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“Brooklyn.” I eyed her.
“You’re not going to tell me anything? Really?”
“We can’t.”
She huffed. “You’re not serious about the contract. I was planning on telling you, anyway.”
“We shouldn’t.”
“Mol, it’s not like security from The Titan is going to break in here and arrest us. It’s us. We can tell each other anything we want. Screw them.”
The news cut away to the weather. I didn’t know how long it would be until the press conference. I needed to stop procrastinating and focus on my notecards. I was losing time. I turned the TV off.
“You’re not going to watch?” She looked surprised.
“It doesn’t matter. I have work to do. We both knew what we signed up for. That night is over, and talking about it doesn’t get me any closer to completing my dissertation.”
“I wish you would stop being practical and just admit that you had fun and that something might have happened.” Her eyebrows rose.
“It’s not worth talking about. I’m going to the library.”
I scooped the cards off the couch and shoved them in a bag. I couldn’t stay in the apartment and deal with her prodding. I couldn’t deal with the temptation to turn on the TV again and watch the press conference, hoping for a glance of Damon. His Royal Highness, I mentally corrected myself.
“Mol, come on. Don’t leave.”
I grabbed the keys from the hook next to the door and slung my messenger bag over my shoulder. “I don’t know when I’ll be back. Hope you have a good day. Maybe you’ll see a job posting you like.”
She rolled her eyes and I locked the door behind me.
The library would be quiet. No TV. No phones. And no traces of the king.
15
Damon
The lodestar was detailed. Sutcliffe had included more information than I asked for. I sat behind my desk, reading the details of Molly Washington’s life. There were posts from her social media accounts. Copies of her transcripts.
There was an abundance of facts. What was missing was the spaces in between. Her stories. Her words. The colors of her experience. This black and white piece of paper didn’t have that. So far she was like one of my abstract paintings.
According to the account, Georgan had driven her home late afternoon.
I picked up the royal line.
“Sir?”
“Have Georgan escort Miss Washington to my residence.”
Sutcliffe exhaled. “Your Highness, you have continued meetings this morning. The press conference will be highly televised. The palace has precise focus this morning.”
My eyes narrowed. “I didn’t ask for your input. I asked for Miss Washington to be brought to me.”
“The palace is already surrounded by press. What if someone sees her arrive? Have you thought through this, sir?”
I could almost see his brow sweating. He hated potential scandal. He panicked over the slightest wrinkle in the royal family’s fabric. Dominic caused him countless sleepless nights.
“My business with Miss Washington is not for public consumption. I expect her to be in the royal residence when I’m finished with the prime minister. And I expect our security and your expertise to keep her off the radar.”
I hung up the phone before he could continue his veiled lecture on my personal habits. I don’t know which made him more nervous: my brother’s drinking, or my dealings at the Titan.
