As I said I would, I called Mr. Walters’s office first thing in the morning. He wasn’t getting away from me now that I was so close. Showing up to his business later in the day had worked to my advantage. I didn’t have to sit there all day like I knew he thought I would. If I followed him to his favorite cafe—information given to me by Maddox—he would know I would follow him to work.

I hadn’t talked to his employees. It was a lie. Though I did try. None of them wanted anything to do with me. Whether that was because of his influence or not, I didn’t know. I knew he was stubborn. I didn’t need anyone to tell me that.

As much as Matt said I had charm, my charm was the cute and annoying type. One thing that made me so successful—minus a promotion—was my persistence, which worked well up against stubbornness.

To my surprise, his secretary had the information to give me.

“Reservation at Chez Vous at seven-thirty,” she said. “The reservation is under Mr. Walters.”

At the very least, it seemed like he had the intention of showing up. I had been worried that it was another switcheroo like he’d done at the cafe. I was still sore over that, and I would never let myself get trapped again.

Even in the conversation I would have with Matt when I got home, I wouldn’t tell him how easily Mr. Walters had tricked me. It was embarrassing, and I knew he’d never let me live it down. Perhaps Matt would pull the same trick on me when we saw each other next. He’d find it hilarious.

No, that secret was staying between Mr. Walters and me.

I hoped that in the time we would spend together at dinner, he would forget about it as well. It wasn’t something I wanted to be known for, so it was time to make a good impression on him. Possibly so good that he opened up to me like a flower in bloom. Then, I would get my story and promotion and be done with the cocky prince.

Since I wasn’t going to spend the day waiting for Mr. Walters, I went back to bed and slept for a few hours. Apparently, jet lag could stretch on to days after an arrival. When I woke, I was groggy and a little crabby.

After looking through my wardrobe, nothing seemed good enough.

I checked out the restaurant’s website, and it was very fancy. Nothing in my suitcase would do. I’d barely packed enough for a week, thinking the job would be over quickly. Now, I was running out of clothes.

It was a good thing that I had a company card and access to a boutique within walking distance.

I didn’t go on a crazy spending spree, but I managed to find something appropriate, and it was something I would wear again. So if Mr. Fraser challenged the excess fee, I would be able to pay for it myself and not be too sore about it.

Though after getting the interview to launch my career, I doubted he would mind too much. It could be part of a bonus.

My mood picked up a bit, and by the time I went back to the hotel room to shower and change, it was almost time to go.

* * *

I checked myself out in the mirror, adjusting my necklace and placing the final touches on my makeup. I couldn’t remember the last time I dressed up for a date. While this one wasn’t romantic in the least, it was nice to want to look good for someone.

Thinking about my dating habits, I counted the months that it had been since I’d had any sort of date. I cringed at the number and vowed not to think about it again anytime soon.

I shook my shoulders, releasing the tension from my muscles. It was something I used to do in high school before a big performance for the drama club. I’d taken to the habit before any date or interview.

This wasn’t a date. It was a professional meeting. While I had taken care to choose my outfit carefully to show off my assets, I wasn’t going to let that distract him from the truth that I wanted to uncover.

* * *

I arrived at the restaurant a few minutes early, so I wasn’t surprised that Mr. Walters wasn’t there when the hostess sat me at the table. I took a moment to look around at the restaurant. It was the fanciest place I’d ever been to. The tablecloths were thick white linen that matched the napkin with a little pocket to hold my silverware.

Unwrapping the napkin, I placed it on my lap and smoothed it over my legs.

The place was packed, and the tinkling of silverware against plates created a melody that was somewhat soothing.

Waiters brought plates of food to other tables, and I sneaked a peek of the menu by checking out those dishes.

My server, a petite woman with honey-blonde hair, asked if I wanted anything to drink. I wasn’t sure what Mr. Walters wanted, and I wouldn’t let alcohol impair my judgment when it came down to the crucial questions. “Water, please.”

“Sparkling?” she asked.

“Sure,” I said, and she hurried off.

She returned and poured two glasses of water before leaving again. I checked my phone. It was already several minutes past our meeting time.

I wasn’t seated close to the windows, but I checked them anyway, expecting to see Mr. Walters run past to get to the table in time. I tried not to be aware of the two women sitting at the table next to me who lowered their voices and cut glances my way. They knew I was in the process of getting stood up. How I wanted to prove them wrong.

I went over my notes again, and in that time, the waitress returned twice to ask if I wanted anything. Minutes stretched on, and the hairs on the back of my neck stood on end. The waitress didn’t hide her pitying expression at all. Both of us knew I’d been stood up.

I waited exactly thirty minutes before I realized that I’d been duped once again. My cheeks burned. How could I have been so stupid?

Mr. Walters was going to be sorry he messed with me. He’d have to get the police involved if he wanted to stop me from upping my stalker game. This guy was messing with my livelihood, and I wasn’t going to stand for it any longer.

I stood up from the chair and tossed my napkin onto the table.

Heat moved behind my eyes, but I was determined to keep my chin up. I strode out of the dining room and toward the coat check.

A gust of cold air filled the small lobby area, and I glanced at the door to see Luke Walters standing there.

I ground my teeth together as the coat check boy handed me my jacket.

“You aren’t leaving?” Mr. Walters asked.

I handed the coat back to the boy. “Not anymore. It’s nice of you to show up.”

He crossed the room, unwrapped his scarf from around his neck, and took off his jacket, handing it over. “My apologies. I didn’t have your number to call you. But when I make an appointment, I stick to it.”

“I think our table is still available,” I said.

“It better be,” he said. “I have a standing reservation here for clients.”

I chewed on my lip. That was why this was so easy for him to set up. I tried not to feel let down a bit by that revelation. This meeting wasn’t about me. It was about business to him, and I needed to get into that mindset as well.

Sitting down at the table, Mr. Walters was a complete gentleman, pushing my chair in and all.

The same waitress returned, and she was much happier, mirroring my internal emotions. I knew she had felt terrible for me, but I didn’t need her pity anymore.

After he ordered a bottle of wine, he clasped his hands in front of him, dropping them onto his lap. “This is how it’s going to go. You can ask me a question, but I get two questions for every one you ask me.”

“I feel like that should be the opposite.”

“Take it or leave it, Ms. Holmes. You’ve invaded my privacy all week. The least I deserve is some information on you.”

Thinking back to my pretense about writing a story about the company, I decided to start off easy. Even though I was dying to jump right in with my questioning, once he had some wine, he’d probably relax more, and I’d be able to turn it into a conversation more than an interview.

I just had to bide my time. Besides, I didn’t need to hide anything about myself. My life was pretty boring in general, so there wasn’t much I wasn’t willing to share with him.

“Okay,” I said. “I’ll play by your rules. But I’d like to have the first question.”

He nodded.

I turned on my recorder app on my phone and placed the phone down between us. I had a pretty good memory, but I hoped the restaurant wasn’t too loud to record.

“How long have you lived in the UK?” I asked, checking the wave bar on the screen of my phone. It picked up my voice perfectly.

He sighed and his shoulders visibly relaxed.

I bit down a smile. As long as I kept him comfortable and relaxed, I’d get my story.

“About five years now,” he said. “Before that, I traveled a lot for work. Learning the business.”

I opened my mouth to say something, but he held a finger up. “It’s my turn.”

I clamped my mouth shut and allowed him to question me.

“Where are you from?” he asked.

“Texas.” If he wanted the nitty-gritty, he’d have to ask another question. Inwardly, I smiled, feeling as if I still had some control.

“All your life?” he asked.

“Yes.” That was question two. My turn now.

We went back and forth for a while. Apparently, he had no experience with being an interviewer. If he was trying to get something on me, it wasn’t going to work, especially not with the questions he was asking.

It seemed as if he hadn’t spoken to an American in a while, or ever. He was interested in the types of places I’d been around the country, which was good since I’d never been anywhere else.

Until the main course arrived, I kept my questions on the easy side, while sneaking in a few about his travels as well. He gave me the perfect “in” to ask, and he didn’t seem bothered to answer.

I was halfway through my meal before I went for an easy, yet prying question. “So, how did your father become king?”

The friendly crinkle at the corner of his eyes smoothed out. “This dinner is over.” He placed his napkin on top of his half-finished meal and waved his hand at the waitress, pinching his fingers together for the universal sign for, “Check, please.”

“Wait,” I said. “You said I could ask—”

“Goodnight, Ms. Holmes. I’ve fulfilled my part of the bargain. I hope my questions will help you write your story about our company.”

He was out of the chair before I could utter another word.

The waitress came over to the table and started to clear his plate. “The meal is covered by Mr. Walters’s account. Would you like anything else?”

The fish in my stomach solidified and hardened as I watched Luke Walters disappear from the restaurant. The fact that he left meant I was on to something.

I couldn’t let him go that easily, but what else could I do? I knew that I needed more time with him to get the story that Mr. Fraser wanted, but other than stalking Mr. Walters to his business again—which I said I wouldn’t do if he took me out—I had to think of another way to get my questions answered, or else what was the point in coming to England at all?

The promotion was so close that I could see it within my grasp. It was in the shape of a tall, dark man who was walking out of the building.

I placed my napkin on the table and told the waitress that I was finished. Standing up, I wobbled a little on my heels, feeling the aftereffects of getting to know Luke in a way that I hadn’t before. Along with needing the information for the story, I wanted to see him again. And when I wanted something, I worked my butt off to get it.