Page 117

This is really fucked up.
Or maybe I’m just making it fucked up.
Maybe I’m so damn good at my job that I’m losing track of what is supposed to be happening here. Maybe I’m doing such a good job, she’s already become exactly what we want her to be—more than Lady Linnea Olsen, arranged fiancée to Prince Torin. Now she’s a sexy, confident, kick ass woman ready to take on the world and any powerful man she wants.
It probably shouldn’t surprise me that it took only a little over a day to get her to this point.
She’s extraordinary.
Of course, it should take only a few hours to show her that.
It takes a while to get Christian out of the bowling alley.
People want to shake his hand again, and pose for pictures, and he of course, wants to make a statement about how great it is to hang out with regular people in a regular setting and how much he appreciates a chance to do this and to reconnect and to remember what a regular Saturday night is like. He thanks them for spending some time with him and letting him just relax and helping him kick back with people who are not politicians and who want to talk about real problems and remind him about real life.
I swear to God if I was playing a drinking game and took a shot every time I heard the guy say the words ‘real’ or ‘regular’, I’d already be wasted.
But the guy has charm. And it feels genuine. And Torin would really fucking like him.
In fact, if Waite and Linnea end up getting together, I can see a lot of positive cooperation between Waite and Cara. Stuff that would be good for both. Christian could help get Cara a seat at some pretty important tables and into some consequential discussions. Cara, with Linnea’s help, could get some interesting projects and programs going that would make Christian look really good when he talks about moving America forward and new policies he believes in when he runs for president.
Because there’s no way this guyisn’tgoing to run for president.
This could be a fantastic partnership.
So why do I still want to punch the guy?
That question has a very easy answer. And it’s incredibly obvious when we get to the bar that’s about four blocks away. Waite doesn’t wait for me to help Linnea out of the car. He’s next to her door, opening it and offering her a hand before I even get the ignition shut off.
This ‘casual’ bar has a valet service, so I hand my keys over as Waite escorts Linnea through the front door. By the time I step into the dark interior, he’s already got her in a dark U-shaped corner booth, and his arm stretched across the back of the booth behind her.
The bar has white tablecloths with glass bowls holding votive candles in the center of each table. Their specialty is martinis, and jazz plays low over the sound system.
The two security guys with Christian take a seat at the bar. I cast a glance at the cuddly couple and catch Linnea’s eye, but then head to the bar myself. I order a soda and settle into some small talk with Scott and the other guy, whose name keeps slipping my mind.
It’s only about ten minutes before my cell phone pings.
I look down then straighten as I realize it’s a text from Linnea.
Linnea: What are you doing?
Having a soda
Why over there?
Your boyfriend asked for some alone time with you.
I thought you said I had a choice.
I stare at the words, then I look over at her. Christian’s talking to her, and she’s smiling and nodding. I looked down at the message again. I did say she had a choice. She could choose between Christian, James, and Torin. But is that what I really meant?
She could choose Torin, but it would be a bad choice. Neither of them would be happy. She knows this. She’s already taken James off the list. Are there ten, twenty, one hundred other men that she would have a chance with? No question.
But she’s talking about Christian and me.
I know this. And will I give her that choice? Am I on the list?
Yes.