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He pulls out his phone. “Do you want me to do that for you?”
I think of the emphasis she put on my title, think of just how unimpressed she seems with what that title stands for. She says she’s going back to work, and I could probably find her upstairs in the ballroom. But something tells me Savvy isn’t the type to take kindly to me messing with her when she has a job to do.
Besides, the last thing I want to do is draw attention to her in front of all those people—I can see the unflattering headlines about the prince’s waitress dalliance already—or cause trouble for her at work.
“Kian? Do you want—”
“Yes. And get me a phone number and address, too. Her name is Savvy—Savannah—and she’s a part-time waitress here. That’s all I know.”
There are a lot of downsides to being the heir to the Wildemar throne. Access to the best intelligence agency in the land isn’t one of them…
Chapter 3
I stare at my laptop screen for long seconds, scrolling through photos of a quaint cottage with good bones and pots full of cheerful flowers lining the front walk.
“This is it?” I ask Lucas, glancing up at the leader of my security detail for the first time since I opened the file. “This is where Savvy lives?”
“That’s the place.”
“And her name is Savannah Breslin?”
“Yes.”
“Okay, thanks.”
“No problem.
I scroll through some more pictures, this time of a bar downtown called Wild Sea. “And this bar is her main place of employment?”
“Yes. Her normal schedule is detailed on the next page.”
“Okay, thanks. I appreciate the help.”
“No problem,” he says again as he heads for the door. “Roland asked me to remind you that you have that reporter coming in an hour. The one to do—”
“The puff piece, I know,” I answer with a groan. “Why the fuck anyone thinks it’s a good idea for me to be swanning around in the middle of the biggest crisis this monarchy has ever faced, I will never know.”
“Swanning around?” Lucas’s eyebrows hit his hairline. “Now that’s something I would pay to see. And I’m pretty sure the rest of the country would, too.”
I flip him off, but he just laughs as he lets himself out.
Once he leaves, I turn back to my computer screen, scroll through the rest of the pictures there and try not to feel like a creeper. Her house is nice—not what I expected from a struggling bartender/waitress/writer.
Not that she implied in any way that she was struggling when I spoke with her, but I assumed. Why else would she be working two jobs? Besides, didn’t all writers and artists struggle at the beginning of their careers?
I should be getting dressed—Roland will kill me if I’m late to this stupid interview—but I can’t help scrolling through the rest of the information Lucas compiled for me.
There isn’t much, which helps me feel like less of a stalker. Just her phone number and work schedule, as promised. I pull out my phone, enter her contact information, then hightail it into my bedroom to get dressed.
Normally I don’t give a shit about being late. In fact, sometimes I do it just to rattle Roland’s chain a little, just to freak him out and watch him spin himself around in agitation—here in Palais les Charmilles, more times than not
you’ve got to make your own entertainment.
Making Roland crazy has been mine since I was a teenager.
But today I have better things to do than keep a reporter waiting. The sooner I’m done with this bullshit interview, the sooner I can call Savvy.
I’ve got a dozen crown prince things to do today—the most important of which is the daily briefing about Garrett—but I’m determined to carve out a few minutes to talk to the woman I haven’t been able to get out of my mind for the last twenty-four hours.
