Gamble on Engagement Page 6

And apparently people would bet on just about anything too.

  Plus, it was just kind of mean to tell people not to bet on me. I mean, I was still his girlfriend, after all. God, what was I saying? I’d only been his girlfriend for like, a month or so.

  And then the real reality of the situation hit me. The very bad thing about the tabloids was how very public they are. What if Miranda were to see it? I mean, I didn’t think Miranda would be a big reader of the tabloids, but I was right there on the cover! In my bathing suit, no less. I wondered if I should die first of shame, or fear of being caught. Of course, it wasn’t one of the most popular tabloids in the country, but still. Right. There. On. The. Cover.

  I quickly paid for the paper and stuffed it into my bag for future reference. I wanted to get the name of that weasel in case I spotted him and wanted to confront and/or report him. I also quickly put on my sunglasses. I had taken to buying the biggest pairs of them I could find since my whole McMaster the Disaster fiasco back home. I never wished so bad that I had a hat in my life.

  I was back to the usual driver, I noticed as the limo pulled up in front of me, and I was surprised that I was actually a little disappointed. With all the slow driving and non-stop talking, a guy like Lance could apparently still grow on a person.

  I mean, he was pretty cute with that old man moustache, after all.

  “Thanks,” I said as the driver helped me into the car and put my suitcase in the trunk, not even making a face at how stuffed it was for a two night stay.

  He got in and pulled away from the curb.

  “So, I’m sorry, I was so excited about being in England and the castle and everything that I completely forgot my manners and didn’t ask your name the last time,” I said, wondering if maybe the staff was the way to go to get the real dirt on the Prince.

  The driver smiled, letting me know it was okay. “I’m Reginald,” he said.

  Of course he is, I thought. That’s a very ‘distinguished English driver’ sounding name. “Well, it’s very nice to meet you… again, Reginald.”

  He nodded at me in the rearview mirror, smiling.

  Okay, so, it was going to take a little bit for this guy to open up to me. No matter, we had a half hour to kill after all. “So, do you like working for the Prince?”

  He nodded again. “It’s a very good job, indeed.”

  I nodded in return. Was this guy going to give me the shortest answers possible all the way there? I could tell he was a little uncomfortable with the whole small talk thing, but I had one more tactic to try. “I imagine it’s quite good except for Miranda, hey?” His eyes flickered to me in the mirror, feeling me out. “She’s been nothing but a pain to me since I got here.”

  He smiled again. “I know the feeling Miss McMaster.”

  “Please, call me Josie. I’m really not all that comfortable with all that formal stuff. Unlike Miss Steeves,” I said in the most hoity-toity voice I could muster.

  Reginald finally chuckled, nodding. “Sure thing, Josie.” He glanced in the mirror again, as if he were still feeling me out. “Yes, Miranda can be quite the piece of work,” he said, finally. “She’s rather… high strung.”

  I chortled. “You could say that again. She actually gave me heck for going to London.” I decided to leave the bit about my going to Spain out of it. “I feel like a little kid around her. She obviously has some kind of power trip issue.”

  “Absolutely. Although you should have seen the issues before she got here. Not that I’m defending her, I can’t stand that uppity witch.”

  I tried not to let the shock of hearing him say uppity witch in his cute little English accent show, but I don’t think I was that successful.

  “But she is organized. And that was a huge improvement over the last couple girls who just took the job so they could make googley-eyes at the Prince all day.”

  “Still, they had to have been better than Miranda.”

  “In a lot of ways, yes. But at least the Prince’s life is organized now. Having grown up fairly sheltered, he is not the best at organization himself. And it would seem a firm hand suits him. I believe his nanny was quite strict with him when he was growing up and that’s what he seems to respond best to.”

  It was all I could do not to go fishing in my purse for a pen and paper, or better yet, a recorder.

  I nodded and hoped he would continue, but the car fell into silence for the rest of the way while Reginald must have been mulling over his words in silence, and I kept repeating them over and over in my head so I wouldn’t forget. The nanny was definitely someone I wanted to look into deeper.

  Back at Gatesbury, I was more than a little relieved that Miranda did not appear to be around. I quickly dropped my stuff in my room. Reginald had wanted to carry it for me, but honestly, all the fuss was getting on my nerves a bit. I mean, if I couldn’t carry a bag a few steps to my room, things were seriously dire. I knew it was his job and all, but it was a little insulting.

  I headed out back, grabbing my iTouch to record my thoughts on the conversation I’d had with Reginald. It was my first true gem and I felt like it might be the start of something really great.

  I wandered around to find a quiet place to sit and discovered a huge courtyard, complete with a hidden pool on the south side of the house that I hadn’t even known was there. It was like a tiny tropical oasis right there on the premises. I could not believe no one had mentioned it to me. If I’d known it was there, I might not have taken off so quickly to Spain.

  Although I really had wanted to see Spain.

  I settled into a lounge chair and began reciting my thoughts.

  But it didn’t take long for me to lay my head back and fall into a bit of a catnap, what with the sun beating down on me and the relaxing, trickling sounds of the manmade waterfall, I didn’t have a chance.

  It was pure heaven.

  Until the rude awakening a way-too-short while later.

  “Miss McMaster!” the sternest voice in the world came crashing into my dream.

  My face squinched up at the sheer anger in the voice, and I dreaded opening my eyes. But I knew I could not avoid it forever.

  Although I really wished I had.

  Because there stood Miranda, which was bad enough, but the real tragedy was that in her hands she held the books I’d loaned from London, and worse, the tabloid featuring me on the cover, which I distinctly remember putting in my bag for safe keeping.

  ~ 7 ~

  “This is extremely unprofessional.”

  “You went through my stuff?” I asked.

  Miranda straightened up and sniffed. “Of course I wouldn’t normally go through your stuff, but there was a random bag in one of the guest rooms and I looked inside to see who it belonged to. Unfortunately, it was all too clear.”

  My mind was reeling, both at the shame of being caught in a lie, and at the fact that I couldn’t understand what she was talking about. I had definitely put my bag in my room. Except… what if it was the wrong hallway again? Surely all the rooms couldn’t possibly look that much alike.

  “It wasn’t my room?”

  “It would appear not,” she said, raising her nose even higher.

  I buried my head in my hands. Stupid, giant castles.

  I sighed. “Look, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about Spain. I honestly didn’t know I was doing anything wrong until you called. Then I just tried to make the best of a bad situation and get back here as soon as I could.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Well, if you really don’t think you did anything wrong, then I sincerely doubt even more that you are the right person for this job. And these would seem to plead my case.” She actually tossed the books into my hands. “I knew the Prince was being ridiculous when he insisted upon hiring you, what with your limited experience.” She looked right at me. “And by limited, I mean none. You aren’t even a real writer.”

  My mouth dropped open. I mean, I knew I was no biographer, at least not yet, but it was a slap in the face to say I
was not a real writer. I’d been writing copy my entire adult life. I had degree in creative writing for Pete’s sake. “Miss Steeves, I understand that this doesn’t look very good on my part,” I said, gesturing to the books, “but I think they at least prove that I’m trying to do the best job possible.”

  She scoffed.

  But I had no choice but to keep fighting. “The Prince knew my background when he hired me, he knew I wasn’t an experienced biographer, but he still thought I would be the best person for the job based on my other experience.”

  “Yes,” she sneered, “your other experience. Ridiculous, in my opinion. Hiring someone because they know what it’s like to be in the tabloids.” She seemed to suddenly remember she was holding one in her hand. “Which, I see, has not ceased to follow you around. Yet another reason we really shouldn’t have you around.”

  “What? Why?” I asked.

  “Why? Because the press is still after you, that’s why. I mean, we can’t very well have the paparazzi staking out the castle wondering what the most famous Bridesmaid in the world is doing running around here, now can we?”

  “No one knows I’m here,” I said, quietly.

  “Oh really? And did you know when these were being taken?” She waved the tabloid in the air.

  “No,” I said, even quieter now.

  I could see I was in a losing battle. I knew I should just walk away and start packing. “Am I fired then?” I asked, not able to take much more. Tears were stinging the back of my eyes and the last thing I wanted to do was cry in front of this robot of a woman.

  She dropped her arm to her side, my magazine face slapping her in the thigh. “I would certainly think so, but the Prince will have the final say. Though you most certainly can be assured that he will hear about all of this.”

  I couldn’t help but notice she deflated a little with her last outburst. She obviously wanted me out of there badly, and it seemed to be killing her that she didn’t have the sole authority to get rid of me. No matter what, it seemed, the Prince would always have the last word.

  Not that it mattered, I was sure.

  Once Leo heard about my trip, and the stupid books, he’d probably fly back just so he could boot me out himself. I probably would. Okay, I wouldn’t be that mean, but I probably wouldn’t be that happy about an employee doing something like this either. Although, seriously, no one told me I had to stay there 24/7. I mean, was I a prisoner or what?

  Not that I should complain. The place was practically a paradise. God, what was I thinking even leaving? I couldn’t have had a more perfect situation than living in a lavish castle with all the amenities in the world, including, apparently, a natural oasis pool area, and I went and blew it just because I decided I wanted to see the world.

  I mean seriously, what was wrong with me?

  “I’ll go start packing,” I said, picking up the books and walking back toward the castle.

  As soon as I rounded the corner and was out of eyesight of Miranda—she’d apparently stayed back to either cool down or give me some space—Lance practically jumped right in front of me, the perfectly twisted ends of his moustache bouncing a little.

  It was all I could do not to let out a scream.

  “Don’t let her get you down, Miss McMaster. She’s always got her knickers in a bunch.”

  Despite the situation, I couldn’t help but smile. I’d only been there for a little while, but I was going to miss this place.

  “Yeah, well, it’s looking like I won’t have to deal with her much longer.” I tried to smile, but I’m sure it came out rather pathetic looking.

  Lance patted me on the shoulder. “Don’t worry Miss Josie, the Prince won’t let you go that easily.” He smiled and walked away.

  But… what the heck was that supposed to mean? Not let me go? It’s not like I was his in the first place. Well, except as a ghostwriter. Oh, that’s what he meant. He wouldn’t let me go as his ghostwriter. Sheesh Josie, you really do have a vivid imagination. I figured I’d better go straight for the Disaster Diary.

  Dear Disaster Diary,

  Remember that first date with the cute law clerk that worked downstairs? And how long we’d had that flirtation going? Man I put a lot of time into that guy, ‘accidentally’ getting into the elevator at the same time as him, except I was actually just standing outside the elevator door for hours, just waiting to see if he would be in there? And just ‘happening’ to go for a drink at the coffee cart at the same time as him, only really, I was standing at the window, waiting for him to appear? Then finally, that fateful day when he actually said hi? Eeee!

  So, after all those months of, you know, not exactly stalking the guy, but not exactly not stalking him either, he finally asked me out? What a marvelous day! Really, it was a miracle I was able to spit out the word yes, I’d built the whole thing up so big in my head.

  And then we went out for dinner. To that sports bar with the patio. And he was totally outdoorsy and wanted to sit outside.

  Where that ‘friendlier than you’d ever want’ bird kept hovering around our heads?

  Yeah, I guess I didn’t come off too great after it decided to poop right there on my head.

  I still wonder if it was the poop itself, or all my panicked screaming that turned that very hard-won first date into our last.

  At least I learned that stalking someone is hardly worth it.

  Since I probably only had a tiny bit of time left on the premises, I decided I was going to make the best of it. Well, as best of it as I could without leaving my room, that is. I was not about to risk running into Miranda again. I could only imagine what she’d rip into me for next time.

  So I poured another shot of aromatherapy into the tub and eased in for a soak.

  A little while later a frantic pounding sounded at the door.

  Great, she’s sent some kind of security thug to evict me from the premises or something, I thought. “I’ll be there in a minute,” I yelled as I reluctantly stepped out of the tub, searching for a robe. Prancing across the room, shivering like nobody’s business, I finally grabbed a towel and wrapped it around me, completely forgetting about the flowered bath cap I’d put on to keep my hair dry. And it might not have been so bad if it hadn’t have been one of those ones that looked like old fashioned swim caps with flowers pasted all over it like it belonged in the fifties.

  And it really might not have been so bad if I hadn’t opened the door to find…

  …the Prince.

  “Oh hi! Um… wow, you’re… back!” I said, as cheerily as I could, considering my arms were covered in goose bumps and my head was enveloped in colorful rubber flowers.

  I’m not sure if Prince Leo jumped back because of my appearance, or the frighteningly loud way I was shouting. You know, since I was all freaking out, apparently destined to always make an ass of myself while in his company.

  “Um, yes,” he said, finding his cool as a cucumber-ness again.

  “So….” I had absolutely no idea what to say.

  “Please say you’re not leaving,” he said quickly, cutting me off.

  “Well, not dressed like this, I’m not,” I said, smiling sheepishly, hoping to make him at least smile.

  Wait, did he just say not to leave?

  “Well, tell me you’re not leaving after you get dressed either.”

  “Um, okay? But… what about…”

  He waved away my words, shaking his head. “Don’t worry about Miranda, she doesn’t decide everything around here. She’s a life saver of course, but no matter what she thinks, she doesn’t always know what’s in my best interests.”

  “Um… okay, so I’ll keep writing then?”

  “Yes, of course, please do. No one else will ever be able to capture what it really feels like to be hounded by the press the way you do.”

  I nodded. “Okay.” I wanted to say so much more, like apologize for being so unprofessional, and for not knowing what the hell I was even doing, but I was slightly terrified of hi
m changing his mind. I figured it was best just to keep my mouth shut for once. “And thank you again for the opportunity.” I smiled, tugging my towel tighter.

  I really was not comfortable having a business conversation in my bath wear. Especially with a guy who looked like Leo.

  “And really, don’t let Miranda get under your skin. She really is very nice once you get to know her.”

  I smiled. “Sure, yeah.”

  Of course, I had a sinking feeling that she might really be out for blood now—I certainly wouldn’t be too happy if someone put me in my place like that.

  But I was not about to let that stop me. I was going to write the best darn ghostwritten autobiography that the world had ever seen.

  ~~~

  I started on the book right away. I mean, I meant to, but…

  … there was something else I just couldn’t get out of my head.

  Spain.

  The guy that I thought was Leo for a second.

  The whole whirlwind of ideas swirling in my head, not letting me think clearly.

  I told myself I’d just jot down a few notes, you know, to get all the craziness out of my head.

  But, me being me, I couldn’t stop myself from typing out the whole sordid tale (as pictured in my head, that is) of Leo and his Spanish mistress, complete with love child named Sergio. Before I knew it, I had over 35 pages written. I mean, I knew it was totally wasted time, and I couldn’t use it for anything, but it was nice to at least get something down on paper… well, on computer, anyway. If only the Prince’s life was more exciting, a Prince and his mistress, hiding their love child in secrecy for years so as not to sully the Royal family’s name.

  I was positively exhausted after my marathon of writing, and no matter how much I told myself I had to start writing the book I was supposed to be writing and stop wishing some ridiculous scenario into existence, I just couldn’t stop my hands from typing and my brain from playing it all out.

  And then, after several hours, I was too exhausted to type another word.