choked. “I’m not a PA!” And it wasn’t as if she needed a job.
She flinched as Christian’s words reverberated, still sharp in her memory. “So what difference are you making in the world?” Spoken in a tone so scathing, it had burned at her all night.
“It’s not much different from being a social secretary. You have plenty of experience at that.” Her father relaxed a fraction and almost smiled. “You’ve been doing it for me long enough.”
She tried to think, but her head had turned to mush. See Christian Taylor again? Oh no! Not after last night… “I’m planning a wedding.”
“You have an assistant,” he pointed out.
Precisely. She had an assistant. “You can use Anna. I could pull her off the wedding preparations for the next week, and she’s an excellent PA.”
And Anna would probably love the idea of being around movie people all day.
Her father shook his head. “Not just anyone can do this job. I need your help.”
She shut her mouth. He never needed help from anyone. Her father was the most self-assured, most formidable man she’d ever known. She’d often had reason to be grateful she was his daughter, the one person in the world he cared about, and not on the receiving end of his less-merciful side.
Even so, he wasn’t above manipulating her or trying to control her life. Her eyes narrowed. Was this a ploy to keep tabs on her? An actor as famous as Christian Taylor no doubt had an entourage of drivers and bodyguards. People who could just as easily watch over her too. If she’d thought her life was suffocating before now, it would have nothing on that.
She pictured herself, trapped in the back seat of a limousine with the man she’d insulted last night, watched over by beady-eyed security men. It was enough to make her break out in hives.
But not for nothing was she her father’s daughter. She summoned up her own most formidable expression. “Why me?”
His gaze bore into her. “Because I need someone I trust to get close to him. I need to know everything about him. It’s a matter of national security.”
She couldn’t keep the surprise from her face. Since when was a frivolous Hollywood actor a matter of national security?
Her father rose from his chair and paced back to the window. “You’ve seen Fredrik’s ring – the Waldburg ring?”
She nodded. Of course she had. Her former boyfriend had worn that ring as a symbol of who he was. She swallowed against the lump in her throat. The last time she’d seen him, at his brother Max’s engagement party, he hadn’t worn it.
That night had been one of the hardest she’d ever had to endure. Almost everyone there had known she and Fredrik were dating before he’d been summarily exiled. Most had expected them to get engaged. She certainly had.
She’d been so grateful for the protection of Stefan’s engagement ring on her finger that night, even though he’d been away on business and she’d had to brave the lion’s den alone.
It should have been even worse for Fredrik. He’d lost so much more than she had. Instead, he’d been so wrapped around his new girlfriend Kenzie he’d scarcely noticed anyone else.
She frowned. Fredrik had disappointed her. She’d believed he was above vulgar public displays of affection. That’s what one expected from a Hollywood actor, not from a European prince.
“You would recognise the Waldburg ring again if you saw it?”
She forced the past back where it belonged and lifted her chin. “Of course.”
“Did Fredrik ever tell you there are three rings?”
She shook her head. They were the rings of the heirs of the Archdukes of Westerwald. Fredrik had one. His brother Max, the new Archduke, had one. Of course there could be another, locked away in safety in the event of a third son and heir being born, though that hadn’t happened in over a century.
Her father contemplated the view beyond the window. “It’s not known outside the royal family, but the third ring disappeared more than thirty-five years ago. Fredrik believes he saw it on a chain around Mr Taylor’s neck a few nights ago.”
Tessa tried hard to remember what she’d seen last night. She had to struggle past the vision of toned, dark-skinned chest.
A flash of silver.
It was possible. A lot of men wore jewellery these days. But if the ring was genuine – and she trusted Fredrik implicitly – then how had Christian Taylor come by it? A royal heirloom like that must surely have been as closely guarded as the crown itself.
Her father smiled, answering her train of thought. “Yes, that’s what I need to know. Christian told Fredrik that he got it from his mother. I checked her out. She worked as a political intern in the palace here in Neustadt many years ago, on a policy think-tank. She left before he was born. I need to know how she got that ring, and anything else she may have taken. It shouldn’t take more than a week or two at most. Then we can send Anna in to replace you.”
She thought quickly. An intern would never have had access to the royal vaults. Christian’s mother must have had inside help. But who, and how deep did this go?
Her father was right. This wasn’t a job for any ordinary PA. And this way she could restore her father’s faith in her too. Wedding or not, she’d do whatever she could to help. Even lose her independence. Even face Christian Taylor again.
She wouldn’t only be doing it for her father, or out of friendship for Fredrik, but out of love for her nation. This was her home, her security, and she loved Westerwald more than she’d ever loved any man.
“I’m sure I don’t need to tell you to keep this strictly between us. Fredrik has asked me to keep this from Max until we have real evidence.” Her father slid a file across the desk to her. “Read this before you leave. The address is inside. You’re expected there in an hour.”
“How did you persuade them to hire me?”
He smiled. “I didn’t. Kenzie did.”
The film’s production office was in the warehouse district on the outskirts of town. Though it was another balmy day, unseasonably so for January, and the sky an enticing blue, Tessa kept the top firmly closed as she drove. She wasn’t taking any more chances.
A security guard signed her in and she circled the enormous car park looking for an empty space. Half the car park was filled with trucks and motor homes. People scurried between buildings and vehicles with an almost frenetic sense of urgency.
She sat in the car for a long moment, hands gripping the steering wheel. She wasn’t sure which was worse. Having to face Christian Taylor again, or having to make nice with Fredrik’s new girlfriend. No, not girlfriend. Fiancée.
Sucking in a deep breath, she climbed out of the car.
The offices were above a voluminous warehouse space, where a construction team hammered and sawed and raised voices echoed. Up a narrow flight of stairs she found the reception and was shown to a waiting room with faux-leather
