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6
It had devolved
into the kind of meeting that made Armin want to roll his eyes into eternity, but at least it had been productive.
The prince had met with the young contractor from before, Mr. Klemen, and when Armin had him alone in a room with Alexei Mihailo, he’d finally been able to make some progress, especially when Armin had hinted on the verge of a guarantee that the two of them would be first in line for future projects.
For the moment, it would all remain private, like he’d wanted. There was some concern about the project becoming tainted by association with the royal government, but more than that, Armin didn’t believe in doing charitable works for public praise. That was a sentiment that his grandmother had believed in above all else. It was about doing good, not approval or acknowledgement. And the orphanage needed it.
Armin settled in behind his desk in his office, feeling altogether pleased with himself.
He set aside the orphanage project in his mind and prepared himself to switch over to the letters. Armin’s staff sorted through the letters he got each week, and one morning a week he sat down with the ones that had risen to the top and answered them personally. In a world of email and text messages, he had come to appreciate people who sat down with pen and paper and sent him their thoughts in written form. He owed them a response in kind.
Armin had only skimmed the first paragraph of the first letter when his head assistant, a woman named Natalia, knocked at the office door. Natalia was the most professional person he’d ever met in his life, so the slight downturn at the corners of her mouth was all that warned him bad news was coming. “Sir? Valentina is here to see you.”
Valentina, the publicist.
“Send her in.”
The petite woman came in briskly, her navy heels perfectly matching her suit. Unlike Natalia, she didn’t bother to hide her frown as she approached Armin’s desk, carrying a blue folder tightly in her arms.
“Sir, I’m here to deliver this news in person before the story goes any further.”
He was instantly on alert. “What story?”
She took a deep breath, straightening her back. “The Defender has just released a piece …in the poorest possible taste. And it highlights…certain rumors.”
Armin kept his face carefully neutral, even as his heart pounded harshly against his rib cage. There were always rumors, but this sounded serious. “What rumors?”
Valentina steeled herself. “That one of your brothers—perhaps even the king himself—might have a…secret family. A mistress and a child. In the United States. Of course, they’ve provided no evidence of this, but the anti-royalist faction will do anything to push their agenda.”
He folded his hands on the desk, trying to be the very picture of calm. “Where did they get this idea, if there’s no evidence?”
Valentina shifted her weight from foot to foot. “There’s no telling where these people get their ideas. It may be best if we put our best people on finding the source and making sure they’re put in their place. Otherwise, the situation will only drive us mad with worrying.”
Armin knew when she said us, she was talking about him.
“Show me the article.”
It didn’t give anything away, just to read it. He needed to buy some time. He needed to consider.
Valentina opened the folder and took out a copy of the front section of The Defender, placing it on Armin’s desk. The words floated before him.
The phone on his desk rang. Valentina leaned forward and picked up the handset, answering on behalf of the prince. She looked down at the surface of his desk while she listened to the person on the other end of the line. “All right,” she said. “I’ll pass that along. He’s not in right now, no. No. Thank you.” Then she hung up again.
Armin flipped the paper over and waited for her to hang up the phone.
“That was Mr. Klemen.”
Frustration welled through Armin. He didn’t need any more details to know what that would be about. He blew out a breath through pursed lips, saying nothing. He’d come so close to stabilizing the orphanage project, and now this.
There was another knock at the door.
“Sir?”
Something shifted in him, warmed, at the sight of Katie there in the doorframe. Valentina gave him a crisp nod and went out.
“Yes?”
