernels did in a pot of hot oil. Pop, pop, pop. Building on one another, growing until the pot’s lid slipped off. She couldn’t wait to dig in. Grabbing her phone, she tapped out a quick reply.
Absolutely perfect! You definitely know ‘royal’!
There was a ding and his reply came back: Excellent. I might have experience with some things royal after all. :)
Definitely. Make up the type-kit for me, okay? I’m going to get started on my part.
Jenson’s reply came back almost immediately. Roger that, boss.
Bailey smiled, focusing on the typeface again. A castle with the tagline would be just the thing. She began with a tablet and stylus, sketching out the illustration that would serve as part of the client’s logo and figure prominently in a TV spot. She gripped the stylus firmly, her hand steady as she drafted sure strokes across virtual paper.
The watercolor imprint of a castle began taking shape, tugging more new ideas out of hiding. Yes! That was the part of her process Bailey loved. When a new concept sprung to life and begged to be designed. It was the part she longed for. The part she fought for every time.
It was the part that Jenson awoke within her. Jenson had to be her perfect partner.
Her face heated. Her perfect working partner.
She sketched even as another part of her gnawed on the word. Partner. There was a thought. Should she offer to make Jenson a partner? Or at the very least offer to hire him full-time? The last bit was an interesting idea, but right then, she couldn’t afford it. The client jobs were coming and they we
re coming consistently, but not enough for her to feel comfortable with her income. Bailey had been stockpiling half of her wages. Just to be safe.
If she hired Jenson, she’d be required to give him the exact same salary every time. If she made him a partner, however, she might be able to convince him to take a smaller salary at the start. It was something to think about anyway. The last thing she needed was for him to get snatched up by another firm, like Mackenzie Archer or another one of those snooty upstarts.
She had no idea how long she’d been working when another ding caught her attention. Jenson had uploaded the complete type-kit. Bailey skimmed them all, surveying each letter in the alphabet for several minutes. Though she focused on each, she couldn’t find a flaw.
Once the font family had been installed, Bailey opened her favorite illustration program, created a new file, and keyed in the tagline. She stared at the words she’d typed . . . observed every curve of every letter.
Perfect. It was absolutely perfect for the project.
She worked in quiet, using her stylus to shape the core image of the logo. Once given to an animator, it would be animated one brush stroke at a time. She wasn’t into animation herself, but she could envision the finished product. And if she could, that meant she’d be able to help the client do the same.
She’d almost completed the drawing, but the color wasn’t quite right. Periwinkle didn’t seem royal enough.
Setting her stylus aside, she launched her search engine and typed in some familiar words. Prince Asher Florico before adding purple as an additional search term. Dozens of results popped up. She clicked on the Images option and reviewed the pictures of her home country’s handsome prince.
He really was something to look at. It wasn’t just his looks, though. It was the way he held himself: proud and tall, as though his shoulders could bear anything. He’d been standing that way since his parents had died. Before then, he’d been more relaxed. Grief must have changed him. Grief changed everyone.
Bailey’s face flushed and she remembered the reason she’d searched him out in the first place. She needed a picture, one in which the prince wore a very specific royal shade of purple. She found it within the second row of search results. Prince Asher standing at a window with the queen, waving to a crowd before a state dinner.
She took a screenshot of the image and pulled it into her illustration program. From there, she copied the various shades of purple in Asher’s clothing in the photo into a new palette. When she was done, she saved it as “Windsor.”
Grabbing her mouse, Bailey began to select several of the shades with the program’s eyedropper, adding them to her castle. After several minutes, she’d woven varying purple hues into her drawing, adding depth to the image she couldn’t have achieved with a single tone.
Then came that God-awful tagline: Where everyone feels like royalty. She almost couldn’t bring herself to type it. Then, another idea slipped into her head. Channel your inner royal. She typed her own tagline instead. It was just right. Hopefully, the client would feel that way, too.
Hours, and a few more tweaks later, the image felt right to Bailey. It gave her this delicious, toe-curling feeling. To her surprise, she didn’t just want to enjoy it on her own. She wanted to share it with Jenson.
She messaged a low-res version of the image to him, along with the question, Anything missing?
She stood, stretching out the kinks. Duncan nuzzled her thigh when she tried to walk, so it took twice the amount of time to cross the room to her desk. Another ding.
Bailey scanned her phone.
It’s beautiful. Didn’t expect anything less.
Bailey smiled as she replied, Thanks. :)
She double-checked all of the files she’d created for her client and made sure she’d backed up properly. Then, she added a download link to a blank email, along with a note: “Tried something different. Hope you like it! BP.”
Then she submitted her work. On time.
Though she was thrilled to have completed the project on schedule, it wasn’t her design that kept swirling around in her brain, but Jenson’s words.
Didn’t expect anything less.
With a smile on her face, Bailey returned to her coffee.
CHAPTER SIX
Asher
Three More Months Later . . .
The music soared over Lady Chamberlain’s ballroom. Another Strauss waltz. She seemed to have an addiction to those. Though Ash could never understand why. For starters, they all sounded the same. They were even written in the same time signature.
Between the music, the pomp and circumstance of an evening out as a royal, and all of the pretenses he’d been forced to keep up, Ash had grown tired of it all. The instant the clock struck eleven p.m., he signaled to the bodyguard Jenson had hired for the evening and made for the door.
“Your Highness. Surely, you can’t be leaving so early. The festivities have hardly begun.” Lady Chamberlain had appeared out of nowhere—a particularly impressive habit of hers, truth be told. Sometimes she saw too much. Those days, the last thing he needed was someone who could see through him.
“I’m afraid I must.” Ash bowed slightly at Lady Chamberlain, though his own rank didn’t require it. “Thank you for an exquisite evening, my lady.”
She rested her slim fingers on his shoulder, so gently he almost didn’t feel them. “There are rumors about you, Ash. Ones involving money and your lack of it. Is there any truth to them?”
Shit. People were talking. Of course, if Ash had been honest with himself, people talked about him all the time. One of the many challenges of being a royal. “I’ve no idea what you’re talking about. Please excuse me.” He turned to the door once more.
“You know, if it’s money you need, I’d be happy to assist. I’m sure some sort of arrangement could be made.” A small frown tugged at the corners of her pale, pink lips. “We are neighbors, after all.”
“Yes, but you mustn’t worry. All’s well. Now, if you’ll excuse me?” Ash forced a smile, patted her hand, and then turned into the night. Jesus, what a relief. Spending even a moment in Lady Chamberlain’s company was one moment too long.
Jenson pulled along the curb a moment later.
“Here we are, Your Highness,” the guard said, holding the door for Ash, who slid into the backseat.
“Thanks.” Ash nodded to the guard as the door shut, drowning out the sounds of the party. His security didn’t take a seat up front beside Jenson. The temporary guard would be finding his own way home, else Ash would be forced to pay him for another hour.
Ash leaned back against the cushions as his phone dinged. He reached inside his pocket and scanned the screen.
Bailey.
His residual boredom from the party faded as he read and reread her text. Worst pizza? Mine was Veto’s Pizza.
Asher chuckled and typed a response. Veto’s. What an appropriate name. Mine was Hometown Pizza—Wisconsin.
Yikes! Can you take on another project? I picked up a new client this week.
He tapped back his reply.
Of course, anything for you.
He pressed Send, then thought about how that sounded. Anything for her? That probably came across as if he’d been hitting on her—which he definitely hadn’t. He’d just meant that he liked working with her and was always happy to help. Especially when helping Bailey always resulted in a nice direct deposit into his accounts.
He tapped out a part two to his message.
Always happy to help.
There, that was better. Much better. Another ding sounded as he opened the door to the limo and slid across the smooth material of the backseat.
Great. I’ve uploaded the project details into your work folder. The deadline’s Friday. Will that work for you?
Yep. I’ll get started right away.
That was one of the nice things about Bailey. Some employers, or so Ash had heard, whipped out assignments, expecting their employees to sacrifice entire weekends
or special evening plans to get the job done. Bailey never had. Instead, she’d always asked if the dates she’d chosen would work for Ash, and her timelines had always been more than reasonable. The only time he’d ever struggled had been with the Windsor job, and that had been months ago.
He’d found his groove since then, and he’d been able to make some small improvements at the palace.
There’d been several things nagging him. Like the broken piece of flooring in the main entryway, the wobbly banister on the stairs leading to the upper floors, and the small tears in the ancient, tapestry-like curtains hanging in the morning room. Making those repairs had made Ash feel as though he were getting somewhere.
Those small achievements had kept him designing. As long as no one found out the crown prince of Florico designed fonts for PayPal deposits, everything would be fine, and, so far, no one had. Though Lady Chamberlain’s comments had unnerved him. Ash shuddered to think what would happen if word got out.
Prince Asher designs fonts—for cash!
“Almost there, Your Highness,” Jenson’s weary voice chimed in from the front seat.
Guilt barraged Ash then. It’d been such a long time since Jenson sounded awake. He knew it had more to do with the demands on Ash’s schedule than anything else. “When I get this financial situation sorted, I’m going to send you on a long, much-needed vacation, Old Friend.”
Jenson chuckled. “As you wish.”
Ash’s phone dinged. Another text from Bailey. The last thing he’d expected was a picture.
In the photo, Bailey stood beside a tall tree of a man. She wore a dress—fitted, black, slit to her low thigh. Something his grandmother would call risqué enough to be fashionable. Another text came in.
BTW, you were right, Gary Hedgerow from Tree Hugger Organics does have a beard to rival all. You called it.
Asher laughed; the warm feeling filled his chest. It’d been a long time since he’d laughed properly. Since he’d enjoyed himself at all. But after he was done chuckling over Gary’s beard, he found himself taking in Bailey’s dress. He’d have to be blind not to notice the way the fabric clung to her full breasts and rounded hips.
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