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“All you’d need to do is keep your eyes and ears open, take some notes, and pass them along to me every once in a while.”
“No.”
“Think about it.”
“I won’t.”
“You were a big name in the States, Ms. Crestley. Your reputation has preceded you.”
“That was a long time ago,” she insisted.
He laughed. “And now what? You’re just going to be a nanny until you retire?” Papazyan scoffed. “A woman like you doesn’t just drop out of the media race.” He paused, looking thoughtful. “Unless you’re willing to admit defeat.”
Katie bit her lip, trying to look as stoic as she could. Admitting defeat was anathema to her. It was why she’d chased new jobs all over Europe. It was why, when she was down to her last few dollars in her bank account, she’d applied for a long-shot job close to the action instead of going back to the United States with her tail between her legs.
Not that anyone would have been there to welcome her. Her parents had died in a boating accident when she was young, and she didn’t dare leverage any of her old professional connections.
Papazyan was right that she wanted to be a journalist again—but not like this. Not as something underhanded and deceptive, spying and digging up dirt on people who’d chosen to trust her. She was through taking the easy, dishonest road—she’d learned that lesson and then some.
“If you were to assist me, it’s highly likely you could come back to the fold,” he said, his voice as even as if he were commenting on the weather. “You were meant for journalism. I could find a place for you here, in exchange for a bit of your time.”
He sounded so calm and confident, so certain that this was an offer she wouldn’t be able to resist. Once, he would have been right.
But not anymore.
“Katie!” cried Lily, and she whirled to see the girls waving at her from on top of the castle’s turret. “We’re up so high!”
“Yes!” she shouted back to them. “But come back down now, girls, it’s time to go.”
She turned back to Papazyan. “No, thank you. Please leave us alone.”
Then she went to the center of the playground, collected the girls, and headed back for the rest of the afternoon schedule.
“I’m not sure about this project, Prince Armin.”
Alexei Mihailo was the foremost property developer in all of Stolvenia, but the man was currently exuding an uncharacteristic timidity that Armin didn’t appreciate. He was normally enthusiastic, throwing himself into whatever Armin suggested, but not today.
“What’s the problem? If it’s a matter of contractors, you can have your pick.”
“It’s not the contractors.” Alexei was having a hard time meeting his eyes. “It’s the optics.”
“Optics?”
Armin had never seen the man look more uncomfortable. “I’m not sure now is a good time for us to work so closely together.”
Armin’s frustration welled. “If you don’t want to take palace contracts, then say it, Alexei. Don’t waste my time.”
The other man raised his hands in the air. “It’s not personal, Prince Armin. It’s about the business. Some of our high-profile clients are putting the pressure on not to work with the royal family.”
Armin shook his head. “If your clients are anti-royalists, you need better clients.”
Alexei folded his hands on the table. “People want to feel as if they’re the ones building the country, not the monarchy. I agree with you that the orphanage has a crucial role in our society. That’s why I’m hesitating.”
“Because you think we can’t get it done?”
“Because the entire project could end up tainted with an anti-royalist sentiment. That’s the last thing I want for a project of this importance. The anti-royalist faction is loud and getting louder, and if they raise objections to this project because of your participation, it’s the orphans who’ll lose in the end.”
“You’ve made your point, Alexei.”
