Unavoidable (Royal Affair #1) Read online

  Dylan’s preferred role had him running the food to tables, not standing behind a counter. Or taking people to their seats. Anything where he got to talk a lot and interact with people.

  Those jobs usually went to the newbies without any specialized kitchen skills, but he’d been volunteering for so long, he usually got his pick of positions. Since he was late, though, back to the kitchen he went.

  It was Saturday. Lawrence was heading up the kitchen. He waved Dylan over to a sink to wash his hands. “You’re late…” He gestured to the box of disposable hairnets and Dylan grumbled quietly about having to put one on. He didn’t argue about it, though. He did have long hair that was either wavy, curly, or both, depending on the humidity. Not really something anyone wanted to find in their food.

  “Come on, Lawrence…you know you’d miss me if I ever stopped coming out.” Dylan smirked, pulling the hairnet over his head with a flourish and a pop of the elastic. “Where do you want me?”

  “Prep station four. Veggie chopping.” Lawrence pointed a knife in the direction of the back of the kitchen. “With the pr—with Ms. Pagett.” He cleared his throat, glancing back towards the prep station where he’d directed Dylan.

  He frowned, stopped in his tracks when he made his way to the back and saw today’s prep partner. It couldn’t be. The universe wouldn’t be this cruel.

  The woman at his counter wasn’t facing him. It might not be her.

  Dylan’s heart pounded as he walked back to the station, towards a woman in a designer blouse and blue jeans. Did Princess Lucille wear blue jeans? He couldn’t recall ever noticing. Or caring, if he was being honest.

  He nearly fell down when she turned around. Surprised wasn’t really the word, because he’d been half expecting it. No, terrified was a better choice.

  Terrified of a five-foot-nothing, brown haired princess. She was wearing clothes that hugged the curves that her silky dress had only hinted at. She had a body no doubt shaped by a personal trainer and had probably paid more notes than he made in a year on tailored clothing to show it off. The thought didn’t stop Dylan from staring. Didn’t stop his traitorous brain from picturing her wearing less. Didn’t stop his blood from pumping so damned fast and loud that he was certain it was audible from where she stood.

  Princess Lucille Pagett, in a hairnet that matched his. She was wearing it so well, that if she played it right, she could have every fashion boutique in Tinerly selling them by noon. A few sprigs of her hair stuck out in every direction. She arched a delicately shaped brow when she saw him, her eyes widening infinitesimally in surprise. If he hadn’t been staring at her so intently, he wouldn’t have been able to notice.

  The tension was thick in the air.

  The princess pressed her lips together and went back to what she was doing: skillfully dicing onions. The knife milled quickly back and forth across the Spanish Yellow on her cutting board. So she could wield a chef’s knife. Surprising, to say the least.

  “Mr. Walder,” she addressed him coolly. “Are you volunteering?”

  She asked as if there was another option for what he could possibly be doing there.

  “I’m not here to have lunch, if that’s what you’re implying.”

  If his tone affected her, she didn’t show it. “I was merely wondering if you were here to volunteer or to make a delivery.”

  Of course. Of course that was what she meant.

  She took the tiniest of steps to the left to make room for him to slide behind the prep station with her.

  A red-haired woman was leaning back against the wall, seemingly playing with her phone and looking around the room every so often. Dylan recognized her from the accident as well. She’d been the first to climb out of the limo and talk to him. He assumed, now, that she was the princess’ security detail.

  He took a carrot from one of the bowls in front of him and began to peel it. “My apologies. I wasn’t…” He paused, going over the type of apology he should give her, debating on whether he should bring up the day of the accident. “I wasn’t expecting to see you here.”

  He mentally chastised himself. Of all the things he could have said. He was definitely not making the best second impression.

  He didn’t know exactly WHY a second impression was so important to him. He’d told her the truth before; he couldn’t stand the aristocracy. He liked being used by them about as much. He couldn’t believe her audacity at the scene of the accident, turning him into a fluffy blinder for whatever the idiot king was up to, whether it was The Sofia or some other new bullshit.

  And yet, here he was. Worried about what she thought about him and sneaking glances over to those soft hands. Her face. He wished that he could catch her gaze just once.

  “Likewise,” was her terse reply to his half-assed apology.

  “I always volunteer here on Saturdays,” he explained, even though she didn’t ask. He didn’t know why. He just wanted to brag about something.

  “Cool story, Bro. I’ve been making my rounds all week. Different place every day.”

  He blinked, turning completely to stare at her. He hadn’t been expecting that response. She smirked as she took apart another onion, tossing the skin into the big bowl where he was peeling the carrot. Well, she smirked as much as she could with the onion fumes.

  She kept blinking and leaning back, making for a funny picture.

  Funny. Cute. Whatever.

  No. Not cute.

  She was literally sticking her nose in the air. Except, that might be because of the onion fumes too.

  Okay, she was slightly cute.

  Her knife milled through the onion, back and forth for a few passes. Coming precariously close to her manicured fingertips.

  She scooped up the onion on the blade and dumped it into the bowl.

  “I have volunteered here every Saturday for three years…” he counter-boasted, simply unable to not have the last word.

  “Congrats. That’s amazing. Did they name a street after you in gratitude, or—?”

  He pursed his lips and chopped the carrot into little disks, sliding it into the smaller bowl in front of him. “No. But it doesn’t matter. It’s not that hard to get a street named after yourself. I mean…what did you do again to get yours? Tinkle on the potty?” He snickered mostly to himself, but aloud so she could hear it.

  “I don’t really remember,” she said hurriedly. “Must just be because I’m awesome.” She slid the rest of the onion into the bowl, grabbing another one in a huff.

  “If you say so.”

  “I don’t. But someone does. I mean, I do have a street named after me.”

  “Good for you.”

  She smiled coldly, still not looking at him. “Isn’t it though? Definitely better than having…what is it you have your name on? An electric bill?”

  He started to aggressively peel another carrot. “That’s right. An electric bill. And a rental lease. And a cell phone plan. And cable TV. And a bank account. AND my paychecks. That I earn. Because I’m not a spoiled brat living off the money my ancestors STOLE from their own people. Stole and called it taxes.”

  She rounded on him, pointing her knife at his face. He raised his hands in mock surrender, sending the carrot he was holding rolling across the counter and the peeler into the bowl of peelings. The red-haired body guard looked up at them, arching her eyebrow and waiting for a reason to get involved. Lucille noticed and slammed the knife down on the counter to point her finger in his face instead. “At least I don’t have to derive my self-worth by putting down other people.”

  “Of course not. It’s easier for you. You can just take your Daddy’s credit card and go buy a yacht or a new handbag. You know, support local business by buying up foreign designer labels.” He sneered, “And then, you can come donate a few of your many free hours to charity to ease your guilt. I’m sure it helps you sleep at night.”

  The look in her eyes was murderous as her fiery green gaze swept over his face. Her teeth sunk into her plump, r
ed bottom lip. He felt a shiver go up his spine that he attributed to the A/C vent kicking on. Her breath was coming out in huffs and she was so close that Dylan could feel the heat of it on his face.

  He might have been in denial before, but now he could definitely admit that he was feeling an attraction to this woman. This beautiful woman who had never looked real in the glossy tabloid photos. This woman that he’d just gotten done insulting for the second time that week.

  She released her lip and leaned back, shaking her head. She blinked a few times and turned back to the onions in front of her. She grabbed blindly at the knife, picking it up and resuming her chopping without another word or look in his direction.

  He heard the knife hit the wooden cutting board in dull thunks and he rescued his carrot and resumed peeling it, deciding to attempt another apology in a few minutes after they’d both cooled down.

  He felt stupid again, not really sure why he was dead set on winning this argument. She’d been nothing but nice to him since the accident. The accident that involved her limo, his bike and his ass hitting the sidewalk.

  Well, not ENTIRELY true. She was nothing but nice unless he provoked her. For which he seemed to have a propensity.

  They worked for some time in tense silence. The bodyguard was eying both of them sideways, as if waiting for them to speak to each other again. He was surprised she hadn’t said anything to him when he and the princess had been arguing before.

  The rhythm of the princess’ knife was getting faster and faster until it stopped suddenly, clattering to the floor.

  His head snapped to the left immediately. She was clutching her hand, blood oozing between the closed fingers of her fist. Her face was had blanched.

  “Lucille?” he ventured, aware that he was using her given name, but not really caring. It was the first thing that slipped out and this seemed a little more important than getting her title correct.

  “I think I cut myself…” she mumbled, wobbling on her feet. “Can you look at it?”

  He was closest, so he was able to catch her before she hit the floor. Her body was limp in his arms as he turned towards her guard, who was by her side in an instant.

  ————

  The first thing Lucy saw upon opening her eyes was Dylan’s face in profile. He was right on level with her somehow. Not looking at her, but close. She could smell him. Some kind of men’s body spray that she only recognized because he smelled somewhat like her fencing instructor, who sweated bullets then drenched himself in body spray in lieu of taking a shower between training sessions.

  Dylan smelled similar, but not the same. He lacked a certain…B.O. scent…that her instructor seemed to have in spades.

  There was something soft beneath her. A couch. She was on a couch. In an office, it looked like. She chanced turning her head and even as her vision swam, she could definitely concur that she was in an office of some kind.

  Jessica’s face was suddenly all she could see, a worried expression painting it before the light from a flashlight was shone in each eye. “You okay, Luce?”

  Lucy nodded, “Yeah. Just dizzy. And cold.”

  All but her right hand. Her right hand was warm. Nice and warm. She looked down to see it encased in a much larger one. A much larger one that disappeared quickly when she noticed it.

  “Sorry,” he coughed. “You, uh, grabbed it and I…uh…”

  “You…UH…sat on the floor for a half hour,” Jessica finished for him, a playful grin tugging at her lips. “It was very cute. He didn’t want to let it go.”

  Lucy closed her eyes and gripped the back of the couch, pulling herself up to a sitting position. “I need to get back to—”

  “No, no. It’s fine. You don’t have to. It’s all been taken care of,” Jessica said quickly. “Just rest until you can walk and we’ll head home.”

  “But I wanted to—” Lucy started to protest.

  “Look, I’m already going to have to explain that cut. I don’t want to have to explain any other injuries today. You’re going to be lucky if the powers that be let you come back at all after this.”

  ‘The powers that be’ were the Smithes of course.

  She tried to school her features and accepted the bottle of water from Jessica who abruptly excused herself for a bathroom break, even though Lucy knew she was probably going out back to smoke a cigarette.

  Lucy let her head hit the back of the couch. She closed her eyes as the mental walls started coming back up, pressing against her; boxing her in. The clichéd metaphorical prison.

  “You’re going to be lucky if the powers that be let you come back at all after this.”

  She couldn’t believe how stupid she’d been. Getting into a childish argument with Dylan Walder instead of just doing what she came there to do. His presence seriously messed with her mind. It was obnoxious. Even right now. Even after he’d held her hand.

  Especially now.

  “How does your hand feel?’ he asked, his voice soft. He shifted on the floor then pulled himself up onto the couch beside her.

  He was being completely unlike the cocky prick he usually channeled. Mr. Holier-than-thou. Mr. I-pay-my-own-bills-so-I’m-better-than-you.

  “Like I sliced it open,” she snapped. She instantly regretted the tone, because he very visibly winced.

  “Well. It was pretty deep…”

  She blinked back the tears that threatened to spill and stared hard at the back of the desk chair across the room. She clenched her jaw. She almost missed the cocky prick. She didn’t like being pitied.

  “Does it hurt? I can get you some Tylenol.” He shifted like he was going to stand up.

  She shook her head, pressing her lips together. “Thank you. I’m fine.” She swallowed thickly.

  “You don’t look fine,” he prodded.

  She turned to face him, locking eyes. His deep blues versus her bright greens. “Yeah? Well, maybe because I’m not. I’m embarrassed because I cut myself and passed out in front of you, of all people. But also because I completely messed up any chance I have of continuing to volunteer. And yeah, maybe I did start volunteering because of what you said to me. But I really like it, and now…” She was almost whining at the end and instead of continuing and giving him more fodder for the Princess Lucille-Hate-Club, she covered her face and sighed.

  Dylan leaned forward. “Okay. Would it make you feel better if I told you that I pass out cold every time someone sticks me with a needle?”

  “For like, a blood test?”

  He nodded. “Blood test. Blood donation. Vaccination. You name it. If it involves a needle going into my skin, BOOM. I’m out like a light.”

  She allowed herself a small smile. “Okay. That does make me feel a little bit better.”

  “And as far as the other thing goes, coming back here…” he trailed off, gesturing vaguely. “Aren’t you an adult?”

  She snorted. “No. I’m a spoiled little brat who still uses Daddy’s credit card.”

  He looked down for a moment. “Look, I’m sorry. I don’t know why I keep saying these horrible things to you.”

  “Because they’re true?” she shrilled, unable to keep the waver out of her voice any longer. The hard lump in her throat was stuck there, apparently.

  “They are not true,” he said adamantly. “If they were true, you wouldn’t be here. You’d be out using your Daddy’s credit cards. You certainly wouldn’t be cutting open your hand in a soup kitchen.”

  “I’m sorry, too. I shouldn’t be so quick to snark at you.”

  “Why not? I like it when you snark at me.”

  She could feel her cheeks reddening and she looked down at her hands. “I guess that’s good to hear. Since it’s all I ever do.”

  “See?” He leaned over, nudging her shoulder with his. “We’re friends already. You snark at me? And I like it? What more is there?” She smiled, not trying to hide it any longer. “And really, your Highness. You are the nicest woman who has ever hit me with a car.”
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br />   She laughed, even if it came out a bit watery. “Have you been hit by many cars?”

  “No, just the one. But it’s still the truth. Of course, you’re also the meanest woman to ever hit me with a car, but eh…” He shrugged. “Details.”

  “Well then.” She smiled.

  “And I’ll tell you what. You can come with me the next time I have to get blood drawn. You can watch me hit my head on the counter, because it always happens. Then, you can hold my hand until I wake up. Deal?”

  “Sure. It’s a date,” she said quickly, without thinking about her phrasing. He didn’t react, simply took her hand and shook it. Sealing the deal. The date. The date deal.

  “Now, my next physical is eight months away. So we really should go out at least once between now and then. In the interest of good faith.” He grinned again. Lucy was once again struck by how attractive she found him. It was so much harder to ignore when he was being so charming.

  She pursed her lips to keep from laughing. “Are you asking me out?”

  “In keeping with the spirit of good faith,” he reiterated. “I think it’s the responsible thing to do, don’t you, Princess?”

  She knew she shouldn’t. She knew it wasn’t proper for her to be seen with him in a romantic setting. If anyone saw them, if anyone recognized her, the tabloids would run rampant.

  She was so sick of doing the proper thing. This past week, when she wasn’t doing the proper thing, had been the most fun she’d ever had.

  And yes. He was an asshole. But so was she. And he challenged her.

  So she found herself nodding. “Yes. Definitely the responsible thing.”

  He offered his hand again.

  “One more thing, Mr. Walder?”

  “Dylan,” he corrected her.

  “Dylan…” she repeated. “I’d prefer it if you called me Lucy.”

  “I’d prefer that too, to be honest.”