Page 22 of Royal Cocktail

“I thought you were friends. But I guess the whole damn thing was one big show.”

Jürgen’s shoulders stiffened. “It is my honor to count Leopold among my closest friends.” He spoke formally, his words clipped. He said nothing else, and although he met her eyes, she couldn’t help but think she saw a hint of regret there.

Yeah, well, she regretted a lot, too.

“Lucky you,” she said, knowing she should stay quiet. “To have such an honorable prince as your friend.”

He didn’t waver from his military rest pose, but his lips parted. Whether it was a reflex or he intended to say something else, she didn’t know because the door to the bedroom opened, and his eyes cut that direction, his body stiffening to attention.

Skye turned, expecting Leo, only to see a petite brunette with an elfin face and cherry red lips step through the doorway, her fingers working the final button on a man’s white dress shirt worn untucked over a gray pencil skirt. A leather tote hung carelessly off her shoulder.

“Thank you, Your Highness,” she said, as Leo followed her out of the room, looking deliciously casual in jeans and a plain white T-shirt. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“I look forward to it.” He gave the girl a quick smile, and she headed out, Jürgen following her into the hallway, presumably to escort her down the elevator, a royal walk of shame if ever there was one.

“Skye,” Leo said, closing the distance between them in two long strides.

She took a step back, suddenly wishing that Jürgen was in the room, because his presence might—might—cool her temper.

“Re…really, Leo?” She cringed, wanting to roll into a ball right then because this was how she came off? Not cool and unaffected, but instead so gobsmacked that her words misbehaved even more than usual.

“Really, what?”

“I called … up. You knew … I was coming. And … this is what … I walk in on?”

His brows rose, but he said nothing.

She exhaled loudly, then shook her head. No longer even caring about how she sounded. “I guess I … dodged a bullet … when you left.”

For a moment, he only studied her. Then he dipped his head. “I suppose you did.” His voice was as polished as it had been in the conference room earlier that afternoon. “But if you’re talking about Talia, you have no reason to be jealous.”

“Jealous?” She took a step back, shaking her head. “I am so over … you. I’m just saying that I knew you were a … ridiculous playboy in your own country. But … I didn’t realize you were playing that game here, too. Should I be honored to be one of your … American contingent? Me and—what was her name? Tabby Cat?”

He raised his brows and she wanted to kick herself for going too far. For letting her jealousy spew out. But, dammit, she’d been unprepared for how strong it was. For how much she’d actually missed him.

And for how much it hurt seeing him with another woman.

She’d read all the articles and seen all the pictures, of course. For a prince who’d before kept a reasonably low profile, he’d been all over the tabloids after he’d left her, his escapades with socialites and film stars and other royals popping up so regularly in her social media that she finally just closed most of her accounts.

It had hurt, yeah. But mostly it had only reassured her that his departure was for the best. He was a player, and not the kind of man she wanted.

She knew that about him. And yet one real live glimpse of him with another woman, and she turned into a jealous girlfriend.

Except, of course, she wasn’t his girlfriend.

For that matter, she never really had been. She’d simply been one in a string. Not photographed or filmed, but part of that chain nonetheless.

“How can I help you, Ms. Porter?”

His voice wasn’t cold, but its formality bothered her more than it should.

No. That’s good. Formal and professional.

She cleared her throat and concentrated on speaking slowly. “I changed my mind.”

His brow rose. “Did you? And what exactly are we talking about?”

“My paper. You said you … wanted to work with me. How exactly?”