Page 14 of Naughty Prince
His mouth moves without sound. “I would…”
“But?”
“But she’s gone. I put the both of them on the first plane out of here this morning. I told you we deported them.”
I slap my hand against my face. “I didn’t think you actually meant it.”
“I’m a very decisive man, I’ll have you know.”
“You’re pigheaded and you’re a brute,” I snap back.
“Oh, you’re one to talk,” he grumbles before Patrick steps in again.
“Children, children,” he says. “If I might offer a solution of my own.”
Thirteen
Ivy
“Back so soon? I thought you had a full ten days on your pretend European trip,” Miranda asks with a saccharine tone as she leans on my cubicle wall. “I felt sure I’d see some glamorous photos on Facebook or Instagram, but there was nothing.”
“This firm doesn’t pay me enough to afford international data plans,” I return, clicking on the email icon on my desktop. There are about thirty messages from Rebecca with the subject line ‘Are we ever going to talk about your prince?’.She’s labeled them part one, two and so on, right up until…
Ding!
Miranda is suddenly at my shoulder. “Those don’t look work-related, Ivy. Unless you want to tell me you met a prince on your trip and you’re signing him as a marketing client?” She titters at her own joke.
“I’ll tell her to stop sending them,” I say, clicking away.
“We keep having this same problem. When will you learn, Ivy? When will you learn?”
My lips press together in a hard line, and there’s something in my brain that just snaps. “Fuck off, Miranda,” I hiss.
She gasps and steps back. “Excuse me?”
I turn in my seat. “Fuck off!” I yell. “Fuck off. Fuck off. Fuck off!”
She stands in front of me with her mouth hanging open. The office is dead quiet as she sucks in a noisy gasp. “You’re fired,” she says through gritted teeth.
“Fuck you, Miranda. I quit,” I snap, standing up and grabbing my bag. I have a moment where I look at my desk, ready to pack it up, but we were never allowed to personalize our space, so there’s nothing that’s mine. “And I’m taking this stapler.” I grab it and click it in her direction, shoving it in my bag with a harrumph before I stomp over to the elevators.
When I hit the button, it’s not like in the movies, and I have to stand there with my back to everyone while I watch the numbers slowly change until it reaches our floor.
“You’re my hero,” a girl from accounting whispers from the cubicle to my right.
I turn and shoot her a wry smile. “I’m a mess,” I say, just as the elevator doors open and I’m able to get out of there before I turn around and beg for my job back.
Shit.What am I supposed to do now?
On the trip to the ground floor, I bite my lip and will myself not to cry. Ever since that night in Fürstheim, I’ve been a pile of raw emotion. The world has lost its color and everything is gray, gray, gray. I caught a glimpse of what it was like to be in love, and it was robbed from me before the afterglow of our lovemaking had even set in. I’m embarrassed. I’m hurt. And I’m angry.Why didn’t Luke tell me who he was?
Prince Lucas the third.
I would have understood. I would have seen him as a man no matter what. I just want him back.
I’ve since been on a diet of Ben and Jerry’s and googling him. It’s all I can do. He’s all I can think about. I’m heartsick. Heartsick to the point where I can see him everywhere. Like, right now when I walk out of my office building, I swear I see him on the sidewalk. But that’s just wishful thinking.
Dragging my feet, I turn down the street with my head hanging. Then I think I hear my name called, so I turn around.
