Twisted Games (Twisted, #2)(96)

As if on cue, the camera cut to a shot of Bridget exiting the hospital with the king and her brother. She was elegant and polished, as always, but her smile looked empty as she waved to the press. Sad and lonely, two things I never, ever wanted her to be.

My chest burned, and it wasn’t from the whiskey. At the same time, something hardened within me: determination.

Bridget wasn’t happy. I wasn’t happy. And it was about damn time I did something about it.

I didn’t give a fuck what the law said. She wasn’t marrying Steffan. I’d visit every minister in Parliament and force them to rewrite the law if I had to.

Someone knocked. “Housekeeping.”

My spine turned rigid at the familiar voice.

Two seconds later, I threw open the door with a scowl. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

Christian arched an eyebrow. “Is that the proper way to greet your boss?”

“Fuck you.”

He laughed, but the sound lacked humor. “Charming as always. Now let me in so we can clean up your mess.”

I gritted my teeth and stepped aside, already regretting this day, this week, and my whole damn life.

He walked in, his gaze skimming over my half-unpacked suitcase and the remains of my room service dinner on the coffee table before resting on the empty whiskey bottle. Surprise flashed across his face before he covered it up.

“Well, this is sad,” he said. “You’re at the nicest hotel in Athenberg and you couldn’t spring for the filet mignon?”

On the surface, Christian looked like the stereotypical charming, good-natured playboy he portrayed himself to be. Even though he was thirty-one, he could’ve passed for his mid to late twenties, and he used it to his advantage. People looked at his pretty-boy face and tailored Italian suits and underestimated him. They didn’t realize he was a wolf in expensive clothing until it was too late.

“What are you doing here, Harper?” I repeated.

I knew, of course. He’d chewed me out on the phone last week after the news about me and Bridget broke, but I hadn’t expected him to fly here so soon with Magda still missing.

I should’ve known better, which proved just how fucked in the head I was about Bridget. I couldn’t think straight. All I could think about was where she was, who she was with, and how she was doing.

It didn’t matter that she’d ripped my heart out the other day. If anyone hurt my princess in any way—physically, mentally, or emotionally—there would be hell to pay.

“Take a wild guess.” Christian leaned against the counter, the picture of insouciance, but his hard gaze belied his casual pose. “Your client, Larsen. A future queen.”

“They’re tabloid rumors, and she’s not my client anymore.” I need another drink.

I understood now why people turned to alcohol for comfort now. It filled a part of ourselves we’d lost, or at least it gave the illusion of doing so.

“You forget. I know when you’re lying.” Christian’s voice dropped several decibels. His anger burned cold, not hot, and it was when he got quiet that people ran and ducked for cover. “Even if I didn’t, you think I didn’t look into the situation myself? What you did is a fireable offense.”

“So fire me.” I had enough money saved up to tide me over for a nice long while, and the prospect of playing bodyguard to anyone but Bridget held zero appeal for me.

The thought crystallized and took root.

“Actually, you know what? I quit.”

Christian stared at me. “Just like that.”

“Just like that.” My mouth flattened into a grim line. “I fucked up, and I’m sorry. But I’m done with the bodyguard game.”

He tapped his fingers on the dresser. Watching. Thinking. “I assume things with the princess are over, considering the whispers I’m hearing about her, Steffan Holstein, and an upcoming engagement.”

A low growl rumbled from my throat, but he ignored it.

“Why are you still here, Larsen? Living like a hermit and drinking.” His lip curled with distaste. Christian owned one of the most extensive and expensive rare alcohol collections in the U.S. He had nothing against drinking, but I assumed he took offense at the way I did it. “You don’t drink.”

“Apparently, I do.”

“It’s time to leave. I say this not as your boss, but as your friend. This…” He gestured around the room. “…is pathetic. Not to mention, your visa expires soon. There’s no use in dragging out the inevitable.”

I was in Eldorra on a special visa thanks to my previous employment with the palace, but it expired at the end of the month now that I was no longer working for them.

“You’re not my boss anymore,” I said coldly. “I’ll leave when I want.”

“Jesus Christ, what happened to you? Use your head, Larsen,” Christian snapped. “The one on your shoulders, not between your legs. Or is her royal pussy that good—”

A snarl ripped out of my chest. He didn’t get the rest of his sentence out before I crossed the room in two long strides and slammed him against the wall.

“Talk about her like that again, and I’ll feed you your teeth.”

Christian looked unfazed even though he was two seconds away from getting his face pounded in. “It’s never bothered you before. And careful with the suit. I just got it custom made.”