Page 14 of The Royal Art of Revenge

“Going down?” the man asks.

I shake my head. “Sorry, no.”

He takes a step back with his partner, glancing at the man in the corner. “Uh, are you all right in there?”

“Yes, sorry. He’s just shy.” I smile, hit the button to close the doors, and swing my attention back to Crown Prince Finley. “You’re getting more suspicious by the second, do you know that?”

With a chuckle, he turns, tilting the front of the hat away from his face again. “Yes, that wasn’t my best moment.”

I roll my eyes.

If I didn’t know this man was next in line for the throne and someone told me, I’d laugh them out of the building. The country, perhaps.

This version of him hiding behind a baseball cap in a lift certainly doesn’t match up with anything I’ve seen about him since I returned to Askurg.

It does, however, remind me of the child I once knew.

If I could smile about that, I would.

But I can’t.

I sigh and look at the floor number again.

“Anxious to get rid of me?”

“Mm,” I reply. “What young woman doesn’t want to be alone in a lift with a suspicious man who has numerous bodyguards posted around the hotel she’s staying at?”

“A fair question,” he says. “On the other hand, you know it’s safe here.”

“For who?”

“Everyone.”

“Remember when you asked me who I think you are?”

“Yes.”

“I think I’d like to choose the ‘egotistical’ option,” I say as the lift finally arrives at the fifteenth floor. “Thank you for the company, Mr… Flynn.”

He laughs as the doors open. “The pleasure was all mine, Miss Porter.”

“I bet.” I step out into the hallway and meet his gaze. “Goodness knows it wasn’t mine.”

On that, I turn, and the last thing I hear is the sound of his raucous laughter as I walk away.

Hopefully, I’ve done enough.

Of all the men who have ever been interested in me, he’s the only one I care about. I need him to be interested in me.

No.

I need him to be intrigued by me.

I need him to approach me. To want to approach me. To want to know more about me.

Really, it works in my favour that he lied about his name. We’re on equal footing here—neither one of us willing to be truthful about who we really are.

Mostly.