Handle Me (Royals Saga Book 13), page 6
“I could use the jog,” he said, lifting his mobile phone. “Plus, I have a call to make.”
I didn’t dare ask who he was calling, I only hoped that if he was about to reach out to his brother that he didn’t immediately start cursing him out.
“Fine.” There was no point in fighting. I was starting to understand that Anders was more like a jackass than I’d first realized. If he decided to dig in his heels, we weren’t going anywhere.
I watched him drive away with a sinking feeling that I couldn’t quite explain.
“Miss,” the valet said politely as he opened the door to the store.
“Thank you.” I managed a smile as I started inside. I was nearly through the door when I remembered his tip.
He waved it away. “I can’t take money without doing work.”
“I need one man to listen to me today,” I told him as I reached over and tucked the notes into his breast pocket. “So just take this.”
“If it pleases you,” he said, sounding uneasy.
“It does.” I didn’t stay for the next round of apologetic refusals. I had grown up in London. My memories of America all came colored with the tint of a childhood I didn’t quite remember. I’d even developed an accent over the years. But every once in a while, I was reminded that I was not a full-blooded Brit. This was one of those times. Just more proof that I didn’t quite fit in anywhere.
I smiled as I disappeared into the glossy storefront, relieved to have a few minutes by myself, fully clothed, and in no danger of Anders finding me in a compromising position.
Barnaby’s had enough pedigree to see me through getting Anders out of his ratty old clothes and into ones that suited his newfound importance. But the company was in the process of a massive rebrand aimed at attracting a younger clientele. The store which had once catered to men on their way to the House of Lords was now becoming a hotspot for fashion-forward young celebrities like footballers and actors. I’d managed to secure them two new feathers for their cap. Anders wasn’t just royalty, he was also a rising star on the racing circuit. With any luck, he would find he actually liked some of the clothing here.
My alone time was short-lived. I was only a few steps into the store when a stylish Chinese man approached. It was obvious from his blue tartan suit and Gucci loafers that he was the stylist I’d arranged to work with today.
“Miss Bishop?” he asked.
For a second, I honestly thought he wasn’t sure and I found myself delighted at the novelty of being asked who I was.
The delight was short-lived, though.
“I’m only joking,” he said quickly. “Of course, I know who you are, Miss Bi—”
“Lola,” I interrupted him. Tasteless jokes aside, I needed him on my side before Anders returned. Two against one was way better odds.
“Lola,” he said, as if trying it on. He smiled like it fit. “I’m Ralph. And where is…?”
“Parking the car,” I explained.
Ralph’s face fell into a puzzled expression.
“Don’t ask,” I said.
“I won’t,” he agreed. “Should we wait or can I show you to your private showing room?”
“I’ll wait.” I wasn’t about to give Anders a single excuse to bail on me. I would be right here by the door in plain sight. Who knows what would happen if he came inside to find me gone? Would he even come looking for me? Or would he just go right back to his car and drive away like I’d done to him last night?
Last night.
“Oh bollocks,” I said under my breath.
“What was that?” Ralph asked, craning his head.
“Nothing! Let’s just stay here until he gets back.”
Ralph filled every second we waited with a rundown of every designer they carried in stock as well as ones they could order in if we had difficulty finding what we needed. I was beginning to wonder if he would ever run out of small talk—and if Anders was coming back.
“Maybe…” I reached for my mobile and began to dial Anders’s number just as he stepped through the door.
“Well, isn’t he a delicious Viking of a man?” Ralph said softly.
“Don’t let him hear you say that,” I warned him. “His head can’t handle much more inflation of the ego.”
“Noted.” But Ralph’s eyes sparkled as Anders headed directly toward us.
“Where are the racks?” Anders asked, looking around the room.
“This is the showroom,” Ralph explained. “Let me show you to your private dressing chamber.”
“But I haven’t picked out anything to try on yet,” he said, pushing a wayward strand of hair from his eyes.
“I saw to it already,” I jumped in before Ralph said something that sent Anders running for cover.
“You picked out my clothes. You really are bossy,” he said through gritted teeth. But it wasn’t annoyance straining his tone, it was something else. Whatever it was lit a fire inside me.
“They pulled the clothes, but I will choose what you buy,” I said sweetly, shrugging. Let him think I was bossy. Maybe it would be easier to help him fall in line. “What did your brother say?”
“Nothing. As usual. I told him to have Clara call you,” he added.
It was an oddly thoughtful gesture, especially since he must know I was calling her to complain about him. “Thanks.”
The showroom Barnaby’s had set up for us had three racks of clothing waiting near the dressing room’s door. Two olive-green velvet chairs sat opposite a three-way mirror, and on a coffee table, there were a number of magazines and a bottle of champagne on ice. Around the ceiling a faint glow of neon pink light illuminated the dark, velvet-flocked wallpaper. A number of glass display shelves boasted footwear from Prada to Nike and everything in between.
“You’ll find this season’s best pieces along with a number of pieces from the fall collections,” Ralph told us and we stepped inside.
Anders fell silent as Ralph showed off everything the room had to offer, down to a fridge and snack bar stocked for us in case we got peckish.
“Is there anything else we can do for you?” Ralph asked.
“I’ve got it from here,” I told him, adding a whispered, “for now.”
I waited until he left before I turned to Anders, who was already raiding the bar for crisps.
“You’re not really going to eat those?” I asked even as he took the first one out and popped it into his mouth.
“I’m hungry,” he said with a devilish grin.
“You’re going to get oil all over the clothes.”
“In that case…” He drew his hand out of the bag and took his time sucking the salt from the tops of each of his fingers.
I hadn’t noticed how wide his mouth was before. Now I couldn’t think of anything else but how it would feel to have those lips claiming me as his.
I swallowed, determined to stay on target. “I’ll get you something to eat later.”
“What did you have in mind?” His gaze wandered from my face down until it stopped hungrily between my legs.
“Chicken!” I blurted out the first answer that came to mind. It was hard for me to keep a clear head when he was planting ideas inside it.
“Not exactly what I was hoping for.” He licked his lower lip slowly. “Maybe you can hook me up with dessert?”
My eyebrows shot up so fast, I swore they could have flown off my face. Anders was determined to unseat me in every way possible.
He followed me as I made my way across the dressing room. I stopped in front of the racks of designer clothing they had pulled for him to try on and started dutifully flipping through the hangers.
Anderson stepped behind me and reached to do the same, putting his rock-hard body into achingly close contact with my backside.
“I’m just in the mood for something sweet,” he murmured as I drew a blue blazer off its hanger.
I didn’t dare to look back at him. “And what makes you think that’s me?”
“Call it a hunch,” he said. “There’s only one way to find out.”
My eyes shuttered for a moment as I willed myself to overcome his tempting offer. I was not going to give in to Anders or his indecent suggestions, and I certainly wasn’t going to let him see that I’d even considered it. Opening my eyes, I spun and shoved the blazer into his arms. I plucked matching pants from the rack and thrust those at him, too.
“Try those on,” I ordered.
Anders reached behind his head and hooked his collar with a finger.
“In there!” I pushed him toward the dressing room door.
“Sure you don’t want to help me, boss?” he asked as I shooed him inside. He immediately began to take off his clothes.
I slammed the door shut, wishing for a few more glimpses of his perfect body. I could resist him. I could keep him at a distance, but would it be so bad to appreciate the view. I went straight across the room and poured myself a glass of champagne. I might as well just drink out of the bottle. I was on my second glass while perusing a copy of Trend magazine when Anders appeared wearing the suit I’d picked out.
A second became a minute as I took in living proof that men in suits were just sexier. Its deep sapphire color set off his eyes. The suit itself was cut in a modern style that was tailored to fit closely to his body, and he’d kept it casual by leaving the white Oxford he wore under the jacket unbuttoned at the top. The jacket showed off his biceps and broad shoulders. Anders turned in a circle and I caught sight of his tight ass in the trousers. He looked good enough to lick and for a minute, I forgot my determination to keep things professional between us.
“What do you think, boss?” he asked with a wink as he adjusted a cufflink.
“You should only wear this.” It slipped out of my mouth before I realized what I was saying. I scrambled to correct the mistake. “It’s better than T-shirts and jeans.”
“I don’t need a suit,” he said, shaking his head. “I’ve got one and that new tuxedo you sent me last week. I can’t wear this to the track.”
“Is that so?” I challenged him. “Giovanni Rossi wears Dolce & Gabbana to press conferences. Michel Germaine wears Dior regularly.”
“Who cares?” he asked, but there was conflict in his eyes. I’d done my research. I could list at least five more racecar drivers who appreciated men’s fashion enough to appear in various style columns. Anders had to have noticed, too.
But I knew exactly how to convince him he needed this suit in particular. “You can wear it tonight.”
“Where?” he asked. “I don’t have plans.”
“You do now,” I said smiling sweetly.
His eyes narrowed into steely flint streaks.
“You have a date,” I explained.
“With whom?” he asked slowly.
I licked my lips, gathering up my courage and hoping I looked detached. “With me.”
CHAPTER NINE
ANDERS
“Where is your head?” Wilkes demanded as I climbed out of the Renault and tried to shake off my piss-poor lap time.
Thank God Lola had asked me to drop her at my house before I went to the track. I couldn’t imagine what she’d think if she’d seen that performance. Then again, she didn’t drive, so maybe she would still be impressed.
“Earth to Prince Anderson!” Wilkes snapped his fingers to get my attention.
I shook my head, trying to physically jolt her out of my thoughts. “Sorry. I’m preoccupied with something.”
“Something wouldn’t happen to be a particularly fit publicist who stole your socks, would it?” he asked. “Because I didn’t see her on the track today, so what’s she doing in your head?”
I tossed my helmet to one of the crew who shot me a sympathetic smile. Everyone on the team had been on the receiving end of a Wilkes lecture. I had a feeling that by the time I managed to free myself from Lola’s iron grip, I’d hold some type of record for most lectures given by a coach in history.
“I didn’t get much sleep last night,” I told him. It wasn’t so much a lie as it was a fib. I’d passed out, which hardly counted as sleeping, and I’d been woken up early by Lola grinding her perfectly round rear against my—
Wilkes punched my shoulder. “Again? It’s like talking to a wall.”
“Sorry. It won’t happen again. Let’s take it around the track one more time.”
“No fucking way.” He laughed at the suggestion. Wilkes paused to look at a computer screen, sighed, and let his head fall before muttering, “Not good.”
“Seriously. I’ve got this,” I said.
He straightened, casting a doubtful look at me, before jerking his thumb toward the offices. “Inside.”
The only thing worse than Wilkes laying into you on the track was him asking to speak to you privately. A public lecture usually consisted of screaming and a few insults, but behind closed doors, he hit you with what really hurt.
Disappointment.
I followed him inside and shut the door behind me. It wasn’t the first time I’d been in here. I knew the drill.
“Son, you gotta get your head out of your ass,” he muttered. He sank down into a bucket seat from an old decommissioned F1 car that had been converted into an office chair.
“I know,” I started. “I’m getting rid of her as soon as—”
“You can’t get rid of this,” he cut me off. “I know you didn’t ask to find out who your dad was, and I know you didn’t ask for it to be Albert. But you know now. Everyone knows. Getting rid of her isn’t the solution.”
“She’s fucking with my head.” I dropped into the seat across from him. “That’s it. I’ve got this under control. And sod my family. I’ll tell them to go to hell. Say the word.”
“You’re going to tell the King to go to hell?” He laughed softly. “Good luck with that.”
“You forget that he’s my brother,” I said bitterly.
“Maybe…” He hesitated for a moment. Conflict wrinkled his forehead as he tried to think of what to say.
“This is my life,” I told him. “This. The track. The team.”
“Maybe it was, but things have changed. Look at what happened a few months ago. You nearly got killed out there.”
“That crash wasn’t my fault!” I jumped to my feet. “Rossi lost control. I could have wound up in the wall. I made the best choice I could.”
“You cut it too close, pushed it too far. You were trying to prove something,” he argued.
“We’re all trying to prove something!” I was blind with fury at his betrayal. All I needed was to have one more person in my life turn on me. “You’ve forgotten what it’s like to be out there.”
It was a step too far. Like most former drivers, Wilkes hadn’t walked away from the wheel willingly. He’d survived his own crash, but he’d never been able to keep his focus after. It was one of the reasons that he was great at what he did now. Usually.
“This isn’t the yips,” he said. “You’ve lost your flow. It’s not safe for you out there.”
I didn’t even realize I’d taken a swing until plaster crumbled to the floor. I pulled my hand out of the wall. Dust had caked along a few bloody spots on my knuckles. I’m sure Lola would be curious about that.
Lola. Why the fuck had I immediately thought of her? Was she the problem? Or just an easy excuse? I didn’t know anymore. But even now when I was having my dreams kicked to the curb, I was thinking about her. That couldn’t be a good sign in terms of my focus.
Wilkes didn’t say anything as I brushed plaster off my hand and sat back down.
“If I don’t belong here and I don’t belong there, then where the fuck do I belong?” I asked him.
He lifted his shoulders, smiling sadly at me. “That’s all anyone is trying to figure out.”
“I’m not ready to quit,” I told him.
“Yeah, I suspected that.” He nodded like he understood. Maybe he did. He’d watched his own career end.
Fuck, that wasn’t what was happening was it? One crash couldn’t set me back this far. I wouldn’t let it. Not with the whole world watching me now—watching and waiting for me to fail.
“So, what do I do?”
“Hell, if I know,” he said.
“Great. That’s very reassuring,” I grumbled. “Look, I don’t want anyone to know what’s going on. Can we keep this quiet?”
“That shouldn’t be too hard. Between the crash and your family, it won’t be hard to convince people that you’re being groomed into royalty.”
“No,” I groaned. “You aren’t actually suggesting that I go along with this stupid plan of theirs, are you?”
“Finding out you’re a prince is a pretty good excuse to take a holiday from work,” he reminded me.
“So, I’m just supposed to let her play dress up and have tea parties or whatever the hell they do all day?”
“I think you’re confusing the royal family with nursery school.”
“Am I?” I asked doubtfully.
Wilkes shook his head, a crooked grin hanging on his face. He might be right. It might be a good plan, but that didn’t mean I had to like it—and he knew it. “You want to grab a few pints and get the rest of this out?”
“I can’t. I have a date,” I said through gritted teeth.
“A date?”
“Don’t sound so surprised!” I chucked an empty water bottle at him. “I’m charming.”
“Prince charming?”
I found myself wishing I had another water bottle to throw at him.
“Sorry,” he said quickly, but the glint in his eyes said he was anything but. “I’ll take care of dealing with the team and talking to the federation. You’ve got better things to do anyway.” He shifted a few things around on his desk until he found a stack of business cards. He passed one to me. “Here.”
“What’s this?” I stared at the bouquet of roses printed on the card.
“You have a date. You should try to impress her.”
“I don’t think it’s that kind of date,” I admitted to him. “I get the impression Lola is planning to deliver a lesson, not romance.”
