Page 1 of A Royal Disaster
Chapter One
“Have a nice day?” Elena Murphy narrowed her eyes at the squirrely little process server as he inched toward the door. For a New Yorker, the guy lacked grit. “I’m being sued. By my boyfriend!”
“Ex-boyfriend,” Nia said, correcting Lena from her perch behind the counter.
The process server wiped his brow but didn’t respond. Smart man. She almost felt bad for him, but he wasn’t the one being blindsided by an asinine lawsuit. His gaze swung from Lena to Nia and back again. Then he flung the door wide and bolted through it with his messenger bag clutched to his chest like the Holy Grail. The bells tinkled overhead and the studio door slammed behind him, leaving Lena holding the evidence of her latest screwup. She huffed out a breath, shoulders shaking with fury.
Un-freaking-believable.
She’d faced her fair share of crap, but getting sued by her ex? That was a new low. Lena eyed the door, wondering if she could catch up to the messenger of doom. Maybe if she gave the papers back she could pretend this wasn’t happening.
“Why shoot the messenger when you can go straight to the source?” Nia asked, putting an end to the half-baked plan. “You know what they say, snitches get stitches.”
Lena snorted and turned to her best friend and only employee. She considered explaining it was a civil lawsuit, not criminal, but that was a moot point. “Has anyone ever told you you’re kind of scary for a future librarian?”
“No.” Nia grinned, looking far too pleased with herself. “But thank you.”
“It wasn’t a compliment.”
“Agree to disagree,” Nia said, arching a dark brow. “Seriously, though. You should call that little weasel and give him a piece of your mind.”
“With my luck, I’d end up with a restraining order.” She held up the crumpled papers, proof her ex didn’t know how to let things go. “Can you believe this? That pendejo is suing me forten thousanddollars for—get this—emotional damage. He knows I can’t afford an attorney, let alone damages. It’s ridiculous!”
“Is this about…” Nia paused for dramatic effect. “The incident?”
Lena nodded.The incidenthad triggered her breakup with Chad, and it was a completely forbidden topic. Mostly because she refused to give it credence by talking about it. “I should have known this would come back to bite me in the ass.” She sighed and stuffed the papers in the back pocket of her paint-splattered overalls. “This lawsuit is total bullshit.”
Nia gave her a sympathetic wave. “Preach, sister.”
“Honestly, if anyone should be suing for emotional damage, it’s me. I’m the one who had to put up with that whiny man-child for six whole months.” She shuddered at the memory. “Remember the time he got sick and lay on the couch for three days, moaning like he was dying?”
“Ah, yes, the dreaded man cold.” The corner of Nia’s lips curved upward. “I seem to remember telling you not to go out with him.”
“So not the time for an I-told-you-so,” Lena said, slipping behind the counter of the tiny art studio. East Village Art was her life, and even though she was barely making ends meet and the building needed more repairs than she could count, it was home. Which was exactly why she needed to purge the last reminder of Chad from the back alley. “I swear, I’m never dating again. I am officially done with men,” she declared, rummaging under the counter for a pencil.
“Never say never,” Nia chided. “If Prince Charming walked through that door you’d change your tune in a heartbeat.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.” Lena plucked a pencil from the basket of supplies and twisted her hair up into a bun. Once she’d secured it with the pencil, she turned back to her friend. “First of all, I’m a modern woman. I don’t need to be rescued by a prince. Secondly, what I need walking through the door is a steady stream of customers so I can afford a lawyer.” Lena frowned. “And let’s be honest, even if I did meet a prince, we both know it would end in disaster.” Like everything else in her life. Case in point, she was being sued by her ex-boyfriend. “Besides, real-life princes aren’t into Cinderella stories. Don’t they date, I don’t know, other royals or celebrities or whatever?”
Nia laughed, her midnight curls bouncing with each shake of her shoulders. “‘Whatever’ covers a lot of territory. Maybe even the occasional artist.”
“Not in this lifetime,” Lena grumbled, squaring her shoulders and glancing around the empty studio. Sunlight shone through the display window, slanting across the battered hardwood floors and scarred workstations, which were used for everything from painting to pottery. It wasn’t uncommon for the studio to be quiet in the afternoon, even on their best days. EVA did most of its business on nights and weekends, when she taught classes and workshops, but it didn’t soothe the familiar ache in her chest as she thought about the future.
Three years ago she’d been so sure opening a studio was the right move, making art accessible to the neighborhood in all mediums, regardless of age or skill level. And she knew she should be proud her business had survived when so many others failed fast, but she couldn’t afford to kick up her heels and celebrate.
Not when she lived on the threshold of bankruptcy.
The studio turned a meager profit, but repairs and property taxes made it impossible to save for a rainy day. Or, you know, getting sued by your ex. The building was valuable, one of the tiny turn-of-the-century relics that hadn’t been razed and replaced with a more modern mid-rise, mainly because her parents refused to sell. They’d always placed more value on their home and the memories they’d made in it than the land it occupied. It was a sentiment they’d passed to Lena, and now the studio and her tiny apartment upstairs was all she had left of them. She could easily find a buyer and walk away, her pockets lined with more than enough cash to cover her legal fees, but she’d never sell.
She’d swallow her pride and go to Legal Aid before she’d let Chad’s ridiculous lawsuit drive her out of her home.
Lena sighed. She’d figure it out somehow. She had to.
“You okay?” Nia asked, her brow creased with worry.
“Yeah.” Lena wiped the back of her hand across her forehead. “If you need me, I’ll be out back, painting.” The messy, passionate, exhibitionist kind. She needed an outlet for her frustration, and she had the perfect target in mind: Chad’s mural.
She made her way to the back room and gathered several gallons of acrylic paint she’d been saving for just this occasion. With their relationship smoldering in the ashes, it was hard to remember why she’d let Chad talk her into the superhero mural in the first place. Maybe she’d wanted the challenge. Maybe she’d wanted to see him smile. Or maybe she just liked men in spandex.
