Page 13 of The Royal Art of Revenge

I hold onto the hushed, deep tone I recognise and close my eyes, using the familiarity to ground myself.

“Miss Porter, are you all right?”

I blink, clearing my vision, and find myself staring into a pair of arresting blue eyes peering over the top of a pair of dark sunglasses. “Yes. I’m sorry, I was in my own little world.”

Crown Prince Finley—Flynn—stares at me for a moment, almost looking like he’s considering arguing with me. Instead, he slides his glasses back up his nose to cover his eyes. “Understandable. I’m surprised to run into you here.”

“Sir,” Michael says, leaning in. “Perhaps we should move somewhere quieter if you wish to speak with Miss Porter.”

The crown prince glances over his shoulder. “Ah. Are you going up?”

I blink at me. “Pardon?”

“The lift. Are you going up? Are you staying here?”

“Oh, yes. I’m on the twelfth floor.”

He softly touches a hand to my upper back and gently nudges me in the direction of the lifts. “Mind if I ride along?”

“Uh…” I toss a glance in the direction of Michael’s steadfast gaze. A small crowd of people are gathering, with a couple of them whispering, and nod. “Yes, that’s fine.”

Michael has already taken command and opened the doors. His foot is in the way, stopping the sensors closing them, and he ushers us both into the small cubicle. “Jon will meet you up there, sir.”

Crown Prince Finley nods and all but ushers me into the lift. The doors close with barely a breath to go behind him, and he sags against the corner, pulling off the sunglasses and ballcap.

“I apologise,” he says gruffly, removing his cap and rubbing his hand through his hair.

“You know,” I reply slowly. “If you’re trying to be inconspicuous, you’re not going about it very well.”

He raises one eyebrow in question. “Pardon?”

“The glasses and hat.” I motion to the items he’s holding. “I don’t know about anyone else, but as soon as I see someone wearing those two things with a great behemoth of a man following him around, I instantly think he’s someone famous, important, or interesting.”

Crown Prince Finley tilts his head to the side, the shadow of a smirk teasing his full lips. “And you? What do you think I am?”

“I think you’re either the most famous man in the country or someone who thinks extremely highly of himself.”

He barks out a deep laugh, and it bounces off every wall in the lift, almost echoing around us. “What if I’m both?”

“Then you’re playing fast and loose with your security by telling a professional photographer, aren’t you?” I smile, tapping my camera bag.

“Hmm, I don’t know.” He leans back against the wall, grabbing the railing, and looks up at the mirrored ceiling. His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows, and my gaze inadvertently traces the sharp line of his jaw. “You don’t really strike me as someone who’d sell me out.”

“Is that so?” I ask. “You know nothing about me.”

“Oh, that’s not true. I know your name is Hannah, that you’re a photographer, and I know that whatever little world you were in when we were in the lobby isn’t one that you wanted to be in.”

I freeze.

Ouch.

Talk about accurate.

I glance at the screen for the floor number. Seven to go. Why is this thing so fucking slow? “I think that’s an awfully bold thing for you to say to a stranger.”

“I—”

The lift stops, and the doors slide open. Crown Prince Finley rams his hat over his head and turns, completely hiding his face from view, and I look from his totally not suspicious behaviour to the couple standing in the hall.