Page 20 of Tabloid Princess

“So, I don’t care! I’d just like to see you go on a date with someone, anyone really.”

“Like anyone? You aren’t worried who?”

“So long as he has a penis that’s all I’m bothered about.”

I laughed and shook my head. “You’re a dangerous friend to have.”

“So, I can tell Patrick you are at least thinking about it?”

“Molly…” The look of eagerness on her face brought down my defences. “Maybe.”

“Yes! We will be sisters; I can sense it.”

“It’s a date, not a bloody marriage proposal.”

“It’s a start.” She linked her arm through mine and hummed Wagner’s Bridal Chorus as we walked back into the office.

The first person to frown at us as we walked back in was Freya. I attempted to keep my own expression neutral as I slipped back into my seat.

How long was this going to take? Two weeks? And all because the prince wanted a ball for his birthday. I snorted to myself and then got back to work, trying to think of ways to increase our social media presence.

By five p.m. I’d decided on some guerrilla warfare tactics and was surreptitiously looking at charities like ours and comparing their interaction.

Fair to say their figures weren’t dissimilar to ours which only reconfirmed my initial belief that the type of problems we were helping, the cause for our fundraising, wasn’t the type of charity that people felt comfortable supporting.

I stared at the clock on the wall desperate to get out of the office, but time seemed to be hell-bent on ticking past as slowly as it were possible.

My focus was on the website for Guildford Rehabilitation Outreach Programme—which was a wordy way of saying Bright Futures, when I realised that I wasn’t achieving anything. My head throbbed and my eyes stung. The excitement of the last couple of days, combined with a lack of sleep were pulling my concentration to an all-time low. I stood and stretched and then asked Janine if she’d mind if I called it a day. She must have thought I was feeling terrible because she was quick to agree and didn’t ask as many questions as usual. Maybe she was just distracted like we all were, though I had a sneaking, unsettled thought that I may have been distracted by the wrong things.

Free to leave, I went back to my desk and began to shove my belongings in my bag, when there was a collective gasp from behind me.

It was inexplicable, but my gaze automatically slipped to the envelope I’d stashed on the top of my bag. My stomach tightened.

It was as though I could sense him behind me before I’d even turned.

“Oh, Your Highness, I wasn’t expecting you, was I?” To be fair to her, Freya tried to control her surprise. I smiled with evil enjoyment at just how badly she failed.

All heads swivelled in the direction of the door. All heads apart from mine. I couldn’t bring myself to turn. I knew if I even so much as looked at his face again, I’d be undone. I needed to stop thinking about Oliver Beaufort as anything other than the VIP guest who had agreed to change our fortunes. And I definitely needed to ignore that stabbing tightness in my chest. Ignoring that was for the best.

Regardless, I found myself holding my breath as I waited for him to speak, hating myself a little bit more, but still unable to stop my reactions.

“I came to see everyone was okay? See how the plans were coming along.”

Paula literally groaned.

“Oh, Your Highness, you didn’t need to do that. I have everything under control,” Freya soothed, smooth as honey.

I wondered if I lobbed my stapler at her head anyone would actually mind. I couldn’t be the only person hating her? Unless it was me. Maybe the problem was me and the fact I actually didn’t like other people, strangers especially. Or maybe it was the fact that in the reflection of my computer I could see her reach out and touch his arm.

Weren’t there laws against touching The Royal Family? Didn’t you need a permit or something?

“I am sure you do.” I sensed the control in his response and smiled a little to myself. “But sometimes I like to do things myself too.”

She may as well have fallen to the ground at his feet. “Of course, you do, Your Highness. Of course, you do.”

I should have sat back down and joined in. He was a prince after all, coming to visit us mere mortals, but my banging headache and the niggling nerves I had rolling around me like a loose marble prevented me from acting like a sane, polite person. Instead, I switched off my computer and picked up my bag.

“I’ve got to go,” I mumbled under my breath. To be fair, a sheen of sweat was gliding over my skin and I probably did look close to passing out—mainly because I was. Wishing instantly I hadn’t left the letter on thick cream stationery on obvious view on the top of my bag, I grabbed my phone off my desk and pushed both items inside.