Page 7 of Fallen Crown

While everyone else looks through Brice’s stapled pages, I stare at him across from me. He tosses Melody’s single sheet, and it flutters onto the table’s surface. With his gaze locked with mine, he mouths so light. I can feel my jaw tighten at his cocky attitude. Men who get everything they want through charm and charisma are no good to society. He’ll be a terrible team player. Incapable of compromise or taking direction. I know his kind. I married his kind. The best when the wind is at their back and awful in a headwind. Let us all down when we need support the most.

“Well,” Tim says after turning the final page of Brice’s document. He takes in the other board members. “Should we put it to a vote?”

“Before we vote,” Cheryl says, “I want to be clear that Maren will train the team regardless of the outcome.”

I resist the urge to rub my face and heave out a sigh. If there was one vote I expected to receive, it was Cheryl’s. We had a long chat two weeks ago over a glass of wine about Brice’s complete lack of suitability. She’s not the only one I took for a drink on the sly, and perhaps other people will see Brice as all shine and no substance, and I won’t need her. If I was petty enough, I could probably win by refusing to train Brice. Competent coaches are few and far between.

“Ultimately, the most important thing is the cause. We’re raising money for Alzheimer’s, and I’ll train the team either way.” It pains me to admit that, and part of me really wants to be a petty bitch and slap my palm on the table and say if he stays then I go. But I’m too well trained for an outburst. My family might be full of title diggers and wealthy do-nothings, but decorum is central to the family’s image. We can’t appear to care about any of it because we’re above such trivial concerns. If only image was reality.

“All right,” Cheryl says, giving me one last long look. “Let’s vote.”

“All in favor of Prince Brice, raise your hand,” Tim says.

Every single hand at the table except mine, but including both of Brice’s, goes into the air.

Cocky bastard.

Tim declares Brice the victor, and everyone pats Brice on the back on their way out the door, and once again, we’re the last two left in the board room.

“It appears we’ll be working together after all, Coach.”

“So it appears, Rookie.” I tuck my papers inside my purse and slide it over my shoulder. He’s not going to see an inch of my anger and frustration. “Training starts tomorrow morning at four at the marina. You need your own gear. If you’re late, we leave without you.”

“My own gear?” Brice gathers the papers strewn around the conference room.

“And if you don’t have it, I and the rest of the team will be waving to you from the water as we get as far away from you as we can.” I give him a saccharine sweet smile. “That clear enough for you?” If he was anyone else, I’d give him a list of things to bring.

Before he can answer, I shift past him and out the door. A run or a session at the rock climbing center or a long SUP through the canal are the only things that’ll calm my fury.

Another male getting exactly what he wants with minimal effort. Must be a joy to be a man in this world.

I arrive home hours later covered in sweat to find my mother lounging on my couch, taking in my ocean view with a white wine spritzer in her hand. She must have helped herself to my supply. Bringing her own would be out of the question.

“Can I help you with something, Mother?” I drop my keys on the side table and tuck my purse between the table legs. From the workout bag on my shoulder, I take out a towel to mop my brow. Sweat equity in any form means nothing to my parents.

“I can’t drop in on my middle child?” She eyes me over the side of the couch. Her shoulder-length dark hair is the same shade as mine, except hers comes from a bottle now.

With an older brother and sister and a younger brother and sister, I’m smack-dab in the middle. Sometimes it amazes me she had all of us close together because she doesn’t seem to have much interest in parenting. Once, when I was drunk, I asked her, and she told me she loved babies. The moment a baby became a toddler, her interest waned. That’s what nannies were for, apparently.

“You can, and you do drop in, but never without a reason.”

She sips her wine while I get myself a glass, and when I sink into the couch on the opposite end, she turns up her nose in disgust. “Aren’t you going to shower?”

“No.” I take a sip of my drink. Little rebellions are necessary in private because I never make them in public, even if I feel them.

“I heard from Cheryl that Brice Summerset has joined the race team. You’ll be training him?”

Traitor Cheryl already filled my mother in on the results of the vote. While I never discussed Brice’s potential involvement with my mother, I’m not surprised she found out. One of the perks of being independently wealthy is that my mother’s job can be gossiping 24/7.

“You’ve always been very close with the members of your race teams.”

Two of my siblings would likely argue that I’m often closer to my team than I am to my family. Though that wouldn’t be completely fair. I’m close with Nathaniel, my older brother, and Sawyer, my older sister, but I have less in common with Gage and Ava, even though we’re all within a few years of each other.

“If you have to end up divorced, snagging a royal on the rebound wouldn’t be so terrible.”

“No one is getting divorced.” I snort and shake my head.

“I’d have to check the rules on a royal so far down the line of succession getting involved with a divorcee, but I can’t see why it wouldn’t be possible. King Alexander found a way to legalize his bastard child and marriage to a foreigner.”