Page 11 of Prince Charmless
“Andyou seem very qualified. I’m glad Julien mentioned you.”
I can’t hold back my smile because Taylor doesn’t seem like the person to give out unwarranted compliments. “I guess Ididn’t scare you off too much yesterday. I mean, you could have said no to Julien.”
“You could have said no to me. I’m way scarier than you.” His hand migrates to where my waist meets my ass, his thumb slightly dipping under the silk fabric of my dress. Who knew Prince Taylor was still a player?
“Yeah, I could have. Right before you came over, Julien’s sister called you an ass.”
He leans in like he’s about to disclose a secret. “She’s right though, I am an ass. I would tell you I’m working on it, but I’m not.”
I laugh because Taylor has proved he can hold a few seconds of pleasant conversation. He can’t be that much of an ass.
“Well, she also said you’re gay, and by the way your hand is inching down my back I don’t think that’s true either.”
God, am I flirting with the Prince of St. Claire?Settle down, you feisty minx.
Taylor goes stiff, stopping us from swaying. “Alice said that?” His speech is calm, but it feels like I’ve said something wrong.
“I guess she’s been talking to the wrong people.”
“I guess you have too.”
I swallow.
“Is this why you agreed to dance with me?” he asks. “To find out if the rumors are true?”
“No, why would I even care about that? I mean, I know about the rumor but—”
“Iknow I don’t like to associate with people who involve themselves in trivial gossip.”
Involving myself?His hands are off me now.
“I’m sorry for making conversation. I shouldn’t have said anything.” I make sure the tone of my voice rescinds my apology.
“No, you shouldn’t have. You have a good night, Melina.” Taylor puts his hands in his pockets and walks off, leaving me alone and humiliated amongst all the other couples.
Jazz music.At some point in our bickering, the band must’ve switched genres.
So Taylor is two-facedandhas a fragile masculinity. I guess it’s my fault for giving him a second chance. I need to remember not to give him a third. I’ve met men like him before where they completely break down at the slightest mention of being into guys, like it somehow makes you less of a man. Although Taylor doesn’t strike me as a person who’s insecure, quite the opposite, in fact. This night was going a little too perfectly for me, of course, someone had to ruin it.
I hate jazz music.
4
Taylor
Suffering through an interview while hungover is not the way I’d like to spend my Sunday morning. I’ve been guilted into going on a talk show to promote giving blood because the country’s bank is going through a shortage. In my own research, I’ve learned the problem is more their lack of blood drive volunteers and less of finding people to donate. But if I ask people to volunteer, I’ll be seen as an out-of-touch one-percenter who believes everyone has the time in their day to work for free. Everything has to be a dumb political give-and-take.
I hate morning news, and I especially hate Steven Lachamp, the smug, floppy-haired anchor who has interviewed me a couple of times before. I understand this is his work, but I wouldn’t classify him as a prestigious journalist. He’s more of a snake with verified Instagram account.
Something about doing television always puts me in a bad mood. First, the audio guy micing me up asked if I’d go to prison if I killed someone. I don’t understand why people think I’m above the law. Then, I had to pretend to be unaware of the silly makeup woman’s feeble attempts to flirt with me. Now, I’m sitting under hot lights next to my oncoming adversary, waiting for a camera light to turn red.
Being on TV every once in a while is a necessary evil. The goal for my public image is to be forgettable, but I don’t want to seem like I’mtryingto be forgettable. People will think I’m hiding something if I’m never seen. Boring appearances like these remind everyone I exist, but not in any sort of attention-grabbing way.
Steven always ignores me before interviews. I think it’s to throw me off. I watch him furiously type on his phone as a lowly intern feeds him iced coffee through a straw. And people say I’m spoiled.
Steven swats the servant away. “How are you feeling after last night?” he asks me.
I shift in my chair. Of course, he knows I was at a wedding. Before I can respond, he puts a finger to his lips, then points to a woman in a headset counting us down.Douchebag.
