His Royal Highness(42)

“Is this your bedroom?” I nearly gulp.

“I didn’t think you’d want to speak in front of the guys.”

Sure, but he could have just shoved me into a hall closet. This is so much better. Access to his bedroom is like being given free rein of his private life. Sort of. The room is sparse. Don’t get me wrong, the furniture and bedding look like the very best money can buy. I want to rub my face on those sheets and feel how much mine are so desperately lacking. There’s art on the walls, but it’s the kind you’d find in a hotel: abstract sailboats, vague landscapes. No personal items catch my eye except for the paperback on the side table and a glass of water that was probably left there the night before.

“You look like you’re disappointed,” he says.

I shrug. “I was kind of hoping for more personal affects, something to blackmail you with. A teddy bear partially hidden under your pillow, that sort of thing.”

He chuckles and the sound swells inside of me, filling me with courage.

I turn, clasp my hands behind my back, and say simply, “I’m here because I’d like us to be friends.”

His brow quirks. Clearly, that’s not what he thought I came here to say.

“We’ve had a tumultuous few weeks. I know I shouldn’t let it get to me, but it has. I think about you a lot—” There’s a shift in his gaze, a familiar yearning that makes my gut clench. Blood rushes to my cheeks as I clear my throat. “Our predicament, I mean. I think about our predicament a lot. In any other circumstance, I’d say it’d be best to give each other space, but we can’t do that. In fact, we’re only going to be spending more time together come Friday when rehearsals start, so it seems like we might as well make the best of the situation.”

“So you want to be friends?”

“Yes, and I want you to forgive me for the way I’ve behaved these last few weeks. In return, I promise to forgive you for everything that happened eight years ago.”

“A clean slate.”

I smile. “Exactly.”

He nods and his gaze flits down my body, just for a moment, before he glances out the window. “You’re right. We’ll be around each other a lot over the next few weeks…”

I tip my head, trying to meet his eyes. I get the sense that he might not accept my offer, so I amend my terms. “Maybe being friends is too much? How about just acquaintances? If I pass you in the hall, I promise to wave. How about that?”

When his gaze snaps back to me, my heart thump-thumps in my chest.

“On one condition.”





Chapter Thirteen





Derek





Her gaze widens in fear of what my condition will be. I can’t resist a smirk. She’s so easy to ruffle, at times I can’t help myself. Like a fox toying with a hare, here I am, blocking her way out of my bedroom in an effort to draw a morsel of truth out of her. I’m aware it’s bad form. Modern society is frowning down on me and yet, here I stand, a caveman with a wounded ego.

I should be ashamed of myself, but I’m not. Whitney came to my apartment. She’s standing in my bedroom. This conversation could have waited until the morning. She could have scheduled a meeting with Heather so we could discuss this during business hours in an office with a sturdy desk separating us, ensuring we keep our hands to ourselves.

“What’s your condition?” she asks, voice breathy.

My condition is simple: I want to know if she still has feelings for me.

The question is poised on my tongue before I catch myself.

What does it matter if she still has feelings for me? Feelings mean nothing if she doesn’t plan to act on them.

I reroute.

“I want you to hold up your end of the bargain. I really want that clean slate you promised.”

I step forward and hold out my hand. She smiles and tips her head as we shake on it. She thinks she’s getting off easy. I have no doubt she was imagining something much more torrid.

“Derek Knightley, it’s a pleasure to meet you.”

There’s a twinkle in her eyes. It’s sweet.

The fact that I don’t kiss her senseless in that moment is something I should be extremely proud of.

When we reemerge in the living room a moment later, I see the guys have taken it upon themselves to rearrange the poker table. There’s a fifth chair pulled up between Nick and Allen. No doubt they’ve also skimmed a few chips off my stacks and looked at my hand.

“Whitney, c’mon,” Nick says. “We’ll teach you how to play.”

Without pausing, I reach for her shoulders and direct her toward the door.

“Sorry, Whitney has to go.”

She laughs at me over her shoulder. “What? Can’t I stay and play?”

“Not tonight.”

“Come on, man! Fair is fair,” Allen groans. “You two were only back there for five minutes. Looks like Whitney here made her choice and it ain’t you.”

“That’s right. Whitney, come take a seat and I’ll show you the ropes. I’m Nick, Derek’s much cooler friend. Just ask him—he’ll tell you I kicked his ass in the last three rounds.”

I flip them the bird and they all laugh.

“Nick’s full of shit,” Allen argues. “I’m a much better teacher.”