Page 1 of Incognito

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“Iwant a crate of soda, a monster bowl of extra hot nachos, and a triple layer choc fudge banana split sundae. Got that?” The rude guest snapped their fingers. “And I want it in my suite pronto.”

Natasha Telford glared at the back of Australia’s youngest pop star as he strutted towards the lift after shouting his order at her, surreptitiously squeezing a stress ball under the concierge’s desk while wishing she could rip a few more slashes in the upstart’s trendy torn T-shirt.

How old Harvey did this job on a daily basis she’d never know.

As a kid growing up in Telford Towers, she’d thought the concierge had the most glamorous job in the world. That had changed this week, when she had to fill in while Harvey had his hip replacement. Giving polite tourists directions to Melbourne’s famous sites she could handle. The cocky, demanding, famous guests—especially young punks barely out of school who thought they ruled the screen or stage—she could politely strangle.

Though she had to reserve her strangling tendencies, considering the hotel would welcome their most famous guest, the Prince of Calida, any second.

She cast a quick, assessing glance around the lobby, ensuring everything appeared spotless. The obnoxious pop star could wait for his fancy sundae. She had a more important guest to impress: Dante Andretti, the soon to be crowned monarch of a tiny principality off Italy’s west coast.

Thankfully, the lobby looked perfect. Polished marble floor, gleaming brass-trimmed check-in desk, plush chocolate brown sofas, and muted antique lamps blending with the stunning floral bouquets they ordered on a daily basis.

Natasha smiled, infused with the same pride she experienced every day she entered the Towers. She loved this place, every inch of it, and she’d do anything to make sure it stayed in the family.

“So when’s His Uptightness due?”

The question made Natasha’s smile broaden as she whirled around to chastise her best friend, Ella.

“Don’t call him that, El. He’s probably a really nice guy,” she said, rearranging a pile of maps, a box of theatre tickets, and a credenza of tourist flyers for the umpteenth time. Her nerves were working overtime and if the prince didn’t arrive soon, she’d go into serious meltdown.

Ella rolled her eyes and stuck her ink-stained hands in the pockets of her low-slung denim hipsters. “Yeah, I bet he’s a real prince.”

Natasha ignored Ella’s cynicism. Telford Towers needed a high profile guest like the prince now more than ever.

“Do you know much about him?” Ella asked.

Not enough, and that’s what had Natasha worried. Usually, she knew everything about the VIPs staying at the hotel. It wasan integral part of her job, and in this case, more vital than usual.

Telford Towers needed the PR from the prince’s presence; like yesterday.

Natasha shrugged. “Only what I’ve learned online, which isn’t much. From what I could gather, there’s a lot of geographical stuff about Calida, generic information about the royal family, and that’s about it.”

Ella’s eyebrows arched. “When a guy doesn’t have much on social media, that’s a major red flag.”

“I know, but he’s a prince. He probably pays someone to scour every online site to ensure he’s not gossip fodder.”

Ella’s eyebrows rose higher. “Paparazzi would be stalking him. How could he not be online?”

“Carida is a tiny country, a mere dot on the map. Maybe journalists and photographers don’t care about the royal family there?”

Ella made a scoffing sound. “Sounds suss to me. But more importantly, is he cute?”

“I couldn’t tell much from his pic on the royal website. It’s too small.”

“You wouldn’t be holding out on me by any chance?” Ella’s teasing elicited a laugh and Natasha held up her hands in surrender.

“Give me a break. From what I could see from his tiny pic, the guy was trussed up like a turkey in a fancy-schmancy uniform, had his hair slicked back, and looked like he couldn’t crack a smile if his life depended on it.”

Though one thing had stood out in the prince’s photo.

His eyes.

Beautiful, blue eyes, the colour of the ocean on a perfect summer’s day, unnaturally vivid on the computer screen and imprinted on her brain.

She’d always had a thing for a guy’s eyes, believing in the ‘windows to the soul’ thing. Pity she hadn’t read the real motivation behind Clay’s eyes. It would’ve saved her a lot of heartache and avoided putting her family in the insidious position of losing the one thing that meant everything, courtesy of her greedy ex.

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