Page 16 of Royally F*cked

“Jude,” he corrects. “We’re not going backwards here, Charlie.”

I close my eyes and lean my head back against the seat before taking a deep breath and counting to ten in my head.

“Cat got your tongue all of a sudden?”

When I open my eyes, he’s watching me carefully, but that damn smirk is still playing on his lips.

“No. I think perhaps you’re right. It’s best we wait until we’re at your place.” That will give me time to really think about whatever it is I need to say.

“Suit yourself,” he winks and pulls out his phone.

While he does whatever it is he’s doing on that handy little device, I stare out the window to avoid staring at him. In the small confines of the car, it would be far too obvious to check out the handsome prince sitting next to me.

The car winds through the early evening traffic and soon we’re pulling up alongside a fancy high-rise and entering an underground parking garage.

Oscar accompanies us on to what seems like a private elevator and up to Prince Julius’ flat.

At first glance, I’m surprised at how simplistic the place looks. I’m not sure why, but I expected the flat to be decorated much like an extension of the palace.

“Ozzy, if you could give us a minute. Thirty actually. And let Agnes know we’re not to be disturbed either.”

Oscar nods in response.

“Would you be more comfortable here or shall we take this to my office?” Jude asks the minute Oscar disappears.

“It would be best if we spoke in the confines of your office, correct?”

“As you wish,” Jude opens a mahogany door to his right and extends his arm, welcoming me inside.

For a moment, some of that adrenaline from earlier comes flooding back. “Clock’s ticking,” I warn him, adding a sassy little swing to my hips on my way past him and into his office.

"Would you like to have a seat? Or perhaps a drink?" he asks, fumbling with the top of a crystal decanter that probably costs more than what 4 years of college will end up costing me.

Is the prince nervous?

He should be. My brain muses.

"I'll have what you're having," I answer, taking a seat on the plush sofa set in front of the bookcase.

Jude nods and pours a second glass, handing it off to me before he removes his jacket and loosens his tie. Then he sits down next to me and my cheeks heat.

"So. About earlier."

"Yes. Care to explain?"

He mutters a curse. "I am trying to if you can be silent long enough. I swear. I don't think I've heard you talk this much ever. Was all that formality just a front, baby?"

"Oh. Fuck you." I snap. "You do not get to call me baby."

"We’ll see about that. Perhaps if you can let me speak, I'll reward you," he says with a lick of his lips.

I don't think he's talking about my job anymore.

Glancing at the watch on my wrist, I remind him, “Twenty-four minutes left, Sir.”

“Okay. Fine. Have it your way,” he takes a sip from his glass. “Marry me.”

The glass I’m holding slips from my fingers and shatters on the floor. “What did you just say?”

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