Page 11 of Royal Desire

Someone—anyone—kill me now and put me out of my misery. I’m sure that’s the only favor Payne would move mountains to do. I won’t have to worry about hiding out any longer. I see my tombstone in bright theatrical lights: Here lies Ruby Mae Sinclair. Wannabe Broadway singer who met her ultimate demise through pure mortification.

Felicity clears her throat. “How about I look into other acts in addition to the Sinclair siblings. That way you have some choices. Choices are always good. We strive to please all tastes.”

Payne’s deep voice is rough and curt. “I don’t want live entertainment.”

Devon frowns. “Are you sure? Who doesn’t like live music?”

Payne’s eyes shift to Devon. “I can tell you who doesn’t like it—me.”

I pull in a deep breath, plaster a fake smile on my face, and hate that my voice comes out four octaves higher than normal. But I am me and can’t control my tongue. “It sounds like you’ve made up your mind. I’m no longer needed here. I’m sure your clients won’t question their choice to stick with the next generation of Deacons. I’ll just get back to my day job and leave you to your mundane planning that includes no live entertainment, fun, and lacks all sense of joy.”

A venomous smile settles on Payne’s lips, and he proves that one thing hasn’t changed in all these years—he doesn’t hold back. “Don’t worry about my joy, Ruby. I have plenty of it. Hell, I get plenty of it.”

“I can tell. Joy oozes from you like an infected gash to the side of the head.” And I drop my arms and pretend my shirt is a souvenir from a vacation to The Keys even though I’ve never set foot in Florida. “Felicity, it was wonderful seeing you again. Please say hello to Harold for me. Devon, I’ll be here tonight ready to go. But you, Payne, I will not see, since your love for music seems to have died when you transformed yourself into Owen Deacon two-point-oh. Your loss.”

A small squeak erupts from Felicity as she bites her lip and twists her fingers into a mess of knots with nervous energy.

Devon frowns, and I wonder if I’ve lost my job before I have the chance to earn my first paycheck.

And Payne...

If his head exploded, it wouldn’t surprise me. His temper simmers below the surface. I saw it back in the day, though this is the first time it’s ever been directed at me.

“What in the bloody hell?” Devon mutters.

I don’t stick around long enough to get fired. I’ll just show up tonight on time and hope for the best. I march my smelly, stained self out of the manor with my head held high. If I didn’t, I’d fall into a puddle on the floor in tears, and that is not an option.

The entire reason I’ve avoided Winslet has been thrown in my face. I was right to stay away.

Payne Deacon isn’t over it.

And seeing him in the flesh, it’s clear that I’m not either.

Payne

Fuck me.

My blood boils and not in a way that goes straight to my dick. But then again, I can’t remember the last time my blood has heated like that. No one has brought me even close to a simmer in years.

And I refuse to put a number on those years. It’s depressing as fuck.

I don’t remember the last time I’ve gotten into a verbal match with anyone outside of the courtroom. Quite honestly, I don’t give a shit about anyone enough to expend that kind of energy.

Or I didn’t think I did until now.

I clear my throat and do my best to get my shit together. “Seems like you two have everything under control. I think we’re done here.”

Devon gives me the palm of his hand. “Whoa. Not until you tell me what the hell that was about.”

Felicity lets out another hum before she singsongs, “Mr. Donnelly, you’re not from here, which is why no one can blame you for suggesting live entertainment for Payne’s event. It’s a good idea ... in theory. Honestly, it would be a great idea if it were anyone but Ruby. Everyone knows that. Well, everyone but you.”

“That’s old news,” I bite.

Devon leans back in his chair and levels his discerning eyes on me. “Obviously not.”

Felicity agrees with him wholeheartedly. “No, no. Those wounds are still fresh. And since when do you not like music anymore, Payne? You were quite the singer back in high school. Harold and I support all the youth performances. He complains every year when the annual musical comes around and doesn’t love attending, but he goes. I’m not saying he doesn’t sleep through it, but sometimes it’s just about having warm bodies in the audience, no?”

I stand and stuff my hands in my pockets. “As miserable as this stroll down memory lane has been, I have clients to tend to so I can spend a whack at your manor to give them extravagant weekends. Some see it as customer appreciation, I see it as blackmail to not leave my firm.”