Page 22 of Incognito (Royally Reckless #1)

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T he throb behind Natasha’s eyes intensified and her fingers shook as she stabbed at the calculator buttons one more time, hoping that by some miracle the numbers would change the more times she entered them.

They didn’t.

She’d tried every permutation, every combination, shaving a profit margin here, skimping on a goods purchase there, but the answer never changed.

She didn’t have the money she needed for Clay’s last payment.

And she needed the money.

Now.

After what she’d just endured downstairs, she couldn’t wait another day let alone another month to get rid of him once and for all.

It had taken every ounce of self-control she possessed not to punch Clay when he groped her in the bar. It would’ve felt so good to wipe the supercilious smirk off his face, but what sort of example would that set for her staff? Not to mention the paying customers that could’ve strolled in.

Besides, she had more class than that. She’d never hit anyone in her life and she didn’t intend to start now, no matter how much Clay deserved it. Ironic, for a guy who’d attended the best private schools, valued appearances and his standing in Melbourne society above all else, he had the class of a slug.

With a resigned sigh, she pushed the uncooperative calculator away, sat back in her chair, and rubbed her temples, knowing being free of Clay would soothe her better than any massage or paracetamol.

But how could she get the money she needed, pronto?

Having Dante help with publicity would raise the hotel’s profile and bring in much-needed earnings over the next month, but she needed that cash now.

Thoughts swirled around her head—banks, lending societies, business associates, contacts—around and around, the same avenues she’d exhausted at the time all this started, when she’d been foolish enough to agree to Clay’s demands in the first place.

Sadly, he didn’t give her an option back then.

She had to give in, or lose the family business at the hands of a bitter and twisted man who had only wanted one thing from their relationship, and it sure as hell hadn’t been her.

She’d got her family into this mess with Clay, she’d get them out of it. Though it had to be now. She couldn’t have him threatening her or Telford Towers any longer.

Tonight had been the final time he’d laud anything over her; or touch her for that matter.

There had to be a way out… something she hadn’t thought of…

The harder she concentrated, the more her head ached, but in the midst of random thoughts and wishful thinking, a glimmer of an idea took shape.

No, she couldn’t.

Sure, she’d established a friendship with Dante, but that didn’t mean she could take advantage of his position or status. Besides, she’d always fought her own battles.

Having a prince slay her proverbial dragon might hold a certain appeal, but she couldn’t involve him. She had her pride, and having a virtual stranger—a stranger she’d been stupid enough to fall for despite all her self-talk—witness her folly would be tantamount to running down Bourke Street naked. Hadn’t she embarrassed herself enough?

Falling for a prince may be stupid, but harbouring dreams that he felt the same way went way beyond that. Try moronic, self-defeating, and crazy.

Gina had done her a favour in setting the record straight and no matter how much Natasha would like to pretend otherwise, Dante had been toying with her.

A line from an old Eddie Murphy romcom sprung to mind, something about a prince travelling to the opposite side of the world to sew his royal oats before marrying a bride handpicked by his parents, and unfortunately, it looked like Dante had been doing that.

She should be mortified and downright affronted at the thought Dante had pegged her as a brief fling. But something niggled and she knew why.

The scenario Gina painted might’ve fit a lesser man, but Dante didn’t seem the type. He hadn’t been sleazy or imperious. If the prince wanted a fling, why hadn’t he pushed her? Hassled her? Flirted outrageously with her, sweet-talked her, tried to sweep her off her feet?

Dante hadn’t done any of those things. Sure, he’d flattered her, flirted a little, but his behaviour had been irreproachable.

Surely a prince with less than two weeks in a foreign country would pull out all stops to get a girl into bed if that was his intention?

Uh-uh, something definitely didn’t sit right.

Either Gina was wrong—which begged the question, why would she lie?—or Dante was playing another type of game.

And if so, what was it?