Prince: Royal Romantic Suspense (Billionaires in Disguise: Maxence Book 5) Blair Babylon (ebook reader screen txt) đ
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- Author: Blair Babylon
Book online «Prince: Royal Romantic Suspense (Billionaires in Disguise: Maxence Book 5) Blair Babylon (ebook reader screen txt) đ». Author Blair Babylon
The stewardess presented the tumbler of dark brown Scotch and ice to Maxence on a silver tray. Max lifted the glass and jerked his chin up to acknowledge that she could remove the tray. âWhen we arrive in Monaco, youâll have the rest of the day to freshen up and rest from our prolonged expedition in Nepal. The staff will assign you a room in the palace.â
Sunlight from the porthole window on the planeâs wall shone on Dreeâs bright blond hair and porcelain skin, lightening her blue eyes as she squinted at him with her head tilted to the left. âWhatâs going on with you?â
He continued, âTomorrow morning, Iâll expect you in my office at eight oâclock, sharp.â
Leaning forward and resting her elbows on the table between them, she grinned at him. âFor what?â
Maxence did not allow himself any sort of recognition of her innuendo, though his dick weighed with rushing blood and his heartbeat galloped from merely sitting across the table from her. She was so close that he could almost smell her. If he buried his face in her neck and bit her, the cucumber-rose soap from the hostel last night and the wood smoke from the hotelâs towels and sheets would scent her flesh under his mouth.
He said, âAs the heir apparent, Iâll be taking over the sovereignâs business office. Iâll mention to the receptionist to expect your arrival. The office is well-supplied with notepads, pens, computers, so you donât need to requisition anything before you present yourself. Have one of the staff members find you some clothes commensurate with your position as my personal assistant. Eight oâclock, sharp. Thank you.â
He took his phone from his pocket and clicked it. The screen brightened, displaying a stack of texts that had downloaded when heâd connected to the planeâs WiFi system.
Hundreds, it appeared, which was to be expected.
âMax,â Dree said.
He didnât look up. âYouâre dismissed.â
âAugustine.â
He glanced at her before he could restrain himself. âWhat?â
Her eyes were flared open, and he could have sworn that the color was angry blue. âYou want me to be your secretary?â
He nodded. âPersonal assistant. Admin.â
âI donât think so. Dude, I have a masterâs degree in nursing and am a highly trained medical professional. I am not your secretary.â
He looked her straight in her eyes. âYou said youâd go with me and do whatever I wanted. This foray into palace politics is going to be difficult. I need an admin I can trust. This is what I want.â
âThis is like the joke where the prostitute tells the guy that for a hundred bucks, sheâll do anything he can say in three words. So he gives her a C-note and says, âPaint my house.ââ
âAmusing. Eight oâclock.â He glanced at the road-stained, red ski jacket and, by extension, the grimy jeans she was wearing. âProfessional attire.â
âWhatâs really going on?â she asked.
âNothing.â Maxence went back to his phone. âAnd when we disembark from the plane in Nice and the helicopter in Monaco, you should stay back with the other staff.â
Because the media would be plastered to the fences, snapping their cameras and shouting obvious questions, Max was sure.
The number of texts to return seemed insurmountable. He scrolled, scanning the names and a few words of the messages. Texts spun up his phoneâs screen.
From the corner of his eye, Maxence could see Dreeâs immobile form, her pale skin and silvery golden hair shining. A beam of sunshine slithered across the polished wood of the table and climbed over her hand as the plane banked, the floor slanting underneath Maxenceâs feet.
More texts continuously arrived and flowed down the screen of his phone.
Texts had, indeed, âblown upâ his phone.
Every member of every royal family in the world began their missive with âCousin.â Kings of African and Middle Eastern kingdoms used this term, as well as deposed sovereigns of Europe, regardless of whether or not they had any genetic relationship. They expressed their condolences for his brotherâs untimely death and congratulated him on becoming the heir apparent to the throne of Monaco.
Maxence hadnât even pieced together what had happened to Pierre.
The hundreds of other texts were from the minor nobles, ministry workers, and some highly placed citizens of Monaco with much the same sentiments. Some of these seemed to convey genuine emotion. Others appeared to be an initial salvo before an ask for a government job, contract, or other favor.
From across the table, Dree said, âWhen we met in Paris, you seemed like a cavalier rich guy who was out to do things just because. And then in Nepal, for the most part, you were entirely different, solemn and industrious and there to do a job in a world that needed you. And now I feel like I donât know you again.â
âNonsense.â Max sipped the Scotch. Smoke from the burned barrels it had aged in for fifty years filled his throat and nose. Delicious. Scotch tasted better when poured into a proper cut-crystal glass. âI am His Serene Highness, Prince Maxence Charles HonorĂ© of the House of Grimaldi of Monaco, Duke of Mazarin and the Count of Polignac, as Iâve always been.â
And yet, she still examined him, as if she could see that her first impression of him in Paris had been a whisper of who he mightâve been if heâd had no predestined responsibilities, and her experience of seeing him working had been a projection of who he wished he could become but had no real hope of attaining.
Max asked her, âWhat?â
âNothing.â It sounded like she didnât mean it.
No matter what he pretended when he had a few moments of whimsy or what he aspired to, Maxence was a man with a tattoo of demon wings on his back because his friends who knew him best in the world had seen him for what he really was.
Arthur and Casimir had accepted Maxence in spite of that and befriended him anyway.
But surely no one else would be so forgiving.
Especially when he was
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