Page 2 of Royal Trouble

Panic took root, and Everly shot to her feet. “I’m the creator of Royals Gone Wild.”

Oh no…Why had she said that?

“Excuse me?” Mr. Larson slowly turned to face her then looked her over with an appraising eye, as if truly seeing her for the first time.

Shit.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

She hadn’t meant to reveal her dirty little secret—after all, it was in the past—but no matter how badly she wanted to suck the words back in, it was too late. She’d officially crashed into Desperation Station, and the only option now was to step off the train wreck and follow through.

Everly dug her nails into her palms, scrambling for the right words. She’d wanted his attention, and now she had it, so she lifted her chin and steeled her resolve. “I said I’m the creative genius behind Royals Gone Wild. Maybe you’ve heard of it?”

Mr. Larson’s shock gave way to a smile that would’ve made the Joker turn heel, but she held her ground. “I admit I thought you’d be older, but I suppose it makes sense,” he said, shaking his head thoughtfully. “Tell me, how did you do what no other tabloid could manage?”

Oh, you know, being the illegitimate love child of a duke does have its perks.

Shame burned her cheeks, but she stuffed it down deep. Mr. Larson didn’t need to know the sordid details of her life as an outsider on the inside. He didn’t need to know that her father was a total cliché, cheating on his aristocratic wife with an American nanny.

No, Larson just wanted to know how she—a virtual nobody—managed to spill the tea on every capricious action of Valeria’s young and privileged.

“It was easy,” she said, feigning a casual shrug. “I attended Westbury Academy, one of the most elite schools in Valeria. I guess you could say I got a royal education.”

Mr. Larson threw his head back and laughed, shoulders shaking from the intensity. “You know, Miss Winston—”

“Wilson—”

“—there just might be a place for you here after all.”

“What?Really?” She beamed at him, anticipation dancing up her spine. She had zero chill, but so what? The prospect of steady income trumped all else.

“You bring me an exclusive from the upcoming royal wedding and the job is yours.” Mr. Larson grinned. “You are attending, aren’t you?”

And just like that, her moment of euphoria shattered. She’d been invited to all the upcoming wedding activities as a courtesy to her father. Access wasn’t the issue.

She’d promised herself she was done—with the site and that world.

Royals Gone Wild had been the brainchild of a frustrated, angry teen who’d wanted to lash out at her father and the world that had made her feel alone and insignificant. She’d never imagined it would go viral or that the site would generate enough advertising dollars to give her financial independence.

Still, it had been a relief when she finally shut the site down. Oh, she’d rationalized that the royal fools had it coming for making public asses of themselves, but it became less amusing as she got older, and she’d begun to feel gross about exploiting her peers for financial gain. People still talked about the sudden disappearance of RGW and speculated who was behind it all.

“Miss Winston?” Mr. Larson said.

“It’s Wilson. Everly Wilson.”

“Who?”

She shook her head. “I’m a serious writer now, Mr. Larson.” Bile rose at the back of her throat, and she swallowed the sour taste of it. “If I wanted to write for a gossip column, I would’ve applied atThe Daily Scoop.”

He nodded, lips pressed into a thin line. “Think of it as paying your dues. The magazine business is tough. It’s our job to tell stories thatsell. Prince William is having the wedding of the century, and everyone will be pushing the same milquetoast angles released by the palace press secretary.On Pointneeds something different, a headline that will stand out from the crowd.” He paused and rubbed his chin. “Tell you what, you bring me something that moves the needle on circulation, and I’ll even throw in a signing bonus.”

Her resolve wavered as she considered the mounting stack of medical bills on her desk.

No.She would not trade her integrity for a paycheck. She’d find another way.

“I appreciate the offer, Mr. Larson, but I’m going to have to pass. I’m not interested in writing celebrity gossip.”

Larson shrugged and yanked the door open, giving her one last look. “If you change your mind, the offer stands.”