A Duke by Default (Reluctant Royals #2)(83)

“I already have a job,” Tav said.

“And now you have two,” Johan replied. “Portia here seems to have several more than that so no complaining unless you’re not as capable as your apprentice.”

Tav looked a bit flustered. “Well, it seems a bit rude to point this out, but aren’t you on the cover of damn near every tabloid? Not sure you’re really going to be helpful with the career navigation.”

Johan looked at Tavish the same way one would a chick chirping mindlessly. “Do you happen to know what my brother, the actual crown prince of Liechtienbourg, looks like? Or what he does on a daily basis?”

Portia racked her brain. Prince . . . Luca? Was that his name? He was still in high school. She thought he might have blond hair . . .

“I’m drawing a blank,” Portia said.

“Me, too,” Greer added. She kept her gaze pointedly away from Johan and Portia was sure the woman was thinking of some debauchery or other that she had seen.

“No clue,” Tav admitted.

“Well, then you can understand that there are many ways of handling the paparazzi. I use one that works well for me, and to do that I need to know how they operate. Do you think one just ends up on every tabloid cover—not damn near every—by chance?”

“So . . . you play them to your own ends?” Tav asked.

“Ouay. They focus on me, and they leave Lukas alone. If you don’t think that’s helpful to you, I can go.”

“I need all the help I can get if you hadn’t noticed,” Tav said ruefully. “Thank you for offering and I accept.”

Portia glanced at her texts and noticed she’d just received an influx of them—there was a string of messages from her various social media accounts notifying her that attempts had been made to change her passwords. Panic seized her.

“Someone is trying to hack my social media.” The thought of her private messages and private photos being stolen, or worse, shared, filled her with tension.

“What?” Tav said.

Johan sighed. “You have two-step activated, I suppose?”

Portia nodded as she hopped apps, checking that each was still in her control. Her heart was pounding—even though this wasn’t a physical attack, it was an intimate one. Her privacy was being invaded before her eyes by unseen forces.

“Change all of your passwords to be safe. Tavish, you’ll have to change your passwords, too.” Johan turned to Greer. “There’s a service for people who prefer a more direct approach to ridding themselves of insistent paparazzi. Former rugby players in possession of very thick necks and a thorough knowledge of British law. If you provide me your phone number, I’ll have them contact you. Don’t worry about the cost.”

Portia glanced at him, surprised. She’d wondered why Thabiso was such good friends with a known troublemaker, and now it was starting to make sense. He was a fuckboy with a heart of gold.

Greer stood and took the card Johan had smoothly proffered. “I’m going to go; have to pick up the kids. Thank you, um, Your Highness.”

“Please. Call me Johan.” He stood, taking her extended hand and bowing regally over it. Pink bloomed on Greer’s cheeks.

“Oh, um, yes. Johan. And nice to meet you, Portia. I hope you get everything sorted with the hacking. We’ll all have to deal with the invasiveness for a bit, it seems.”

She didn’t sound bitter, but the words landed heavily between them. Little did Greer know that all of this was Portia’s fault. If she hadn’t gone into hyper research mode for no damn reason, none of this would be happening.

“I’ll see you out,” Tav said, standing to follow her.

Johan turned his gaze to Portia and she raised her brow in a silent “what?”

“Thabiso is a shameless gossip but he didn’t tell me you and the new duke were an item.”

“We’re not,” she said, training her face to an impassiveness that almost matched his own. She and Tav had barely spoken to each other in his presence—how had he picked up on anything?

“So, you’re just friends with benefits? All the better. Best to get over him now and get out while you have a chance.” He said it nonchalantly, as if he’d commented on the weather before taking another sip of his tea.

Portia’s mind-your-business hackles activated and stood at attention. “This is super inappropriate. I know you’re Thabiso’s friend, but you know literally jack shit about me.”

“Ach. Sometimes I forget that Liechtienbourger forwardness can be considered rude by Americans. Ironic, yes?” He presented her with a smile meant to disarm and swept that lock of hair from his eyes. “I know a little about you. I don’t say this to brag, but I’m very good at reading people. I don’t usually call things to their attention unless I think they’re in danger.”

Portia scoffed and laughed at the same time—scaughed?—and shook her head. “Did you literally ‘Portia, you in danger, girl’ me?”

Johan deigned to show confusion. “What?”

“Ghost? Whoopi? As in a charlatan psychic?” Her annoyance grew, fed by her fatigue and her anger that even a stranger could take one look at her and tell her she was silly for expecting someone to care about her. “Ooo, do I get to be the ‘close acquaintance’ who calls the Looking Glass to inform them of Prince Johan’s psychic powers? I don’t really need the money, but it would be an upgrade from the usual stories they write about you.”