Page 6 of Some Like It Scandalous (Going Royal #2)

Anna

B y eight a.m. there was a circus parked in front of her little two-bedroom bungalow.

Give the paparazzi a bone and they make a meal out of it.

She sipped her coffee, staring at the sea of cameras setting up housekeeping on her lawn.

Her poor neighbors gawked at the vans sitting crookedly against the curbs.

To leave, she would have to push through them to get to her car.

But they were in her driveway too.

Three took off with her trash. I hope they like microwavable meal remains and takeout boxes.

Yesterday’s headache returned with a vengeance.

When her phones wouldn’t stop ringing, she took the landline off the hook and shut her cell down.

There was no sense in wondering how they got her private number.

She did far too much business via her phone.

To leave, she had to make them move their cars.

But that required she step outside and confront them, then they could just as easily follow her.

She wasn’t sure how murder would play on national television, so she kept herself planted in the house.

Maybe she could hold out two to three days on the coffee and nukables in the freezer.

A pair of black sedans and one SUV pulled right down the center of her already overcrowded street. They prowled like bears lumbering through the woods—and the reporters paid attention.

None of the vehicles parked. Doors opened on the sedan in the lead and two men in black suits with black ties exited.

Check that—two huge men in black suits. They shouldered their way through the crowd, ignoring the reporters asking them questions.

Two more men exited the rear sedan and joined the first. Three took charge of the crowd, backing them off her lawn and right down to the sidewalk. Walking tanks had that effect.

The fourth man walked right up on her porch and rang the doorbell. Once.

She checked the peephole. Just the single man standing on her porch, the crowd of reporters pushed back—but she knew long-range cameras. They didn’t have to be in her face to get a picture.

Deciding against opening the door, she slid sideways and pressed her ear to the wood. “Yes?”

“Miss Novak, His Highness sent us to provide you with a safe escort to the Petersburg Tower.” She heard the deep baritone clearly despite the door’s muffling effects.

She cut off the knee-jerk reaction to ask the security guard to tell his boss to go to hell. Taking her temper out on him would serve no purpose. She’d rather smack His Highness personally.

“Give me a few minutes, please.” The amazing calm in her voice impressed her—the rage trembling inside her defied description.

“Take your time, Miss Novak.”

She glanced back out the peephole but only saw the back of the man’s suit coat.

She cleaned up her coffee cup in the kitchen, shut off the pot and emptied it as well.

She took her time wiping down the counters and setting up the coffeemaker for another brew later.

In her bedroom, she surveyed her clothes and chose her most professional business outfits—slacks, a waistcoat and a periwinkle-blue blouse.

Thankfully, she’d showered for after hanging up on her sister.

She used a flat iron to straighten her hair, methodically putting herself together.

His Imperial Highness may have sent in his private security as troops, but she wasn’t some impressionable coed.

And she sure as hell didn’t think flooding her with peeping toms was a way to win friends and influence people.

She used the bare minimum of cosmetics.

This wasn’t a date. She geared up for battle.

Straightening up the bathroom, she had no more excuses to make the security guards wait.

She packed her workbag and her laptop. She still had the scholarship papers in her bag from the day before.

She paused in the second bedroom and picked up a small filing box.

It contained the hard-copy application for federal grant money.

They could work off the soft copy on her laptop, but she wanted to be prepared for everything.

Sunglasses in place and keys in hand, she slid her purse strap onto her shoulder and carried both bags to the door. She knocked on it once before turning the security locks—all four of them.

“One moment, ma’am.” Sculpted politeness kept the words from being an order.

She waited as he requested. It couldn’t have been more than a minute when the door opened and the guard filled the partial space he allowed. He glanced at her and then offered a hand. “Would you like me to carry those?”

Surrendering the file case, she held on to her laptop bag. “Thank you.”

“Walk straight for the SUV in the center. We’ll be right with you all the way. Don’t engage. Don’t meet their gazes. Smile if you feel like it, but otherwise just walk like you do this every day.” He gave her a quick, tight smile. “Fortunately, it’s only the press. Keys?”

Fortunately? Odd word choice. She kept her comments to herself and handed him the door keys.

She appreciated the advice. He stepped back and opened the door farther.

The two additional men in black suits stood at the edge of the porch, shoulder to shoulder.

The crowd stirred as she walked out. She glanced back at the first security guard, but he waved her on.

“I’ll lock up.”

“Okay.” Steeling herself with a deep breath she followed the men in front of her. Camera shutters clicked, questions tossed out.

“When did you and the prince meet?”

“Has he asked you to marry him?”

“Were you introduced by the princess?”

“Anna! Over here!”

“Are you working together?”

“Do you think the family should be restored?”

“Will you wear a crown?”

“Anna! Look this way!”

“What’s your favorite color?”

She walked straight for the SUV. The men in front of her didn’t let anyone get close. The three on the side created a barricade to step through the throng, into the street, between the cars and to the open back door of the Escalade.

A siren whooped-whooped down the street, blue-and-reds flashing, and reporters scrambled for their vehicles. Three were stopped by the police officers. Glancing back once, she zeroed her attention on the dozen or so cameras pointed in her direction.

Security closed the door, insulating her from the sound. The man from her door slid into the front passenger seat. Another tapped the roof of the car. The sedan in front of them pulled away and they quickly followed.

Twisting, Anna watched the other sedan continue to block the road—hampering the press’s attempt to follow her. Exhaling, she leaned back and crossed one leg over the other.

“Go ahead and put your seatbelt on, Miss Novak.” The man from her front door instructed over his shoulder.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name earlier.” The steadiness of her voice didn’t translate to her fingers. They trembled and she fumbled with the seat belt.

“Johnson. Kyle Johnson.” He glanced back and gave her another quick smile. “It’s nice to meet you, ma’am.”

“Thank you, Mr. Johnson. I wasn’t entirely sure how I was going to get out of there.”

“Not a problem. We’ll have you at the tower soon. It’s secure and they won’t be able to follow you inside.”

“Fantastic.” The sarcasm escaped before she could bottle it.

She folded her hands together and turned her gaze to the passing streets.

Los Angeles traffic was never pleasant, but they didn’t approach the highways.

It probably made sense to them. The last place she wanted to be headed was the tower.

Armand was there. Her stomach bottomed out, and she forced her focus back onto their route.

She recognized the bypass—they were swinging wide of the city and coming back in from the south.

A phone rang, but hers was still buried in her purse—off.

Kyle answered.

“Yes, sir. She’s secure.” He glanced back at her. “His Highness says he has been calling your phone.”

“It’s off.” She didn’t look at him.

“She turned her cell phone off, sir…yes, sir…one moment please, sir.” Kyle extended the phone to her. “His Highness would like a word, Miss Novak.”

She stared at the phone.

It wouldn’t be fair to Kyle to refuse and make him explain it to his employer.

Accepting the phone, she studied the screen and hit the off button. She passed the phone back to Kyle. “Thank you.”

The man’s impassive expression didn’t shift as he took it back. He looked at the blank screen and waited. Sure enough, it rang again. “Hello, sir.”

The silence in the front stretched and Anna made herself look out the window again.

She refused to let the mask slip. Anger could sustain her, because no way would she arrive with swollen eyes and a red nose.

She’d shed enough tears for him. They wound through the downtown canyon of skyscrapers toward the bright blue-glassed tower destination.

“No, sir, I handed her the phone. Yes, she hung up, sir.” Poor Kyle kept his tone placid and even. He might as well have been discussing the weather.

A niggle of guilt wormed its way through her anger.

“Miss Novak, His Highness has asked me to request a moment of your time to speak to him on the phone without hanging up.”

She glanced back at the security guard and sighed. She held out her hand and he passed her the phone. She put it to her ear. “Yes, Your Highness?”

“Anna.” Armand’s voice lowered, and the accent wrapped around her name like a caress. But she fought the fluttering response in her belly. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine. And you?” Polite. Perfunctory. Perfect. She congratulated herself.

He sighed. “You will be here soon and we can discuss how to handle this.”

“We have a meeting at nine, Your Highness, to discuss the scholarship fund.” And that was all. Even with the outrage and fury armoring her bruised heart, his concern managed to find a chink. She needed to shore that up.

Now.

“Yes, but this is a little more pressing?—”