Royal Hearts (Love At The Lake #2)

Chapter 7

Seven

CAT

A llyn flies through the double doors of The Elk Room to follow me into the main sitting room of the lodge.

“What do you think you’re doing?” she demands, surprisingly not breathless. She bikes religiously in her office, stripping down to her bra, and taking meetings via earbuds.

“I can’t believe I just agreed to this, Allyn.” My stomach is a ball of nerves. I think I just agreed to be Winter Larsen’s PA out of sheer spite.

“You can do this, Catherine.”

I pace in front of the crackling fireplace. “I can’t believe he’s gone to these lengths?—”

Allyn raises her eyebrow at my uncharacteristic complaining. “You haven’t even seen his trailer, yet.”

“I don’t have to. I remember my days as a lowly PA on photo shoots and production sets, and I know what this is about.”

“Where is the take no prisoners, I can get the job done, relentless Cat Bloomfield I’ve been working with for over five years? I can’t believe you’re not dancing on the ceiling right now.”

I flop into a scrumptious leather side chair and hug a mallard print pillow, letting my head fall between my knees. “She’s exhausted, Allyn,” I groan to the burgundy carpet under my feet. “The fighting, the clawing my way up. I’m spent. All I want is to use our powers for good, for the little guy. An agency like ours would have saved my parents endless nights of fighting over a marketing plan neither of them understood, if they could have afforded us. ”

“You know, you’re a bleeding heart under that hard black shell of yours. And honestly, you’re in the wrong business, but right now I’m counting on that heart you try so hard to hide. You’re doing something out of your comfort zone, that’s a good thing.”

I look into the fire and dig deep, soul-searching, but I’m interrupted by large hands grasping the arms of the chair I’m sitting in on either side of me. Winter leans over and suddenly, I’m trapped in a bubble of smoky clove and citrus cologne.

“Come on, Bloom. It’s not gonna be that bad, I promise.” His breath is in my ear and I shiver. He’s curved himself around me, cocooned me, and caged me in.

I shoot up from the chair, nearly knocking his head with mine in my haste to escape. “Stop encroaching on my personal space, pretty man.” I’d rather do the job of a thousand PAs than feel his hands on me.

“Easy, I won’t bite.” He holds his palms up, chuckling at the rise he so clearly wanted to get out of me. I straighten the collar on my turtleneck and pull at my cuffs, refusing to let him see me ruffled.

“Oh,” I scoff, “I’m sorry, I forgot. Mr. Royal Highness is entitled to everything. And now you think because we sort of know each other?—”

“My best friend is going to marry your sister.”

“I know that! Don’t think you know that and I don’t.” What was I saying? I wave my hands between us. “But that doesn’t make us anything.”

“Well, you did sign the NDA. We’re something, and now at least I know you can’t sell a story to a gossip blog.”

As if I would, but that’s beside the point. “If I’m doing this, I have ground rules.”

Allyn, wise woman that she is, excuses herself quietly saying to me that she’ll be in touch. She disappears through the entry doors of the lodge, out into the sunlight and snowcapped mountaintops while I’m left with this mess.

I’m on my own now, but the feeling is nothing new.

Still, losing Allyn as my backup stings and I lift my chin so it doesn’t show. I can handle him. My heart starts to pound in my ears as I realize, I’m all in.

“Go on.” Winter gracefully settles his body in the chair across from the one I was just sitting in. He’s tall, taller than I wish he was and laced with fine-tuned muscle under a sweater and appropriate princely-looking equestrian pants. He’s wearing black boots that go up to his knees and he looks every bit the royal rake the show is surely going to trot him out to be.

I settle slowly back into my chair. “I have . . . stipulations.”

“I have . . . no doubt.”

“Under no circumstances are you allowed to enter my personal space. We don’t know each other, you and I. We’re not friends.” He scoffs as if I’m wrong and I barrel on, determined, incredulous. “Just because we’ve got a tiny bit of history?—”

“You know, the night our friends met, I thought we liked each other.”

“What on earth gave you that impression?” The night we met he was on a bachelor party and looking for trouble, trying to rile me up while hollering at me from a bus as I simply tried to watch over my sister while she talked to his friend—the friend she’s probably going to marry. “You know what, don’t answer that. My stipulations are the following. Number one: no touching, joking around, acting like we’re familiar, because we’re not. You want me, no,” I clarify, “you need me to keep your image clean, to make you loveable, to sell your crown, and that’s what I’ll do because I love my job.”

“What a sad little life you must live.”

I love my job, I love my job, I love my job, I tell myself, so that I don’t break my own rule ten seconds in and fly across this coffee table to strangle him. This is going to be a long two months. I can’t believe my sister fell for this guy’s best friend. I can’t believe this guy has friends. He’s so, so smug , sitting there in his tight, form-fitting pants with a cheeky I own the room smile painted on his pretty face.

He runs a hand through dashing sandy brown hair, casually waiting me out as if irritating me is the only item on his itinerary for the day.

“Number two?—”

“Oh good, we’re counting,” he mocks.

Is everything a game to him?

“No unreasonable requests. I’ve PA’d for a handful of celebrities while I interned for Brand Hub, and I didn’t let Styles push me around. I won’t let you, either. You want the full-service, boutique agency treatment? You want a Brand manager, a PA, and PR all rolled into one? It’s going to cost you, and that means keeping demands reasonable and doing as I say.”

“You PA’d for Harry?”

I let my face drop into my hands and groan. “The one and only.”

“He’s a good dude. Gets a bad rap sometimes, but damn, do you not love him in spandex?”

When I peek through a crack in my fingers, wondering for the billionth time how I ended up in this situation, he’s playing with a tassel on a pillow, rolling it between two fingers and I find myself mesmerized until he coughs and my gaze shoots back to his.

I clear my throat. “I worked for him in the early days, anyway . . .” I shake my head. I don’t care if Harry is Winter’s BFF and they have slumber parties every weekend in the castle down the mountain in Clover. He’s not throwing me off my train of thought. “When we’re on set, we keep it professional. When we’re off set, I don’t know you .”

“Ouch, Bloom.” He covers his heart with his hand and makes a pained face. Then laughs at my non-reaction, running a hand again through his gravity-defying and somehow perfect hair. “Are you always so gracious to people who are saving your ass?”

“My ass? What could you possibly be talking about? None of this is for me, I still don’t know how you managed to make this happen.”

“I didn’t make this happen. My parents are forcing the show on me.” The words leave his lips in earnest, but his eyes tell a different story. There’s fire there, determination, and a sadness I can’t ignore.

Do not squirm in your seat. I’ve been in meetings with powerful clients with more intense gazes than this.

“This is you getting your rocks off while someone grovels for your royal glance—admit it.”

“ Or , this is me helping your floundering company while also getting a bit of revenge.”

“Don’t you worry about my company.” He’s trying to throw me off and I won’t let that happen. “Which is why I’m setting boundaries. No funny business,” I finish, vaulting my words at him with everything I’ve ever learned about negotiation laced into my tone and the set of my shoulders.

He leans forward. “Noted, Bloom. Well.” He slaps his knees and stands, “now that’s done.”

“Where do you think you’re going?” I demand, standing to mirror him.

“Sad to see me leave?” he asks over his shoulder, already walking away. “Don’t worry, we’re going to have plenty of time together, Bloom. ”

He’s laughing at me, baiting me, and it makes heat rise in my cheeks because I immediately want to chase him. The alarming part is, I have no idea why.

“No, I’m not sad,” I sputter, tripping over my own feet to follow, “I haven’t finished with my rules.”

His nerve is unbelievable.

“Rules are for children. I’m a prince. And while I don’t like to play that card often—see ya, Darcy—” he adds as he passes the front desk.

Darcy is carefully untangling a ball of tinsel from a shopping bag and laying it lovingly piece by piece across the desk. “Bye, Winter. All my love to Lola.”

I makeshift wave as I follow Winter toward the front doors.

Who’s Lola?

He goes on, a self-obsessed actor mid-monologue, “I moved from my home country to get away from all of it. But you’re working for me. And I’m leaving. Perhaps we circle back to number three another day.”

I might puke right here in the entryway. “Wait.”

Despite the fact I hate myself for it, and that I know I shouldn’t continue to chase him, I can’t let him have the last word.

He saunters through the doors. It’s unfortunate for me that I notice his broad shoulders, slender waist, and strong thighs highlighted perfectly in those damn riding pants and boots.

I swear to hate him for all eternity, but I will him to turn around with my eyes burning into his back so I’m not forced to go after him. But he doesn’t.

“Dammit,” I whisper to myself. “Who’s Lola?” I yell, chasing after him.

Outside in the crisp mountain breeze, he fits a boot in a stirrup and mounts a stunning grey horse dappled with black spots. Then takes hold of black leather reins and makes a clicking sound with his mouth. “Easy girl,” he murmurs as the horse stomps.

Of course, he came here on horseback. Fucking hell. “I said, who’s Lola? As your manager, or whatever, I need to know if you’re going on a dating show with a girlfriend and about to blow up your image for good!”

No man, or horse, is going to intimidate me, and to prove it, I march right up to him waiting for an answer.

He pulls back on the reins while his horse snorts and dances beneath him.

“She’s my dog—watch your toes,” he commands.

I hop a little, trying not to get stomped on but my feet get all tangled up. Suddenly, I’m way too close to this horse.

He swings a leg over the side of the horse and drops to his feet, gripping me and putting himself between my body and the enormous animal, pressing his back against its round middle which immediately causes retreat. When he’s put at least three feet between me and the horse, he seems appeased.

“Are you always this needy?” he breathes, removing his hands from my upper arms and turning to stroke the horse’s neck as if I did something wrong.

“One more rule.”

He mounts the horse again in one quick movement, and my gaze tracks up his black boot, up his thigh flexing in the saddle, until I meet his arrogant smirk. Blue eyes delighted, which only makes me angrier and more thrown off.

“I, I,” I stammer. He’s literally sitting on his high horse and I hate that the sight affects me.

He leans over to scrub the horse with rough but loving pats. “Yes?”

“Next time, let me get stomped on.”

He tips his head back and roars with laughter. “Sure, Bloom. Whatever you say.”

“I mean it, and remember, off hours are off hours . Don’t even think of sending me a request in the middle of the night.”

“How are we going to communicate? Without our phones?” he muses, one hand on his hip, the other scratching his head to make fun of me.

He’s dropped his reins and for a flash, I dream of smacking the horse on the ass and watching Winter Larsen get tossed onto the cobblestones.

“Exactly. We won’t. If you must get in touch with me, you can leave me a note at the front desk.”

“Charming. Just when I thought the art of letter writing was dead.”

At the front desk, I ring the bell.

Darcy pops up in a flutter of papers, pens, and twinkle lights. “Oh I’m sorry, I didn’t see you there. Are you ready for your key? I’ll walk you up.”

We make our way up a wide staircase, the wooden treads covered in plaid carpet. My hand glides over an ornate, dark wood banister carved intricately with flora and fauna as we climb, Darcy humming a holiday tune under her breath.

“So, they’ll be filming the show here? At the lodge?”

“That’s right,” I sigh. “Offsite too, I’m sure.”

“It’s exciting, but it’s going to cause a lot of commotion. Our little ski village doesn’t get many celebrity sightings, we’re something of a secret up here. Off the map with our own post office, market, and shops. Novel and Clover, the two towns butted up against each other at the bottom of the mountain, get most of the traffic.”

“My sister just moved to Clover, actually.”

“You mean Frannie?”

“Yes, you know her?” We hit the top of the landing and I peek over the edge at the lodge below, filled with a few patrons and staff. I was beginning to think poor Darcy was a one-woman show.

“I met her at the re-opening of Boggs’ Bar and Grill last summer, best boat-up restaurant on the lake. They make a mean cocktail and I like to go there to watch the water. We’re a close-knit community around here.”

We come to the end of a gold leaf-papered hallway and stop at the last door. “Is this me?”

“Yep, I gave you a good room. Figured if you’re here for the winter season, you deserve to see Garland at its finest.” She opens the door wide and ushers me in.

I quite literally lose my breath.

“Darcy, this is . . .” I trail off, gulping. “There’s a fire!” My fingers glide over a sleek black marble mantle with garlands, a warm fire crackling merrily in the hearth.

It’s everything I could have wished for. The holidays are my absolute favorite. Maybe because that’s the only time my parents ever slowed down when we were kids, maybe because of the presents, or maybe because I like cozy socks and warm fires.

Probably all of the above.

“You like it?” She putters around the room fluffing pillows and then pulls back a thick, blue velvet curtain from a frost-tinted window. The view is of the mountain, down below workers are hauling a Rockefeller-worthy tree to the center of a square, hefting it up as others unpack boxes. There’s a huge golden star that three people are pulling off the back of a truck and I wonder if I’ve accidentally wandered into Whoville.

“I love this time of year,” I say with a long exhale.

“Figured you could use a warm soak in a bath, a fire, a good night’s sleep.” Darcy is an angel. A layer of stress I’ve been carrying around this past year slides off my shoulders. This job will be over soon. And I get to spend Christmas living in the beautiful lodge, and with my sister. Everything is going to be fine.

“Thank you. For the room and the warm welcome. If the show becomes too intrusive on the lodge, or if you have any problems with production, let me know.”

“I’m not against the show being here, but I do hope we can keep our little slice of peace and happy intact. What’s the director’s name, again?”

“Marco,” I supply.

“Yes, him. He promised to keep the crew small so our regular guests aren’t overwhelmed. He said he’d work with a small team in exchange for the lodge getting waivers signed by all guests when they check in.”

Nothing says ‘happy holidays’ like a reality show, I grimace. “We’ll do our best.” A small crew means pitching in wherever needed. Visions of dusting off my rusty ski skills slip away.

She smiles apologetically, perhaps reading my disappointment. “I’ll be downstairs if you need me, and we’ve got a night concierge as well. Just ring.”

After getting acquainted with my room and stowing my things, I check on the tree decoration progress out my window. It’s up, the star officially placed at the top. Ornaments litter the scene in variations of size and color. I have a feeling by the time I wake up tomorrow morning, that giant pine tree will have turned into pure magic.

And the show will begin.