His Royal Highness(52)

I didn’t ask you.

Without another word, I drop the drinks on a nearby table and head for the door. If she’s still out there, I’ll help her. Even with everything going on, I’ll help take care of her if she needs me.

Once outside, I look for her, circling the entire bar, but she’s gone.

The idea of her walking home by herself pisses me off. I know we’re still on the Knightley Company property and it’s a relatively safe area, but still, she was drinking, and as far as I know, she skipped dinner.

I reach for my phone, about to call her, but then I realize we still haven’t exchanged numbers. I curse and call Heather instead.

She’s not at all happy to hear from me, something about boundaries and not bothering her after hours. I tell her she can take an extra day off whenever she wants it before instructing her to pull up Whitney’s employee file on her computer. I need her phone number.

After she’s done, she says, “Make it two days off,” before hanging up.

I head to my car and unlock it as I place the call to Whitney. It rings forever and then goes straight to voicemail. I try again as I sit down in the front seat and close the door. She finally picks up.

“I swear if this is someone complaining about Pringles, I’ll scream.”

“What?”

There’s a long pause. The metal ting of a lamp being switched on in the background.

“Whitney? It’s Derek.”

“Oh.”

There’s a muffled groan like her face is pressed against her pillow.

“Are you okay?”

“Sorry. I was nearly asleep. Groggy, I think. Did you need something?”

She’s dropped her friendly tone.

I tip my head back against the headrest and rub my eyes.

“Someone said you were sick outside the bar. I wanted to check if you were okay.”

“Oh, well…that wasn’t me. Must have just been a raccoon or something. I’m in tiptop shape. In fact, I was nodding off before you called. Don’t let me keep you from your night.”

“My night?” I ask roughly.

“With Ms. Fluffy Hair.”

“What are you talking about?”

“The brunette at the bar.”

“The one I talked to for five minutes?”

“Is that all it took to convince her to go back to your apartment? I underestimated you.” Her icy attitude grates on my nerves.

“I’m sitting in my car, alone. And what about Ryan? Is he there beside you?”

“You saw how small my bed is. There’s no way an adult man would fit on here with me. He’s on the floor.”

My stomach clenches. Then I realize she’s joking. It’s not funny.

“If you’re calling to see if I’m all right, I am,” she continues in a biting tone. “Best I’ve ever felt. Great, in fact.”

“Wonderful.”

“Fan-fucking-tastic.”

“Good night, Whitney.”

She hangs up first.

I sit there, battling the urge to call her again and continue this fight. I want to push it to its limit so we can air our grievances once and for all. I guess I’ll have to save it for tomorrow.





I sleep restlessly, tossing and turning most of the night. I wake up early and hit the gym, my frustration warning away anyone who happens into my path. A well-meaning trainer ventures in my direction. I shake my head and say, “Don’t.” He turns right back around, picking up his pace. I shower and push away thoughts of Whitney as the water streams down my chest and abs. With an angry twist, I cut it off and step out to greet my reflection. I’m quite the scowling beast this morning. I could convincingly play any villain in our theme park, and the thought only annoys me more.

With a quick email to Heather, I inform her that I’ll be skipping my shift as His Royal Highness during Whitney’s morning meet-and-greet. She’ll be fine without me for a few hours. I’d like some time in the office to get work done before the parade this afternoon.

I’m sure Whitney will appreciate that time away from me as well.

“You’re in quite a mood this morning,” Heather says as we work together. I delegate tasks, check emails, add events and tasks to my calendar, and so on, tearing through work to keep myself busy.

“Unless you have a comment related to work, I don’t really want to hear it.”

“Excuse me?”

I don’t think I’ve ever been so harsh with her. I immediately regret it.

“I’m sorry. Ignore me. I had a terrible night. Let’s continue.”

We work straight through lunch, right up until the last possible moment before I need to head to the parade warehouse and get changed into my costume. Heather walks with me so we can continue working. With her pregnancy, it’s harder for her to keep up with me, and I forget to slow my pace. By the end of today, I’ll probably owe her half a year of paid time off.

Two employees from the Costuming Department are waiting for me with my suit. I dismiss Heather and head into a dressing room. The costume is designed in a military fashion, similar to what British nobility would wear if they were getting married. I have black pants and a fitted red jacket with gold buttons stacked down the center. A royal blue sash cuts across my chest, accented by a yellow-gold collar and cuffs. There’s a family crest embroidered just below a medal that’s pinned over my heart. I feel slightly ridiculous wearing the damn thing.