"He's a very important client for our firm," Lisa tells me. She has one manicured hand on her hip and the other cradling a paper cup of hot coffee. She removes the lid and blows on the steam.

"Why does the barista insist on making it so darn hot?" she asks, momentarily distracted.

I know why Lisa's giving me this talk. She's a veteran PR manager and has been at the Gage Price firm for over a decade now. She knows I'm young, fresh out of college, and she thinks my age and inexperience is a liability. But I know what I need to do, and I'm not going to mess this up. I'm motivated. If I play my cards right with this client, I know I'll be up for a promotion.

"You don't need to worry about me," I reply. "I realize that Connor D'Avington is paying good money for our PR."

"It's more than just good money," Lisa says. "It's more money than Gage Price has ever received from a diplomat before—and we've represented quite a few. But we're definitely going to need to work extra hard for him. Prince D'Avington has a lot going against him right now."

"I saw the YouTube video," I nod in agreement. That notorious video has 5 million views already and counting.

"The one in Vegas?" she asks.

"Connor, three strippers, one hot tub—yeah, it was definitely Vegas."

"The media is having a field day with that one," she says, shaking her head. "Did you see the way he was boasting in front of the camera, pounding his chest like Tarzan? Who does that?"

It's true, that video didn't cast Connor in a favorable light—scandalous, boastful, and with an ego that borderlines narcissistic.

"I don't know," I say. "But I'm here to help him turn that all around."

"Good," Lisa replies. "That's the right attitude. But you should also know that he's facing increased political opposition in St Albans from a local party—the Constitutionalists. You and George are going to have your work cut out for you,” she says, referring to my direct manager, George Brown.

"Yes, and they want to do away with the Monarchy, correct?"

"That's right; they believe the country should be overhauled. So the D'Avingtons are working extra hard to gain the trust of the people of St. Albans."

As she's talking, I look down at my watch—I know, I know … I'm a Millennial who wears a watch. I like to be punctual okay? In fact, I'll admit that it borderlines on OCD. And according to the time, Prince D'Avington should be here any minute. We’re supposed to be meeting in the lobby of the U.N.

"Lisa, I better go."

"Good luck, the firm is depending on you," she says with a wink. “I know you’ll wow George with how you manage this one, babe,” she tells me. Her confidence seems unshakeable.

No pressure.

I wave goodbye to Lisa and look around the lobby. I see various men in suits walking past flags representing a number of different countries, and I wonder how late the Prince is going to be. Chronic lateness is a pet peeve of mine.

Honestly, it's a huge turn off.

But I don't wonder for long because all of a sudden I hear gasps erupting around the lobby and a crowd forming. There appears to be a man falling from the sky with a parachute on his back, and he's headed straight for the UN lobby.

I squint and try to get a better look.

Recreational skydivers aren't allowed to jump from planes into New York City, are they? So who could this man be, and what is he trying to do?

I'm standing near the large glass doors, squinting at the sky as the figure of the man draws closer and closer …

This is the strangest thing I’ve ever seen in my life.

People are frozen. They’re pointing, but most are fleeing.

I mean, some guy starts coming out of the sky, you’re first thought is to get the hell out of there.

Wait, I should be running too.

I mean, the guy is headed straight for the lobby.

And then the startling realization hits me … that guy swooping down… it's Connor D'Avington.

What the fuck is he doing?

Within a minute I watch as he crashes through the glass. My knee-jerk reaction is to squint my eyes shut. I don't want to watch him get hurt. I hear people scream and scramble out of the way. I can even hear a young child crying off in the distance. Then Connor bursts through a pane of glass, tumbles into the lobby in a spectacular summersault, and jumps to his feet within a mere 10 feet from me.

I’m cringing, shielding myself from any flying shards.

Please don’t let today be the day I die. I’m too young!

Eventually, I open my eyes to see the man get up and remove his helmet. He sees me and smiles.

Of course he would. I’m the only one fool enough to still be standing in the lobby. Never late for a meeting, right?

"You must be Natalie," he smiles, walking over to me with an outstretched hand. "I'm Connor D'Avington, Prince of St. Albans."

The first thing I notice is that he’s even more handsome in real life than he is on the Internet. His blonde hair is windswept from the fall, no doubt, and his eyes are the color of a clear summer sky.

But I shake those thoughts from my head. I have a job to do. I have a zero margin for error, and here he is, crashing through the UN. Security will be here any minute to see what this mess and racket is about, and I'm sure at least half a dozen people probably recorded the whole thing on their phones and uploaded it to Facebook … or YouTube.

Hell, it's probably already going viral.

"I know who you are," I say, not amused. "You're a loser, and you're late."

"Lighten the fuck up, love," he smiles. "I'm guessing that was the most spectacular introduction you've ever seen in your life, was it not?"

"If you mean spectacularly horrific, then yes, it was. That window isn't going to fix itself, and you nearly gave a room full of people a heart attack."

"I suggest we postpone this meeting until tomorrow. I think I've had enough excitement for one day."

"Grab a drink with me, love," he smiles, dismissing my attempt to re-schedule the meeting.

If I'm honest, his smile alone turns me on. I wonder what it would feel like being held in his strong arms. I try to snap my thoughts to the present. I've never been under someone's spell like I am right now. This is new territory for me.

I have to keep it together. This is business.

"Is this a game to you? We aren't getting a drink together. I'll be at your office first thing in the morning."

"That won't work at all," he says, shaking his head. "I rarely ever go there."

"Then I'll meet you at your place."

"That's more like it," he replies with a smile.

Great. I gave him exactly what he wanted.

Without saying another word, I turn on my heels and storm off.