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Glaring at the retreating back of the man who’d barrelled into her, Jasmine regained her feet and started gathering the magazines. ‘I’m so sorry,’ she muttered.
‘It’ll take me ages to sort out the newspapers,’ the kiosk owner grumbled.
‘It’s fine. I’ll pay for—’ Jasmine’s words dried in her throat.
From the numbed state she’d lived in for the past four weeks, the fiery bolt of electricity that smashed through her body made her reel. Her heart thundered, sending a rush of blood roaring through her veins so she didn’t hear the concerned voices around her as she grabbed the newspaper, her gaze riveted on the picture on the front page.
Reyes!
Her fingers shook, wildly fluttering the paper as she stared. Reyes...the reclusive crown prince...on the front page of an English newspaper. The why slammed into her brain a split second before her eyes sought the headlines.
Santo-Valderra Trade Treaty In Chaos... Economy Threatened!
An anguished moan scoured her throat, her heart lurching so painfully she had visions of it stopping altogether.
‘Miss, are you all right?’ the kiosk owner’s voice finally impinged.
Trembling, she dug into her bag and paid for the newspaper, mumbling at the seller to keep the change to pay for the damage she’d caused.
Clutching the paper, she darted through the crowd, breaking into a full run as fevered urgency flooded her bloodstream.
In her office, she sank into her seat, her shaking fingers spreading open the newspaper.
She blinked eyes that stung, forced back her panic and focused on the words of the story.
The Santo-Valderra talks had broken down after Prince Reyes Navarre had been unable to produce his part of the treaty. Prince Mendez of Valderra had agreed to continue treaty talks on condition his further demands were met.
Mendez had walked away from the negotiation table when his demands had been refused. Now both kingdoms were at an economic stand-off.
Acid churned through her gut as she turned over the pages to find the rest of the story. But things only got worse.
Unable to keep the bile down, Jasmine stumbled from her desk and barely made the toilet before she emptied the meagre contents of her stomach.
Oh, God, this was all her fault!
Shakily, she returned to her desk, read the story one more time, and fished out her phone. The small part of her brain that could function sent a small prayer of thanks that her boss had left last night for an overseas assignment.
After sending a quick email taking the day off, she entered a search into her computer. Locating Santo Sierra’s embassy in London, she jotted down the address, slipped it into her bag and left her office.
By the time the taxi delivered her outside the embassy in Kensington, her shaking had abated. Her insides still trembled, but outwardly she projected the picture of calm she’d strived so hard to achieve over the last few years.
Striding into the opulent reception, she made a beeline for the receptionist. Jasmine wasn’t sure exactly what her game plan was, but she had to do something.
Maybe she could speak to the ambassador, convince someone to let her try to fix the chaos she’d created...
God, she was grasping at straws. But she couldn’t cower away—
‘Can I help you?’
She focused on the receptionist. ‘Yes.’ She stopped and cleared her throat. ‘Can I see the ambassador, please?’
The receptionist’s eyebrows rose. ‘Do you have an appointment?’
‘No...but I...this is important...’ Jasmine ventured, her voice trailing off when the neatly dressed woman shook her head.
‘Perhaps you’d like to leave your name and the reason for your visit and I’ll arrange an appointment...?’
Jasmine smothered a grimace. ‘My name is Jasmine Nichols. And it’s about the Santo-Valderra treaty.’
The other woman’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. ‘What about it?’
‘I just read in the paper about it breaking down. I wanted to offer my help in any way I can...?’
The receptionist stared at her in silence, her scepticism turning to downright incredulity as the seconds ticked by. The phone rang. She picked it up. The conversation in rapid Spanish flew over Jasmine’s head.
She focused when the receptionist gasped. ‘Sí. Sí. Su Alteza.’
Her eyes widened as she replaced the handset. ‘Please take a seat, Miss Nichols. Someone will be with you shortly.’
The flood of relief that surged through Jasmine nearly crippled her. Reaching out, she gripped the edge of the desk. ‘Oh, thank you. I know he’s busy, but I really appreciate it.’ She started to walk towards the plush seats, then froze when her stomach heaved.
