Royal Pains Read online

  "Something like this has existed—the Titanic, remember?" Bash teased as he led me over to a bar section I knew had never existed in the original design.

  "Oh, shush," I rushed out before gathering the bartender’s attention.

  "What can I get you, madam?" he greeted.

  I blushed. "It’s Emmaline. Just Emmaline." I didn't like being called madam or ma'am. That was what people who didn't know my mother called her. "And I'll take an Esquire."

  I watched as he began mixing my drink. It was fascinating how many recipes bartenders could recall from memory and recreate perfectly over and over again. When he set my drink in front of me, I took a quick sip to test.

  "Now that is what I call an Esquire." I grinned. "The bitters are perfectly balanced and they don't overwhelm the orange." I reached into my clutch, pulled out a crisp twenty-dollar bill and slid it to him. "Keep the change; it is well deserved."

  "Thank you, Emmaline." He smiled.

  "No, thank you."

  "You seem to have a palate for mixed drinks," he said as he started wiping down the bar.

  I made a face. "I guess. I mean, my roommate loves making them and I usually get to taste a new one every other day. He's like this mogul or something when it comes to talents." I took another sip and swished it around in my mouth to savor the taste before swallowing. "He is amazing—a photographer, make-up artist, hairstylist, a good cook and drink mixer."

  "He seems like an amazing guy."

  I nodded my head. "Amazing." I paused and glanced down the bar to where Bash stood. At the moment, he was chatting with a female—talking business, judging by his body language. "That's him, right there." I pointed.

  When I glanced back to the bartender I saw he had walked off to assist another customer.

  "Nice talking to you," I mumbled under my breath before I took my drink and headed over to Bash.

  "-and I will be more than happy to send you more details via email." He reached into his inner vest pocket, withdrew one of our business cards and handed it to her. "Just shoot me an email and we will see what we can do for you." The woman smiled widely and then walked off.

  "Ugh, women these days," Bash scoffed as he turned to me. "Why can't they all be more like you?"

  I rolled my eyes. "Spill. What was she interested in?" Whatever it was seemed to annoy him.

  "She wanted to know if we were hiring. She is interested in—and these are her own words—'the photography business.'"

  Of course that bothered him. Bash was passionate about his photography and felt insulted by the casual way she spoke about it.

  "No one understands that it isn't simply photography. It is art!" He threw his hands up in the air dramatically.

  "Well, keep acting like that and she won't want anything to do with us anymore." I winked. "But it wouldn't hurt to have a third set of hands. Think about it. We can teach her to set up and tear down the equipment so we don't have to do it all ourselves."

  "What, and pay her for her amateur work as well?" I tilted my head slightly to the side. "We would technically be doing the work anyways—not to mention adding teaching the noob to our details."

  "It can be an unpaid internship. If she doesn't meet our standards we can just cut her loose."

  I could understand the bitterness he had towards the idea. He didn't want anything to taint his baby, our business we’d worked hard to obtain. He feared having an employee with little to no experience would be too much of a risk to our reputation, and I agreed, to an extent.

  When it was time for dinner, everyone took seats at marked tables. Bash and I sat near the back at the regular club members’ table. Bash explained that because he was just a regular member we didn't get the extra perks the platinum members did. They paid nearly a hundred thousand a year for their membership and got meals, drinks and more free of charge—while we had to pay for every little thing.

  "Man, it is a jump from bronze to platinum," Bash said, gesturing towards a table in the center of the room. "You can totally tell their linen is silk while ours is polyester. It's a bit of an insult when you have to be quite wealthy to get accepted into the club to begin with."

  I took the tablecloth between my fingers and rubbed it. Like he said, it was clearly polyester. "Well, someone has to be at the bottom," I replied nonchalantly. Raising my gaze to glance across the room, I felt my heart clench when I caught the eye of a handsome man.

  His intense gaze held me in a vice-like grip that my eyes couldn't break away from. As if he knew, the corner of his mouth quirked up in a crooked grin and he raised his eyebrows before glancing away. Even moments after, I could still feel the intensity his eyes had held.

  I gasped and turned away before he had chance to look back.

  "You okay?" Bash asked as he placed a hand on my shoulder.

  Inconspicuously, I looked back up at the strange man and saw he was talking to a butler.

  "Yeah, I'm fine." I forced a smile and then turned my gaze back to the table. "I just thought I saw my mother for a moment," I lied. "I do not feel like dealing with her anymore tonight."

  His eyes swooped up and he gave a chuckle. "I take it you still haven't told her about your brilliant platinum-blond hair."

  I narrowed my eyes. "I value my life too much to do such a stupid thing. If mother dearest ever caught wind that I had drastically changed my appearance in any shape or form, she would put me six feet under."

  "She's gonna see it sooner or later, especially with that auction coming up."

  "I know. I want to change it back but I have to wait another few weeks or the chemicals will completely destroy my hair. I don't look good bald."

  Slowly, the platinum tables were being served their dinner. We regular members would be last, of course. I didn't mind since I wasn't really hungry, but Bash seemed a bit irritated by the slow service.

  "Ah! Finally! Looks like we’re about to get some attention," Bash snapped, nodding towards the butler coming over to our table.

  The butler stopped at my side and bowed slightly, keeping one arm behind his back.

  "Madam, your presence has been requested by Sir Fallmonte. He would very much like it if you were to join him at his table for dinner."

  Confusion filled me as I tried to think of anyone I knew with that name. It didn't seem one bit familiar to me. "I'm sorry, but I think you have the wrong person. I know no one by that surname."

  "Of course, you must." He gestured towards the table near the center of the room. "He is just right there." He side-stepped and there, looking back at me, was Mr. Intensity. His gaze back on me, it now seemed to be ablaze.

  "Oh my god," I gasped, forcing myself to look away.

  "Shall I tell Sir Fallmonte that you have declined his request?" the butler asked. He seemed to tense up at the very thought of doing so.

  I glanced to Bash for answers.

  "Go on, Em, I won't mind. This is your moment—go have fun!" Of course he would be all for it. He'd been eager for me to lose my v-card since forever and I'd recently been pining for the same since I knew it would ruin my mother’s plan of having me marry into money. Pre-marital sex was a big no-no for a woman in high society.

  I bit my lip, mustered every ounce of courage I could and then rose to my feet. As I turned to walk towards Fallmonte's table, Bash caught my wrist and told me he wanted all the details when I got home tonight.

  I grinned at his request before turning and walking off. The walk from our table to his was merely twenty yards or so, but it felt like I had walked a mile. The entire time I had to constantly remind myself to keep my posture, not slouch, keep my chin parallel to the floor, my gaze forward and to glide instead of walking normally. I could hear my mother’s wretched voice in my head as she nagged at me over and over again.

  Then I was at his side and he, along with the rest of his company at the table, rose to his feet. Fallmonte pulled out the empty seat to his right and motioned for me to sit, which I did. When everyone was reseated he turned his attenti
on on me.

  "I hope your friend doesn't mind me stealing you away for the remainder of the evening," he spoke in the sultriest accent I had ever heard—and although I had grown up in Seattle, that said a lot.

  It was like a balanced mix between a British and Russian accent, both alluring and intimidating me in the most overwhelming of ways.

  Speak, you idiot, before he thinks you are just another brainless, pretty face.

  I gently cleared my throat before taking a breath. "He does not mind at all," I spoke steadily.

  He smiled and nodded. "Perfect, because I don't plan on returning you anytime soon." He gave me a wink and I felt my heart palpitate. It took all my strength to keep my cool and then some to not pass out from the sudden rise in my blood pressure. I could already imagine the blood pooling in my cheeks.

  "My lady, do tell us about yourself." He gestured for me to proceed.

  I glanced around the table to notice all eyes were now on me. What was I to say? Surely this group would be as judgmental as my mother.

  "I attend Ludivine on scholarship and am co-owner of a well-established photography business," I said in the most confident voice I could conjure. I heard a few gentlemen snickering here and there, obviously in mock of my profession, but not Fallmonte.

  "Ah, yes, Ludivine. It was founded by Germany's preeminent Freida Ludivine. Her work is just phenomenal," he doted.

  A large grin formed across my face as I listened to him continue on about Freida, and I felt a little respect growing for him. Not only did he admire photography—though he didn't practice it—he respected and understood it.

  When he finished his talk on Freida and her contribution to the world of photography, everyone who had snickered looked slightly put-off.

  After dinner, we turned into the private parlor for brandies. I took a glass of white wine and joined Fallmonte on a chaise by the fireplace.

  "I apologize for my rudeness, but I seem to have let my manners slip my mind. Allow me to properly introduce myself." He brought my hand up to his lips and kissed it. "The name is Theodore Fallmonte, Miss..."

  "Emmaline Lefevre." I smiled shyly. "And it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance."

  So, Mr. Intensity's name was Theodore Fallmonte. Now I was left wondering where on the face of this planet his accent had come from.

  "May I ask you a question?" Theodore nodded his head. "I was wondering—that accent of yours is very unique."

  He seemed amused at my question. "It hails from the country of Linacre. It's about, let’s say, three hundred or so miles off the coast of Washington."

  "Linacre... as in you are Linacrean?" I asked.

  "The very same." The corner of his mouth quirked up. "So I take it you have heard of my little country?"

  "Heard of it? I was born there. Both my parents are pure Linacrean." I was only a few years old when we came to America, and over the years we lost our accents, so this was practically like me hearing it for the first time.

  He seemed to gravitate towards me ever so slightly now that he knew we were from the same country. For a split second, I saw a look in his eyes that suggested sure interest. He wanted me.

  And I was unsure how I felt about that.

  CHAPTER THREE

  As soon as I’d finished my second glass of wine, I set the glass aside. I was done drinking for the night. I’d learned the hard way that hangovers sucked and the best way to avoid one was to drink slowly, quitting the second I felt a strong buzz, then to get a decent fluid intake as soon as possible.

  "Everyone should be heading towards the ballroom, if you care to dance," Theodore said when he returned from the bar with yet another brandy. This was his third and he didn't seem to be affected by it. He had yet to slur his words or stumble.

  "You handle your alcohol quite well," I interjected.

  Theodore looked at his glass and laughed. "Yes, three glasses is nothing. It usually takes about seven for me to feel anything these days." He took a long sip and set his glass down. "In Linacre, I'm not sure if you are aware, the legal drinking age is sixteen with adult supervision."

  "How long have you been drinking, then?"

  "About nine years, solid." He chuckled. "First three years I was knocked on my arse after two and a half glasses; now my body is used to the alcohol intake."

  "Oh." I turned my head away to hide my disgust. I wasn't attracted to drunks, and for good reason.

  In my early teen years, my father had fallen into a very bad problem with alcohol. He would come straight home from work, load up with booze and then beat me. This was at the beginning of my friendship with Bash and part of the hardships that had brought us closer together. After a while, Bash had talked to his parents and I’d gone to stay with them.

  "I think I am going to go find my friend, now," I said as I rose to my feet. "It was very nice of you to invite me to spend time with you."

  Theodore stood swiftly, towering effortlessly above me. I hadn’t realized until now how much taller than myself he was. He had at least six inches on me, and I was wearing heels.

  "I'll escort you, to make sure you find him." The way he spoke made me believe he was insisting rather than offering.

  We spent the next half hour searching the Topanga for Bash with no success. The only move I had left was to call him. When I took out my phone, I realized I had four missed calls and five texts from him, all saying the same thing—he had headed over to the Silver Light Lounge with a few old friends he’d run into and would see me later tonight.

  I groaned and tucked my phone away before turning to Theodore. "Do you think you could take me home?" I asked.

  He gave a nod before placing his hand at the small of my back to lead me towards the exit. "Anything for you, Emmaline." Hearing him say my name in his sultry Linacrean accent caused my core to tighten. I suddenly wanted to hear him say it again.

  Theodore led me across the parking lot to where his vehicle was parked, a white Range Rover with black accents. It looked sleek. Like a gentleman, he opened the door for me and I slid in.

  "Your address?" he asked as he climbed into the driver’s seat.

  "The Almira," I spoke, my voice wavering slightly. I was alone with Theodore in his car, our bodies mere inches from one another… So many thoughts ran through my mind.

  I chanced a glance at him when he started the car. I was so close I could see the texture and fullness of his lips. The thought of them mashing against my own had me pressing my thighs together. An erotically delicious feeling growing within had my mind wanting to explore more explicit thoughts—thoughts that circled around him.

  Though I wasn't emotionally attracted to him, I couldn't deny the physical pull. Theodore was gorgeous with his thick brown hair, stunning brown eyes and that mouth... His face was perfect in its symmetry. Too perfect. Surely it was impossible to look like this and be tall and toned as well.

  I didn't notice when he pulled up outside my apartment building. Only when he called my name did I snap out of my stupor.

  "I'm sorry. My mind just wandered," I breathed, opening the car door.

  "No need to apologize." He paused, eying me intensely. "Do you mind if I walk you to your door?" he asked carefully.

  I bit my lip.

  "I'm not a creep, I promise." He winked. "I just prefer to make sure you get to your apartment safely."

  I let out a breath and nodded my head. "Sure." I waited for him to park and then we made our way to the elevators.

  When the door closed, I stared, watching the floor numbers light up as we passed them. Though the elevator was decently proportioned, it felt like the ample space between us didn't exist.

  "You look unsettled," Theodore spoke, causing me to inhale sharply.

  I shook my head in response. "I just don't like confined spaces, that's all." And that was true. I wasn't claustrophobic, but being confined in a heavy metal box that was rising several stories into the air, held only by a few cables, made me want to pass out.

  "Ah," h
e replied.

  Finally, the doors opened and I all but threw myself into the small hall that hosted a single door, which I quickly took out my key to open. Once there was an adequate amount of space between us, I turned around and observed Theodore. He seemed to take his time as he crossed through the foyer and into the main living area. Slowly, his eyes took in the interior, from the many ceiling-to-floor windows to the colors of the furniture, before resting on the canvases hanging on the wall.

  "Your work?" he asked as he moved towards the one of an albino hummingbird suckling the nectar from a brilliant blue orchid.

  "Uh, yeah. I mean yes, yes it is." I moved to his side and looked at the picture. "It was part of a finals project from my first year at Ludivine." I tapped at the bottom right corner of the photo where my watermark was. "We had to come up with a nature-inspired piece for a display at the museum on campus. I got a B+ on the project."

  Theodore glanced sideways at me, a frown setting on his handsome face. "Do you think you deserved it?"

  I looked back at my photo and nodded my head. "See, right here—" I pointed to a spot near the top where part of a shadow could clearly be seen. "I got the angle wrong. That shadow pulls away from the overall directed attention of the photo." I flourished my hand towards the hummingbird and flower.

  Theodore gravitated towards me. His entire body was now angled at mine as he glanced down his perfect, angular nose to look at me.

  The color of his eyes was brilliant. I could imagine others viewing them as just normal brown eyes, but from this close I could see they were more. The brown was lustrous near the edge of the iris, but as my gaze moved closer towards the center the color grew warm.

  The longer I stared into his prepossessing eyes, the harder it was to look away. They were like honey and I was the bee. It was all too easy to be tempted.

  Theodore lifted his hand to cup my cheek. The second his skin made contact with mine, I felt my face go ablaze.

  "I seem to have made you flush," he spoke with an undertone as he used his long index finger to caress the heated spot on my cheek.