Page 48 of Royal Trouble
Dammit.
The urge to check her email was already scratching at her brain. It had to be what, like eight a.m. in New York? Surely a man like Mr. Larson—who’d spent his entire life in the magazine business—was an early riser. And he had responded pretty quickly to her first submission, so a girl could hope.
Everly scrubbed herself clean and used the last of her lavender and lemongrass shampoo to wash her hair. Right. She’d need to pick up shampoo while she was out, too. She rinsed and quickly shaved her legs, promising herself a caramel latte as a reward for making an effort. Because,shaving.
Just as she shut off the water, her cell rang, scaring the shit out of her. She jerked upright and nearly fell on her ass in the slippery claw-foot tub. Lovely. Lucy would come home from her honeymoon to find Everly lying incapacitated in the bathtub like one of those awful medical alert commercials for seniors.
Help! I’ve fallen and I can’t get up.
The phone rang again, its insistent melody calling to her like a siren. She grabbed the towel bar and righted herself. The smart move would be to let it go to voicemail. She was naked, dripping wet, and she’d quite possibly just pulled a muscle in her back, but there was no way in hell she was letting that call go to voicemail without first seeing who was calling.
Everly climbed out of the tub and wrapped a towel around her body before snatching the phone off the sink.On Pointflashed on the caller ID. She swiped accept and raised the phone to her ear.
“Hello?”
“Miss Winston,” came Mr. Larson’s gruff reply.
“Speaking.” Or at least, the person he thought was Miss Winston was speaking. It was pointless to try to correct him, and why did it matter, really? She could put up with him using the wrong name if it meant he was paying for it.
“I received your latest submission,” he said. “I appreciate the effort you’ve put into this story, but it’s not really what we’re looking for.”
Her heart sank. “Oh.”
Because what else could she say to the man who was crushing her soul and her last hope of paying off her mother’s medical bills?
Fuck. What was she going to do? She couldn’t tell her mom the truth. She wouldn’t understand. Not about Royals Gone Wild or the rest.
Her stomach rolled. Her mom was all she had. The thought of disappointing her—of hurting her—was unbearable.
“I thought I made myself clear when I gave you this assignment, but that is obviously not the case.”
“Excuse me?” Heat flooded her cheeks and her right temple throbbed. So he didn’t like her story. Did he have to be an ass about it? “You wanted an exclusive. That’s what I brought you. A damn good one, I might add.”
It was true. She’d written a solid piece about the formation of the Blue and Gold Foundation and the work Xander was doing to improve his image and become the kind of prince Valeria deserved, one who cared more about his people and the world around him than drinking and partying. Granted, it was somewhat speculative, but that’s what gave it the edge.
She’d kept her promise. She hadn’t revealed the details of New Brighton—it wasn’t her story to tell—just that he’d lost friends and was committed to honoring their memories. It was sad, sympathetic, and hopeful. It was the perfect story to release ahead of the royal wedding.
And it would help shift the public’s perception of Xander from wayward spare to prodigal son.
Mr. Larson sighed heavily into the phone. “I wanted the kind of exclusive you used to write for Royals Gone Wild. Something that would move the circulation numbers. Not this puff piece.”
Irritation crept up Everly’s spine.
“You mean you wanteddirt.” She gripped the phone tighter, still dripping wet from her shower. “I told you I don’t write those kinds of stories anymore.”
This was total bullshit.On Pointwasn’t a tabloid. Why was he so desperate to get her to write a hit job?
Oh, right. Because that’s what she excelled at writing.
And if he used her RGW byline, readers would lose their shit. It would be a total circulation boon forOn Point. Who cared if it cost Everly her soul and hurt Xander in the process?
Asshole.
“If that’s the case, then I don’t believe we have any further business to discuss.” Mr. Larson cleared his throat. “Suffice it to say, I’ll be going a different direction with the staff writer position.”
“Please reconsider,” she said, hating the desperate tone of her voice. “It’s a good story, and it is an exclusive, as you requested. The creation of the Blue and Gold Foundation won’t be formally announced until after the royal wedding, which meansOn Pointcan break the story and lead the conversation about Prince Alexander cleaning up his image, something your female readership will appreciate. Who doesn’t love a reformed bad boy?”
She was walking, talking proof his readership would melt for the swoon-worthy prince. Just a few weeks ago she couldn’t stand the guy. Now the mere thought of him made her want to drop her panties.