Page 76 of Royally Benevolent

“I’m sorry?” He cocked his head.

I flushed bright red. “Ignore her.”

“Well, you look beautiful. I’m glad to see you’re doing well,” Guy said.

I went from mortified to flattered to embarrassed for reasons unexplained. He stared at me with the sweetest eyes. Everything came rolling back—his broodiness, his talents at music, and how he could make me feel like a silly girl. I remembered the first time he told me he thought I was pretty and how I’d wanted to hold onto that moment forever. Then, only a week later, he’d told me I could stand to lose ten pounds, and he’d not let me join his quartet if I didn’t drop some weight because he had an image to uphold.

“What’s the hold-up? Have you all been put on a restricted list?”

“No. They have double-booked the chef’s table,” I answered. “So, we’re all just a bit frazzled. You don’t have the chef’s table, do you?”

“No,” Guy said. “We don’t. But… I do have space. If you wanted to join me?”

“Uh, we’re here for Ingrid and Astrid’s big moves to the UK.”

“You’re going to the UK?” Guy asked.

“Yes. To ride with Crown Princess Cecilia and her coach. I’ve been with them in the U.S. for a bit,” Ingrid answered. “I am trying to get Odie to accompany me, but she swears she cannot.”

“Not with all that’s needed here,” I said, wishing I could fly to the UK immediately and escape this situation.

As I exchanged glances with yetanotherman I had no time or energy for, I realised it was about to get worse. Tonight was indeed the worst evening on record.

44

THE CHEF’S TABLE

WYATT

“Sir, I do apologise, but we have double-booked the chef’s table,” the maître’d said. “We have told the other patrons we apologise, but you were already seated. I hate to ask, but… could they share the table? We can catch them up in course two?”

I looked at the Frenchmen who were deep in their discussion of wines. I wondered why the hell this guy was even asking me this. It was notmyproblem to have to be at risk of losing a business deal because of their fuck up.

“Why are you asking me?” I tried to keep my voice calm.

“The other patron is… very notable and a good friend to the restaurant. She usually gets this table whenever she asks. I wouldn’t be asking if I didn’t worry that I was risking some war with the press, sir. I know this is not your problem.”

The only explanation was that Odette’s sister was waiting on this table.

“Is this Queen Alexandra?” I asked.

He shrugged, confirming what I believed.

I had two options. One, I could go all Yankee Doodle and tell her to fuck off and focus on my damn meeting. Two, I could be benevolent and share. I debated the merits of each. I knew if I upset Her Majesty,she’d somehow find out and tell Odette. So, even if I changed my mind on that front, I’d be fucked. Maybe The Queen would bring some gravitas to this scenario, and I could charm these gentlemen with her help. Still, I risked losing this deal if I didn’t explain what was happening. Rick and Alexandra needed me to excel here. Otherwise, this would never work. We needed them to cut us a deal on cloud hosting provisions, or it would never be within budget.

“Can I speak with this patron?” I asked.

He agreed. As I followed him into the dining room and around the host’s station, I immediately spotted Her Majesty—along with all three of her sisters and Astrid’s fiancée. But despite the commotion, I could only stare at Odette. She sparkled in a short red dress. The only impulse I had was thinking about how nice it must have made her ass look. My feelings for Odette weren’t dead—not even remotely.

“Mr Worthington,” Alexandra said. “What are you doing here?”

“I was told they double-booked the table,” I said to her, staring at Odette with half a smile.

Odette, meanwhile, looked at a boy—a boy I didn’t recognise—rather than give me the time of day. He ignored me. I assumed he was the artsy type of guy she usually went for. He was tall with jet-black hair. Dressed in a trendy but all-too-casual outfit, this hipster was an unwanted interloper.

“I’d like to offer for you to come back and take the other half of the table,” I said, trying to hide my disdain for my competition. “But the people I am with—Luc and Damon—are with a company out of France focusing on analytics processing. I need them to help us deal with the predictive analytics portion of the transportation design. We need their help to keep costs down so money remains for our trolley ideas. Can you handlehelpingme?”

Alexandra looked at Rick, whose face lit up like a Christmas Tree. “That sounds fucking amazing. We’re in.”

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