Hannah reached over and put her hand on Skye’s in a sympathetic gesture. Bart just frowned, his finger tapping on the tabletop.
“What?” Skye asked.
“You’re nervous because you’re speaking in front of a crowd,” Bart said.
“Thank you for stating the obvious,” Skye said.
He stared at her, then twirled his hand in a come on gesture. She shrugged, clueless.
He sighed with exasperation. “Skye, have you ever taken a public speaking class?”
She gaped at him. “Uh, no. I thought I would … save the world the torture of having to listen to me speak publicly. Not to mention … terrifying.”
“And yet you’re doing it at symposium.”
“Thank you for playing on my worst fears when I’m trying to have a drink.”
“I’m just saying that maybe a little training wouldn’t be a bad idea. And considering how many public speeches a prince makes, perhaps it would be a good idea to ask Leo to help you get ready.”
Hannah sat up straighter. “Oh, yes. You’re already going to be spending time with him doing the work on succession, right? So maybe you should get something in exchange other than billable hours.”
“I don’t know what you two are—oh.” She looked between the two of them then grinned.
“It’s the perfect idea,” Bart said. “You know I’m right.”
Skye sat back unable to fight a small smile. It was the perfect idea.
She only hoped it wasn’t also a perfect mistake.
Chapter Eleven
Skye felt only slightly guilty about calling Emily at home on a Friday night, but she wanted to contact Leo right then while she was still slightly buzzed from drinks with Hannah and Bart. Because as soon as her head cleared, she was certain she’d lose her nerve.
Now she stood at the door to his suite, having been cleared by the guard posted at the elevator door. Two years ago, he’d lived in an apartment, and there’d been no guards, no procedures. Then again, two years ago she hadn’t known he was a prince.
“Jerk,” she muttered, but even though the word was completely accurate—even though the way he’d bolted still stung—some traitorous part deep inside her hoped that he would accept her proposal. Not because she wanted him, of course. But because Hannah and Bart were right. Who better to teach her how to be calm in front of an audience? Because unless she could control her nerves, no one would be able to understand a single word she said.
And, okay, yes. Maybe she wanted to see him, too. But only for closure.
Just do this.
Right. Okay.
She drew a breath, lifted her hand, and rapped on the door.
A moment later, it opened inward, and she found herself looking at the sharp-cut features and hard, almost-black eyes of Jürgen Braun, Leo’s best friend. Except of course, he wasn’t really. He was an attendant or courtier, or whatever you called someone who worked for a royal.
“Ms. Porter,” Jürgen said, his accent as thick as she’d remembered. “It’s a pleasure to see you again.” He swept his arm to usher her in, and as she crossed the threshold she almost admonished him to call her Skye. They’d been friends, after all.
Except they hadn’t. Not really. It had all been fake.
Her back was to him, and she took a moment to collect herself before glancing over her shoulder to smile politely. “It’s good to see you again.”
He hesitated, and for a moment she had the impression he was going to speak. Then he simply gestured for her to take a seat. “His Highness will be out soon.”
“Right.” Her throat went dry, and she started toward the ornate sofa. She knew the suite well, as the firm often put VIPs up there. It was smaller than she’d expect for royalty with only one bedroom and less than a thousand square feet. But it was beautifully appointed and had a view of Sixth Street from the corner balcony.
She imagined that someone from Leo’s security team stayed up at night on the couch while he took the bedroom. “You’re his security guard,” she said to Jürgen as the pieces fell into place.
He tilted his head in acquiescence. “I’ve been on His Highness’s security team since his thirteenth birthday. I was sixteen and following in my father’s footsteps. His Highness promoted me to the office of security chief on his twenty-first birthday.
“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.