Page 43 of The Princess and the P.I.

“Let’s go,” he murmured. She’d lost her nerve and her chance.

Maurice’s hand was braced against Fiona’s hip and shoulder to steady himself. They couldn’t stay in this position for long, but he wanted to see as much as he could though the largest slit.

Mark’s voice drifted through the paper-thin walls of the tearoom. “It’s a rare opportunity, gentlemen,” he was saying. “The market potential is untapped. You won’t see returns like this anywhere else.”

Fiona shifted slightly, her ear straining closer to the slatted door. Maurice’s hand brushed against hers, a silent warning to stay still, but then the door to the tearoom slid open with a soft shhhkt .

“I brought us here to close this deal with a little tea.”

Fiona couldn’t see who shuffled into the room, but it sounded like at least fifteen people.

Dear god, she hoped nobody needed to put their jacket away.

The conversation droned on, a monotonous litany of market shares, profit margins, and strategic growth plans. Fiona’s legs began to cramp, her muscles screaming for relief. She didn’t think they would get anything but charley horses from this meeting.

Maurice tapped her hip lightly, signaling a need to adjust. She shot him a look.

No. Too many people!

Too much sound.

But before she could protest, a commotion at the door provided just enough cover for Maurice to shift. He slid down to sit on the velvet floor, his knees bent high between her thighs in a tangle of limbs.

Maurice’s head tilted slightly, and the light from the slit in the wardrobe cut across his dark eyes, turning them honey pecan. Fiona could almost feel his concentration, the way his breath slowed as he homed in on every syllable.

Fiona closed her eyes in a silent prayer.

God protect me. He doesn’t want me back.

She was still praying when she heard the cool chill of a familiar voice.

“Apologies for interrupting.” Sara’s voice cut clean through the room like the slice of a sword.

Fiona could imagine her sweeping in, her brown gloves tugged off finger by finger with brown hair pouring like Coca-Cola over her shoulders.

“But I thought it might be helpful to clarify something before you gentlemen waste any more of your time.”

The murmurs died instantly. A stunned silence rolled over the tearoom.

“I just shared an excerpt in People magazine you all might want to see. iVest may not even own the IP for this technology. Crazy time to think about buying.”

The room exploded with chatter, the energy shifting into chaos. Fiona clapped a hand over her mouth, her heart hammering in her chest as she waited for Mark’s response.

Mark’s laugh was tight, forced. “Gentlemen, don’t let these theatrics distract you. Sara’s been known to spin a good story, but—”

Sara didn’t let him finish. “Read it yourself.” It seemed like they did. Because now Fiona heard feet shuffling and the low hum of voices rising in uncertainty. She clutched the edge of Maurice’s sleeve.

“Michael…” Mark laughed nervously. “Tom…come on. She’s not—She doesn’t know what the…” But Fiona could hear the bodies filing out of the room, telling him to call when he got this “figured out.”

“Sara, what the fuck?” Mark’s voice cracked, and something slapped the table—a fist, maybe. His composure was gone. “You’re out of control!” Mark’s voice was suddenly sharp, and all that slick charm Fiona heard earlier was gone.

“No,” Sara snapped. “You’re out of control. What are you doing, talking to a private investigator? What happened to the plan?”

“Look, I was on a lot of drugs. It was dark. He’s very…vampiric,” Mark said.

“But we—”

“Sara,” he cut her off. “Get out however you can. I’m not mad at you. I told you from the beginning—I would never work with him. I don’t care how sorry he is now. Selling this company is the only path forward for me.”

Sara’s voice sharpened. “I don’t trust your path anymore, Mark. You didn’t even know Fiona was working inside your own company for nine months. What else has slipped through your fingers?”

Mark paused in what Fiona could only imagine was outrage. “Kwesi never introduced me to that—” He paused, likely searching for a word that would wound. “That little reverse fucking incel. The only sister I ever met was tall, slim, and mean as a snake.”

“But the incel infiltrated you right under your nose,” Sara said, quieter now, thinking. “You need to understand how they operate. The harassment. The surveillance. The blackmail.”

Mark’s voice exploded. “I didn’t plan to be around long, Sara!

Because I was planning to sell the fucking company while I have the power as acting CEO.

Which you have gotten in the way of. You’re on notice.

” His voice turned icy, and Fiona’s eyes slipped over to Maurice, who listened with his forehead against the door.

Mark continued, “You’re in my way. And if you don’t move…

” Mark didn’t finish the thought, but the threat filled the air like smoke.

Fiona’s blood went cold. Maurice’s hand reached for hers, grazing it just slightly, grounding her.

Sara shuffled something around. Her voice was shaky now.

“I think the church is the secret investor. Pearls Limited, or something like that. If you go through with this sale, we’re both going to end up six feet under.

You can’t control them, Mark. If Fiona got this close, they are clocking you.

You’ve already lost. You just don’t know it yet. ”

The door to the tearoom slid open with a hiss, followed by the rhythmic clack of heels on polished wood. After a few minutes Mark left too. Fiona and Maurice stayed for a full ten minutes before Fiona nodded.

“They’re wrong,” she said quickly, already trying to debrief, to breathe sense into the chaos. “They think I’m part of the church.”

Maurice didn’t answer right away.

And that pause held a world of information. He didn’t rush to agree with her.

He shook his head once, distracted. “Sara might be right about one thing.” He looked toward the door like he could still see them. “If they keep going against the church—pushing like this—someone’s not walking away. One of them is going to end up dead.”