His Princess (A Royal Romance)(83)

Rose looks up from her desk and her jaw drops. She bolts to her feet and darts around the desk to the door, storms out, and grabs Karen.

“What are you doing here?” Then she looks at me. “What are you doing with my daughter?”

I look at her. I blink. Then I walk outside.

Two seconds later she’s on me, her daughter in tow, sniffling and trying not to cry.

“What the hell is this?”

I round on her. “Ask Karen. I got home and found her sneaking around in my backyard, trying to get into my house.”

Rose stands straight up. “How dare you… I’ll call the…”

“It’s true, Mom,” Karen says quietly.

Rose’s face twists and she turns on her daughter.

“You’re skipping school.”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

Before Karen can answer, Rose demands, “What were you doing in his backyard?”

“I was curious,” Karen whimpers. “I just wanted to see what’s up with him.”

“There’s nothing up with him!” Rose almost shouts. “Damn it, Karen, I don’t need this. My boss is going to chew me out for making a scene here, and how are you going to get to school?”

The door swings open, and a man in medical scrubs steps out. Tall and skinny, graying hair, he looks about old enough to be Rose’s father.

His eyes snap onto Karen like a horny squirrel on a sexy peanut.

“What’s going on here?”

“Nothing,” Rose says, fear tight in her voice, like a strained note on a guitar string about to snap.

“Not nothing,” the old man says. “Who’s this?”

I might as well not even be here. He’s looking Karen over. His top lip pulls back over his teeth and there’s a hungry look in his eye, and the way his gaze roves up and down…

For f*ck’s sake, she’s a kid.

“Hey,” I snap.

He looks up at me.

“Her eyes are up there.”

Rose turns beet red, and Karen shrinks back.

“Excuse me?”

“He didn’t mean anything,” Rose stammers out in a pleading voice. “Please, I’ll take care of this. I just need to get my daughter to school—”

“I’ll take her,” I volunteer.

Quentin, for f*ck’s sake…

The old guy nods and gives Rose a tough look before slipping inside.

“That was my boss—”

“He was eye f*cking your daughter,” I growl.

“You are not—”

“Yes I am. Get in the car, Karen.”

Karen squeaks and runs back to the Impala. I fold my arms.

“I can’t have trouble here,” she says. “I can’t get in trouble at work, Quentin. I need this job.”

“Your daughter—”

She lowers her voice.

“I know what he is. I don’t have a choice. This is the first time he’s ever seen her. He was just looking, anyway. I…”

She hitches, her shoulders jerking as she chokes down a noise like a sob.

“Hey…”

I reach out for her but she shies back.

“Thank you for taking her to school for me, Quentin.”

“Anytime, Rose. Listen, if that guy gets…creepy, talk to me. I’ll have a talk with him.”

She blinks a few times.

“What are you, twelve? That’s not how the world works, Quentin.”

She ducks inside, brushing at her face.

Good job, Quent. She’s probably going to lose her job now.

Sighing, I slip back into the car.

Karen sits on the front seat, hugging herself.

“You’re taking me to school?”

“Yeah. I don’t actually know where it is, so I’ll need directions.”

“Um,” she says. “Okay.”

I drive.

It takes us twenty minutes to make a five-minute trip.

Here’s a tip: never take driving directions from someone who can’t drive a car and gives you instructions like, “I think you turn here,” and, “It’s up that road by the other road.”

“Um,” she says as I park out front of the school. “Somebody has to sign me in. Like an adult.”

“Seriously?”

“Yeah, or…”

“I think your mom will want you to get detention, kid.”

Karen whimpers, and my resolve softens for a moment.

She reaches for the door.

“Um,” she says. “Do you like my mom?”

“What?”

“Do you like her?”

“Uh, I guess? I like her just fine.”

Karen lights up like a Christmas tree and practically runs into the school.

The f*ck did I just do?





4





Rose





Oh God, please don’t fire me. Please don’t fire me. Please don’t fire me.

When Burt walks into the reception area, I tense like a scared rabbit watching a cat slink toward her little baby bunnies. I can’t read the look on his face. He always wears that same crude smile, that same appraising look. I feel even more naked than usual as his gaze rakes over me, before he takes a long look at Laura, the other receptionist, and gives her a broad smile. Then he turns to me.