up the paper. She’d made double sure she would receive the daily paper. After the incident with the protestors, she’d decided she needed to stay informed even though the Chantaine newspaper read like an odd combination of a scandal sheet and traditional news.
The front page was filled with photographs of the parade, featuring the royal family and government officials on horseback. The largest photo showed Stefan riding with the young boy on Black. Her heart twisted at the image of him. Lord help her, the man was so handsome. She noticed the way his hand curled around the boy, holding him securely. The boy smiled broadly while Stefan’s mouth lifted in a ghost of a smile.
Fascinating man, she thought. For a moment she wondered what Stefan would be like if he weren’t a prince. She closed her eyes, trying to imagine him as a Texan. He would be a Renaissance man, she decided, with a huge empire. Obscenely successful, she thought. Nothing less would be acceptable. His woman would be … She frowned in concentration. Blonde, beautiful, but brainy. The perfect accessory on his arm.
Nothing like me.
She frowned again, feeling a stab of displeasure and immediately pushing it aside. She shook her head at herself. This was what happened when she had time on her hands. Her mind traveled down all kinds of crazy paths. She rattled the paper and refocused, scanning the rest of the front page. A headline at the bottom of the page grabbed her attention. Royal Stable Master Reports Prince’s Horse Is Worth Billions for Sperm.
Billions! She’d never said billions. Who was reporting this? She hadn’t talked to anyone … except the man at the end of the parade. Her stomach sank in realization. Even though she’d cut the conversation short, she’d obviously said more than she should.
Less than a moment later, her cell phone rang. She darted through the living area to her bedside table where she’d left it and immediately glanced at the caller ID. Her stomach sank even further. The palace office was calling.
“Hello. Eve Jackson,” she said and began to pace.
“Ms. Jackson, this is Louis calling for Franz Cyncad. We have a public relations concern. Your presence is required in the Palace Office.”
Great, she thought. Franz was right up there at the top of the food chain. “I can be there in twenty minutes.”
“Mr. Cyncad is finalizing the appropriate strategy. He will meet with you after lunch at fourteen hundred.”
Eve bit back an oath. Not only did she know she would be disciplined or perhaps even fired, now she had to wait to hear about it. “I’ll be there.”
“Very well. Goodbye,” he said and disconnected the call.
Adrenaline pumping through her, Eve immediately went into survivor mode. With her upbringing, it was second nature. She wondered if she should go ahead and make a call to her former boss. She’d made sure to leave on good terms. She might not be able to get her exact position, but the company had been pleased with her work. Or she could start contracting for several horse ranchers. Stefan would pay her severance.
Her heart was hammering and her stomach was twisting as she glanced out her window at the cobblestone drive, the lush green trees and pink flowers. She felt a deep sense of regret twist through her. For the first time in weeks, she was acutely aware of the fact that she didn’t want to leave. She loved the horses, and her feelings for Stefan … were overwhelming. Until now, she’d been totally absorbed with the parade and intermittent bouts of homesickness she’d pushed aside. Eve had learned at a very young age that denial was an important tool of survival.
But this wasn’t her childhood, and she wasn’t going to be chased out of her home due to bankruptcy. So maybe she shouldn’t jump off the first available cliff. She took a deep breath and slowly released it.
If she was going to be fired, how did she want to spend her remaining hours on Chantaine?
Stefan? Impossible. Tonight, the night they would have made love, was never going to happen.
She swallowed over a hard lump in her throat. Pushing that option aside, she made her plans. The horses, then the beach.
Eve took a micro-shower, French-braided her hair, then visited the royal beauties in the barn and petted and cooed over them. Her heart twisted at the way they all seemed to know her. Even Black indulged her for a few moments before he stamped away.
She stood for a long moment, inhaling the scent of fresh hay and clean horses, branding it into her memory. Then she grabbed a taxi for the beach and made the driver promise to return to fetch her at twelve forty-five. Eve spread her towel on the sand, stripped down to her bikini and sat down on the beach.
She stared at the waves. Whitecaps topped azure water as the tide crashed into shore. The surf was a little rough. She would test it in a few moments, she decided. For the moment, she would focus on the sensation of sun shining on her and the way the ocean looked as if diamonds flickered on top of it.
Inhaling the unique scent of Chantaine, she tried to find a way to preserve the vanilla beachy smell in her mind, the memory of that evening ride with Stefan. All that would never happen between them flashed through her mind. Eve couldn’t stand it. She picked up her towel and scrambled up the sandy hill to the road to hail a taxi.
An hour later, Eve sat in Franz Cyncad’s office trying to look cool as she resisted the urge to drum her fingers on her black pants–clad leg. Franz was frowning. Not a good sign. He glanced up at her from behind his desk and his gold-rimmed glasses. “You spoke to Marco LaChalle yesterday during the parade,” he finally said.
“I didn’t meet anyone named Marco. I was focused on the horses and our surprise child rider. A man approached me toward the end of the parade. I barely spoke to him.”
Franz pulled off his glasses. “You told him Black could earn billions in stud fees.”
“I told him Black could earn a fortune in stud fees,” she corrected, still determined to remain calm.
“He apparently interpreted a fortune as a billion,” Franz said.
“That was his interpretation, not mine,” she said, now barely resisting the urge to fidget. Was she going to survive this or not? Based on Franz’s dour expression, she suspected not.
“Unfortunately, we must deal with Mr. LaChalle’s report. We need you to recant your position.”
It took a full moment for Franz’s comment to sink in. “I can’t do that. It would be an outright lie,” she said at the same time Stefan walked through the door. “Black is worth a fortune in stud fees.”
“He’s not ready,” Stefan said.
“Your Highness,” Franz said and stood.
Suddenly, Eve remembered she was supposed to do the curtsy thing. “Yes, Your Highness,” she said and stood. “But I disagree. As a professional,” she added. “It’s appropriate to have a specialist assess a stallion for stud purposes at the age of four. Black is over four. His pedigree is phenomenal. He has the potential to produce amazing foals.”
Stefan shot her a cool glance. “You are not the appropriate person to assess when Black should breed.”
She nodded in agreement. “True. I’m only the stable master you hired to train and advise you on your horses. So, whatever.”
