Page 18 of The King's Secret Baby

HAILEY

Istare at the blank document on my screen, cursor blinking accusingly. The office bustle fades to a dull hum as I try to will the words to come. But there’s nothing. Nothing at all.

With a sigh, I reach for my coffee, grimacing as the cold dregs hit my tongue. How long have I been sitting here just staring at my computer? Too long, and with nothing to show for it.

I click back to my notes from the interview with Prince Luca, scanning them for the hundredth time. Of course, I have everything that he told me throughout our afternoon, when he opened up and bared his soul — at least he seemed to. Maybe that was only a ruse to get me into bed.

And then he had the nerve to stand me up, leaving me waiting like a fool, no explanation, no apology. Humiliation simmers in my gut at the memory.

I push back from my desk, chair squeaking in protest. I need some air, need to clear my head if I’m going to salvage this mess of an article. Grabbing my empty mug, I head for the break room.

“How’s the royal profile coming?” Raven asks as I pass her desk. My cubicle neighbor and closest friend here arches a knowing brow at my scowl.

“Don’t ask,” I mutter. “Unless you want to be an accessory to murder when I strangle His Highness with my bare hands.”

She snorts. “That good, huh?”

I just shake my head and keep walking. Even though I can trust her, I haven’t told her about what happened between me and Luca. Mostly because I’m ashamed, and sharing it with Millie was more than enough.

The break room is mercifully empty, and I take a moment to just breathe, head tipped back against the cabinets.

Think, Hailey.There has to be an angle here, some hook to hang this story on besides “Playboy Prince Dodges Questions, Pretends to Possess Depth, Ditches Journalist.”

I drum my fingers on the counter, sifting through memories of that day and night. The way his eyes crinkled when he laughed, before his guard snapped back into place. The hint of melancholy when he spoke of his deceased mother. The charged undercurrent when our hands brushed…

No. I shut that line of thinking down hard. That way lies madness, and certainly nothing printable.

Pouring a fresh cup of coffee, I square my shoulders. Back to the grind. This article won’t write itself, no matter how much I wish it would.

I march back to my desk, wake up my laptop, and once more pull up the paltry notes from our interview. Maybe there’s a thread here I missed, some quote I can build on…

That’s when Priya, one of our interns, comes flying around the corner. Her eyes are huge. “Hailey! Have you seen the news?”

“What news?” I’m only half-listening, still scrolling.

“The King of Werdenfeld! He’s dead!”

My head snaps up. “What?”

“Massive heart attack, apparently. It just broke.” She thrusts her phone under my nose, and there it is in black and white. His Royal Majesty, King Girard, has passed. Long live the king.

Long live… Luca. Oh, my God.

Suddenly, it all clicks into place with dizzying clarity. Why he never showed up at Bethesda Fountain. He must have gotten word… must have rushed home to be with his family. To step up as the heir apparent.

I’m dialing my editor before I even realize I’ve picked up the phone. “Bill. The Werdenfeld story. We need to pivot.”

“You’re damn right we do,” he barks. “I want you on a plane to Werdenfeld, pronto. We need boots on the ground for the coronation.”

“The coronation? But that’s— I mean, shouldn’t we give them time to?—”

“Time waits for no man, and neither does the news. The palace has already agreed. Wheels up in three hours, kid. Get packing.”

He hangs up while I’m still sputtering. The palace agreed? To let the press corps descend when the body’s not even cold?

Then again, I think as I start frantically shoving things into my bag, Werdenfeld’s always had a cozy relationship with the media. And Luca’s ascension was going to happen sooner or later. I just never imagined… God, his poor father. His poor family.

Which, really, is only Luca, isn’t it? With his mother dead since he was a toddler, he’s all that’s left.

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