Page 70 of The Problem with Princes
HPT: Can we still be friends? Even after I’ve ruined your life?
Me: You didn’t ruin my life. It was the best week I’ve had in a long time. So I think we can definitely be friends.
HPT: I’m going to fix things, Grace. I promise.
Me: There’s nothing to fix, Ty. You can’t retrieve every paper in the world that carried the story. Not to mention the internet… And what about everyone who’s already seen it? Do you have a mind wiper there at the palace?
He sends a thinking face emoji
HPT: I’m just so sorry.
Me: You can stop apologizing. We’re good. I promise.
HPT: Okay. Will you also promise you won’t believe the garbage they are printing with the pictures.
Pictures? There’s more than one? My shoulders sag, destroying the euphoria that had been building with each message.
Me: As long as it’s not true, I don’t see the problem with it.
I stare at the phone for a minute until I notice the time in the upper left-hand corner. Me: Crap! I’m going to be late. I’ll talk to you later.
Guess it will be a braid day again today.
Another text comes through.
HPT: Have a good day.
I sent a thumbs up emoji.
I stare at myself in the mirror as I quickly apply my makeup. Ty wants to stay friends. But is that all he wants, or does he want more? Because even with the pictures out there, I know I do.
ChapterTwenty-Two
I stepinto my office building and take a deep breath. This is it. This is the day that things are going to change. I can feel it. I smile and run a hand over my hair.
I may as well get the day started immediately. I go to my desk and find a hot pink sticky note stuck to my computer monitor. The hot pink ones are from Deloris, Mr. Wainwright’s personal assistant. In her swirly cursive, she’s written—9:00 meeting with Mr. Wainwright.
I sigh. I wonder how he knew I was coming in today. But it doesn’t matter. I can get the details of the project and start working on it immediately. That’ll help distract me. Hopefully.
I pull the sticky note from my screen and boot up my laptop. I had answered all my emails while I was avoiding photos at the Atraxia airport, and it doesn’t look like there is anything new of importance.
I drum my nails on the desktop and glance at the clock. What should I do for the next forty-five minutes until my meeting? Maybe if I get the coffees now, it will show Mr. Wainwright that he was correct in his decision to put me on this project. It would show I take initiative and am a go-getter, right?Or it will tell him that my true calling is the coffee fetcher.
I scoot out from my desk as I grab my purse from the bottom drawer and make my way downstairs to the small coffee cart in the lobby. Maybe I won’t get the executive’s coffee, but I can surely get a hot chocolate for me.
The barista gives me an annoyed look. “Hot chocolate will take like ten minutes. Are you sure you don’t just want coffee? We have chocolate-flavored creamer.”
I’m sure my face is all scrunched up as I look at her. Coffee with chocolate-flavored creamer is not even close to being the same thing as hot chocolate.
“I’ll wait. Thanks.”
* * *
HadI known it was going to take half an hour to make hot chocolate, I would have just gone to the break room and made my own from a packet.
I push through the glass doors of HCF Strategies Group with four minutes to spare. I put my cup on my desk, hoping it’ll still be warm when I come back.
I stand up and run my hands nervously down the front of my dress pants and jacket as I put my purse away and push my chair under my desk. Taking a step forward, I wobble in my three-inch heels. Maybe these had not been the best shoe choice today. I had worn them to give me the height advantage in the meeting, but now I’m wondering if height really matters if I stumble into Mr. Wainwright’s office on unsteady legs, like a drunkard.
