CHAPTER SIX
Asher
Three More Months Later . . .
The music soared over Lady Chamberlain’s ballroom. Another Strauss waltz. She seemed to have an addiction to those. Though Ash could never understand why. For starters, they all sounded the same. They were even written in the same time signature.
Between the music, the pomp and circumstance of an evening out as a royal, and all of the pretenses he’d been forced to keep up, Ash had grown tired of it all. The instant the clock struck eleven p.m., he signaled to the bodyguard Jenson had hired for the evening and made for the door.
“Your Highness. Surely, you can’t be leaving so early. The festivities have hardly begun.” Lady Chamberlain had appeared out of nowhere—a particularly impressive habit of hers, truth be told. Sometimes she saw too much. Those days, the last thing he needed was someone who could see through him.
“I’m afraid I must.” Ash bowed slightly at Lady Chamberlain, though his own rank didn’t require it. “Thank you for an exquisite evening, my lady.”
She rested her slim fingers on his shoulder, so gently he almost didn’t feel them. “There are rumors about you, Ash. Ones involving money and your lack of it. Is there any truth to them?”
Shit. People were talking. Of course, if Ash had been honest with himself, people talked about him all the time. One of the many challenges of being a royal. “I’ve no idea what you’re talking about. Please excuse me.” He turned to the door once more.
“You know, if it’s money you need, I’d be happy to assist. I’m sure some sort of arrangement could be made.” A small frown tugged at the corners of her pale, pink lips. “We are neighbors, after all.”
“Yes, but you mustn’t worry. All’s well. Now, if you’ll excuse me?” Ash forced a smile, patted her hand, and then turned into the night. Jesus, what a relief. Spending even a moment in Lady Chamberlain’s company was one moment too long.
Jenson pulled along the curb a moment later.
“Here we are, Your Highness,” the guard said, holding the door for Ash, who slid into the backseat.
“Thanks.” Ash nodded to the guard as the door shut, drowning out the sounds of the party. His security didn’t take a seat up front beside Jenson. The temporary guard would be finding his own way home, else Ash would be forced to pay him for another hour.
Ash leaned back against the cushions as his phone dinged. He reached inside his pocket and scanned the screen.
Bailey.
His residual boredom from the party faded as he read and reread her text. Worst pizza? Mine was Veto’s Pizza.
Asher chuckled and typed a response. Veto’s. What an appropriate name. Mine was Hometown Pizza—Wisconsin.
Yikes! Can you take on another project? I picked up a new client this week.
He tapped back his reply.
Of course, anything for you.
He pressed Send, then thought about how that sounded. Anything for her? That probably came across as if he’d been hitting on her—which he definitely hadn’t. He’d just meant that he liked working with her and was always happy to help. Especially when helping Bailey always resulted in a nice direct deposit into his accounts.
He tapped out a part two to his message.
Always happy to help.
There, that was better. Much better. Another ding sounded as he opened the door to the limo and slid across the smooth material of the backseat.
Great. I’ve uploaded the project details into your work folder. The deadline’s Friday. Will that work for you?
Yep. I’ll get started right away.
That was one of the nice things about Bailey. Some employers, or so Ash had heard, whipped out assignments, expecting their employees to sacrifice entire weekends or special evening plans to get the job done. Bailey never had. Instead, she’d always asked if the dates she’d chosen would work for Ash, and her timelines had always been more than reasonable. The only time he’d ever struggled had been with the Windsor job, and that had been months ago.
He’d found his groove since then, and he’d been able to make some small improvements at the palace.
There’d been several things nagging him. Like the broken piece of flooring in the main entryway, the wobbly banister on the stairs leading to the upper floors, and the small tears in the ancient, tapestry-like curtains hanging in the morning room. Making those repairs had made Ash feel as though he were getting somewhere.
Those small achievements had kept him designing. As long as no one found out the crown prince of Florico designed fonts for PayPal deposits, everything would be fine, and, so far, no one had. Though Lady Chamberlain’s comments had unnerved him. Ash shuddered to think what would happen if word got out.
Prince Asher designs fonts—for cash!
“Almost there, Your Highness,” Jenson’s weary voice chimed in from the front seat.
Guilt barraged Ash then. It’d been such a long time since Jenson sounded awake. He knew it had more to do with the demands on Ash’s schedule than anything else. “When I get this financial situation sorted, I’m going to send you on a long, much-needed vacation, Old Friend.”
Jenson chuckled. “As you wish.”
Ash’s phone dinged. Another text from Bailey. The last thing he’d expected was a picture.
In the photo, Bailey stood beside a tall tree of a man. She wore a dress—fitted, black, slit to her low thigh. Something his grandmother would call risqué enough to be fashionable. Another text came in.
BTW, you were right, Gary Hedgerow from Tree Hugger Organics does have a beard to rival all. You called it.
Asher laughed; the warm feeling filled his chest. It’d been a long time since he’d laughed properly. Since he’d enjoyed himself at all. But after he was done chuckling over Gary’s beard, he found himself taking in Bailey’s dress. He’d have to be blind not to notice the way the fabric clung to her full breasts and rounded hips.
“Fantasizing about my boss. Nice.”
Ash tapped out. Where were you in this picture?
The reply was almost instant. Tree Hugger’s charity event. Schmoozing up some new clients.
He found himself smiling. Grinning, almost as if Bailey were with him.
Before he realized what he was doing, he began Googling the Tree Hugger Organics gala, tossing in Bailey Parker as the last two keywords.
Dozens of photos of Bailey filled the small screen on his phone, including a few taken from the back. If he’d thought Bailey looked amazing in the gown from the front, the back was even more incredible. The fabric had been cut out, exposing Bailey’s toned, olive skin. Stunning.
What was he doing? Ash could have any woman he wanted, at any time.
Yet he found himself eager for texts from his boss. He couldn’t stop staring at the pictures of her in the evening gown. It could’ve been because it was the only relaxed contact he’d had with anyone in months, but he was more inclined to think it had to do with Bailey herself. There was something about her that put him at ease.
But why, then, did he suddenly feel himself tangled in knots?