Page 2 of The Unlikely Heir
At my high-school prom, my date, Amy Malone, had ditched me to spend the whole night with another guy. When I’d walked past Amy near the end of the night, I heard her say in a loud voice, “He’s just so weird. Did you know that all he wanted to talk about was the sinking of the Titanic?”
This is an unfortunate personality trait of mine. I will discover a random thing I find interesting, learn everything I can, and then want to share my newfound knowledge with everyone around me. Apparently, Amy hadn’t appreciated learning that one of the Titanic funnels was only built for aesthetics and that there were only lifeboats for one-third of the people onboard.
When I arrived home from prom, my mother saw the look on my face, pulled me into a hug, and whispered one of her favorite quotes to me.
“You don’t have to change; you just need to find someone who loves you exactly how you are.”
But as my number of first dates that never turn into second dates mounts, it’s hard to stay optimistic that there’s anyone who will love me exactly as I am. There’s a chance they are like the Loch Ness Monster, a completely mythical creature.
And judging by the way Emily is regarding me like I’m a cross between a cockroach and roadkill, I don’t think she’s destined to be that person.
“So anyway…” I force some joviality into my tone. “Tell me more about you.”
Emily opens her mouth. Whether to answer my question or berate me, I’ll never know because, at that moment, we’re interrupted.
“Excuse me, sir.”
I snap my head up. The man standing by our table is not our waiter, who earlier sneered at my unsuccessful attempt to pronounce Coq au vin.
Although this man is dressed in a classy suit and tie, everything about him screams law enforcement. It’s evident in the stiff set to his shoulders and the way his eyes dart around like he’s mentally calculating the route to the nearest exit.
“Callum Prescott?” he asks in a crisp British accent.
“Uh…yes, that’s me,” I say.
You can’t be arrested for spilling red wine all over your date, can you? It doesn’t meet the criteria for grievous bodily harm, right?
Is it possible Emily’s part of some crime family with their own enforcement goons, and she’s secretly sent them an SOS code forI’m on a date with an idiot? Please come and take him out?
“Can you please accompany me outside, sir? I must speak with you about an important matter,” Stiff-Shoulder Guy says.
This is how thriller films start, isn’t it? Should the ominous music be cued right now?
I glance out the window, and holy shit, there’s actually a dark van with tinted windows parked illegally at the curb.
I blink at it. The fantasies I spin in my head don’t usually have corroborating evidence on display. I’m not sure how I feel about this development.
“Uh…who are you?” I ask.
“We can talk about that outside.”
“Sorry, I’m not going with you until I know who you are and what this is about,” I say like any normal person who has watched a decent number of thriller movies featuring kidnapping as a plot device.
He flicks a glance at Emily. “I would really prefer to talk about this in private.”
“Anything you want to say to me, you can say in front of my date,” I say. At least having Emily here means I’ve got a potential witness.
He hesitates before answering me in rapid-fire sentences. “My name is Spencer Mattingly. I’m an agent for Scotland Yard based in the US. We’ve been tasked with ensuring you are safe and secure, sir.”
I frown. “Making me safe and secure for what purpose?”
His mouth draws into a thin line before he answers me. “I really think you should step outside with me, sir.”
I summon my stern insurance call center voice, the one I had to learn so I could deal with customers who insist that despite the fact they haven’t paid their premiums for two years, they are still entitled to their claim. “Sorry, I’m not budging until you tell me what purpose you’re making me safe and secure for.”
Spencer’s eyebrows tilt toward each other. He glances over at Emily, then back at me, before he seems to make a decision. “Making you safe and secure from threats against the crown, sir.”
The crown? Shit.
