Royally Not Ready(30)

“What do you mean an area rug isn’t necessary? Every interior designer will say an area rug is essential for warming up a space. Look around, Keller, we’re surrounded by stone walls. Also, are you just going to stand the whole time? That’s kind of weird.”

“I’m not someone who sits often.”

“Why is that?” she asks, crossing one leg over the other.

“My job requires me to move around.”

“I see. What about a table? This is a wooden chair that my ass is occupying at the moment, a simple wooden chair. Don’t you think I’m going to want something to rest my arms on?”

“Are you that unsteady that you need something to prop your body on?”

“You were witness to my attempt at running. Do you really think I’m sturdy?”

Good point.

“And, you know, it’s less intimidating, having you sitting with me. Also, when you pictured today, did you really envision me in this uncomfortable chair, sitting ramrod straight all day, not a surface to lean on while you pace the room like a—sorry to say it—psychopath, grinding your feet into an area rug-less surface and expect me not to nauseate over the fact that you’re not only rubbing your feet raw, but also that there isn’t one single plant in this room to help with the oxygen flow?”

Jesus.

Fucking.

Christ.

Through clenched teeth, I ask, “What do you need in order to be comfortable?”

“Well, you know, perhaps a seat for yourself? Maybe a table? A plant.”

It feels like our first meeting all over again when she wouldn’t stop jabbering. But if this stuff will get her to be quiet so I can start the training, then she can have whatever she wants.

Without a word, I tear out of the room, flinging the door open and startling both Brimar and Lara, who are sitting on the couch together.

“I need a table, an extra chair, an area rug, and a plant in that room. Now.”

Lara snags a plant and a chair. Brimar drags a table, and I walk into the entryway, roll up the rug, and hoist it over my shoulder. Together, we all lay it out in the room while Lilly startles out of her chair, drags it to the corner, and watches us unfold everything.

Once Brimar and Lara leave, shutting the door behind them, I pick up Lilly’s chair and move it to the console table so it’s across from mine. I leave it partially out and gesture for her to sit down.

“Well, I can’t say you’re not efficient.” She smiles and takes a seat. She places her hands on the table and tests it out, making a show of it. “This can work. It’s no talk show set with comfy couches and a mahogany desk with secret compartments, but it will work just fine. Although . . .”

“What?” I ask her.

“Not to be too bothersome, but should I have a notepad?”

“Do you want a notepad?”

“It might be nice to be able to write things down.”

Growling under my breath, I stand from my chair and open the door. “Notepad and pen.”

Within seconds, Lara is bringing several pens and pads of paper into the room. Brimar follows with water and cookies—an added touch that will hopefully get Lilly to be quiet so we can start our training.

Once they leave, I cross one leg over the other and ask, “Anything else?”

She picks up a cookie and takes a nibble. “No, this is quite nice. Thank you.” She smirks and then nudges my leg with her foot. “Lighten up, this will be torture if you don’t.”

It already is.

“There are five main categories we’ll be going over.” Her eyes widen, and I hold up one finger, counting them off. “Appearance—”

“What’s wrong with my appearance?”

“There’s a certain standard that must be upheld when you’re in the public eye.”

She kicks up a foot on the console table. “Ah, so, no loungewear, I presume?” I flick her foot off and it plops to the floor.

“No. Then there is etiquette—”

“Ooo, is that when I drink with my pinky out?”

“Can you refrain from commentary while I get through these?”

She leans both arms on the table and props her chin up with her hand. “I can sense irritation, and I’m going to tell you right now, that’s not going to work for me. Why don’t we try a kind voice? It will make this easier.”

“Well, don’t irritate me and I will use a kind voice.”

“When have you ever used a kind voice?”

“How about when I bandaged your head? Or when I was telling you about your aunt and uncles, or how about—”

“Okay . . . settle down. I can see you’re getting yourself worked up. Let’s try a different question. How do I irritate you?”

Is she really that obtuse? Can she not see that I can barely get a sentence out without her popping in to interrupt me? I have two fucking months to convince her this is where she should be. That’s a lot of pressure on me, and I don’t want to let Theo down. The fate of the country might rest in her decision, but her decision is based on what I do. And I can’t fucking do my job if she keeps needling me with question after question after question . . . questions that don’t pertain to what I’m trying to teach her.

“This,” I say, gesturing between us. “This constant jabbering. Just let me get through the five topics, for fuck’s sake.”