Chapter 16
Sixteen
“No.” Eugene’s voice was low and steady. “Not on your life.”
“I have at least fifteen good ideas here,” Lauren said, gesturing toward her phone.
“Wonderful news, but we’ve already decided how to deal with the Tribune.” He glanced at James, who nodded. “Instead of running a story about your anarchist father, they’re going to get exclusive
details about how the Queen will be privately helping the duke clear his debts. You and your family get off scot-free, despite
the chaos you’ve created, and we finally get to end speculation and control the narrative about the duke’s finances. Two birds,
one stone.”
Lauren felt her insides go cold. “You can’t,” she said. “Eugene, you cannot.”
“It’s not ideal, but at a time when the relationship between the US and the UK is more important than ever, a story about a traitorous American inside the Palace has the potential to cause far more damage,” Eugene replied.
“You have no say in this, Lauren. Every single member of the family has a duty to protect country and Crown, regardless of the cost to themselves. The duke came back into the fold partly, if not mostly, to help negate his personal and business debts, and that’s what happened.
And now he has to pay the price for that by helping the family avoid this .
. . mishap you created. I’m being kind with my word choice here. ”
Lauren glanced down at her phone, dozens of ideas mapped out that now looked childish and foolish.
“I’ve asked someone on the Strathearn team to brief directly to the paper’s royal correspondent,” James said.
“You’re welcome, by the way,” Eugene added.
Lauren bristled but said nothing.
“Does the duke know?” she asked instead.
Eugene looked her right in the eyes. “He agreed to it right away. He understands the importance of duty.”
Lauren flashed back to their conversation the night before, to Jasper talking about duty and humanity.
“We already know that the Dispatch royal editor has been sniffing around this story so it’s only a matter of time before it comes out,” Eugene continued. “And
God knows that Cockburn would foam at the mouth if he got wind of it first. This way we get ahead of both of them and are
able to control the narrative. And if the Duke of Exeter wants his aunt, Her Majesty the Queen, to use her own personal funds
to pay off his debts, this is the least he could do.” He glanced down at the newspapers scattered across his desk. “Don’t
you have a state visit to get ready for? I know you have nothing else on your docket right now, that’s for sure.”
Lauren balled her hands into fists but then turned away, too afraid of what she would say if she stayed any longer in that
room. She retreated to her office and shut the door, fuming like a chimney in winter, trying to figure out how she could solve
the problem instead of making it worse. It all felt so fucked up.
Finally, she texted Oscar.
“I just talked to James and Eugene. I know you’re going to run the piece about the duke’s financial problems instead.” She paused before adding, “If that runs, it will destroy him.”
She watched the three bubbles go in and out for a few minutes (and who exactly designed those three bubbles?! They were almost
mocking her at this point), before Oscar responded.
“I’m trying something,” he said. “Sit tight.”
Sitting tight was not exactly Lauren’s forte, and she knew Oscar knew that. Instead, she paced around her office for a while,
brushing invisible dust from her desk and checking her phone every three seconds to see if Oscar had anything else to say
like, “I’m sorry, you were right, I owe you a gigantic apology.”
Instead, there was only silence.
Finally she texted him back: “How long am I supposed to sit tight?”
“Until you hear from me,” he replied, then set his phone to Do Not Disturb mode.
Petty, Lauren thought. But still, she had to admit that she felt a tiny bit better knowing that he may come back with good news.
She just wished she knew what exactly that meant.
The following week passed in an anxious blur of schedules, itineraries, confirmation numbers, and not a single sighting of Jasper nor even a whisper of information from Oscar, despite her texts to him.
Lauren stayed late at the office most nights, always wondering if there’d be another rap at her French doors, but instead all she got were the incessant buzzes and chimes of her emails.
There were no fun texts from Oscar, no slightly humorous but mostly testy banter with James and Eugene, and even Violet had retreated to focus on social activations for the state visit.
And perhaps worst of all—no, definitely worst of all—there was no Joy.
She and Lauren had run into each other a few times in the kitchenette, all awkward stutters and “sorry, excuse me’s” as they
tried to move through the space. She missed their raucous conversations after-hours, both of them slumped around the office
as they recovered from the brutal pace of the day, their secret shared eye rolls whenever a visitor to the Palace seemed just
a bit too high and mighty. And that loss was only made worse by the fact that Joy’s absence was Lauren’s own fault. She had
no one to blame but herself and the stupid outburst that had caused her to lose one of the best friends she had had in a long
time, and the guilt she felt was even more painful than the loneliness.
The only person who was really speaking to her was, alas, Harriet, who had taken over most comms-related duties until further
notice. Harriet, who had the biggest heart but, quite frankly, absolutely zero ability to conduct a press briefing, which
both she and Lauren fully well knew.
On Friday morning, amid a flurry of back-and-forth emails with a White House official about the necessary additional security
sweeps required for the media present at the BP state banquet, Harriet came into Lauren’s office and shut the door behind
her. “Uh-oh,” Lauren said.
“I can’t do the press briefing,” Harriet said. “My nerves won’t handle it. I even mouth the words when I sing at church.”
Lauren sighed. “I mean this in the nicest way possible, but yes, I agree with you. That being said, I can walk you through
the basics, so you at least know who to call on, who to never call on, that sort of thing.”
Harriet shook her head. “No, no, I’ve already decided. Either you do it or we should cancel. It’s in the best interest of the institution.”
“I don’t even get to make this decision,” Lauren told her. “You need to talk to James and Eugene if that’s what you want.”
Harriet paused before tilting her head to the side, curious. “And why exactly aren’t you doing the press briefing?”
Lauren hesitated. She didn’t doubt for a second that there was some fast and furious gossip flying around about why she hadn’t
been at meetings, why she was spending so much time in her office, and, of course, why she and Joy weren’t speaking to each
other.
“Because I’m working on some things right now that are . . . of a clandestine nature,” she said, sounding slightly unsure
of her own statement. “Yes. That’s why.”
“Of course,” Harriet replied, her side-eye clearly indicating that she was not buying anything that Lauren was saying. “I’ll
go talk to Eugene right now.”
Ten minutes later, Harriet was back in Lauren’s office. “Eugene wants to talk to you.”
Lauren closed her eyes and sighed. “Okay,” she said. “Thanks.”
When she arrived at Eugene’s plush office on the next floor up, James was also standing there, waiting for her. “Harriet can’t
do the briefing,” Eugene said.
“Trust me, I am very aware of that,” Lauren replied. “She’s shaking like a leaf in my office right now.”
Eugene ignored her. “We’re going to put you on this morning for a very brief, very abbreviated conference. You talk about
the state visit and only call on the people who you know will have unchallenging questions.”
“So, you want me to do my job?” Lauren asked. “Done.”
“Excellent.” Eugene glanced at his phone. “I have to take this.” Lauren doubted that there was a call, but she wasn’t sorry to go.
Lauren left, and James followed. “Lauren,” he said quietly, “you might want to contact Oscar before the press conference.”
Lauren froze. “Why?”
“Just what I said.”
Lauren hesitated, then turned and started running down the hall to her office. Halfway there, she passed Harriet in the hall.
“How did it go?” Harriet asked.
“You’re off the hook!” Lauren said, giving her a thumbs-up as she ran past.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Harriet practically wilt with relief.
She nearly slammed her office door shut before grabbing her phone and calling Oscar.
And of course, it went to voicemail.
“Hi,” she said breathlessly. “James just told me to talk to you, so this is me talking to you. What’s happen—?”
As she was speaking, a message popped up. “Park in 30 mins,” Oscar typed. “Can’t talk right now.”
She ended the call and thumbs-upped the text, then immediately grabbed her bag and went to the park early to get a coffee
and wait for him.
One latte and a brownie down, Oscar finally strolled up almost an hour later. He was dressed smart in a blue-checked gingham
collared shirt under a navy blazer, with flat-front khaki pants that made him look taller.
She still felt that buzz of attraction when she saw him, but she knew that their relationship had gone past the fun, flirty stage. They were now knee-deep in real life, with real consequences. If they were ever going to make this work, Lauren realized, they would have to swim instead of sink.
“Hi,” she said, relieved to see him after days of silence. “How are you?”
“Well, it’s been kind of a crazy week,” he said. “But I’m okay. Sorry I’m so late. How are you?”
She shrugged. “Same. Eugene didn’t murder me, so I can put that in the plus column.”
“That is positive,” he agreed. “Um, I was waiting to reach out to you until it was done, but I just finished interviewing
the Duke of Exeter this morning.”
Lauren tried to keep her face neutral when really, it felt like someone had planted a firecracker into her heart. “An interview?!”
she asked. Did you talk about me? was what she thought.
“Not the article you think it is,” he said. “I convinced my editor, and your man at the Palace, to run a different exclusive
instead.”
“About . . . ?”
“About the duke’s life in New Zealand and his return to the royal fold, how his relationship with his aunt, the Queen, has
been the one thing that has sustained him through his divorce, and general stuff like being in the public eye and how much
he’s missed Britain and its people.” His voice was so rote that it sounded like he was reading off a dry press release, one
that even Lauren would have punched up.
Lauren blinked, then felt the relief sag through her bones. “Nothing about his finances?”
“We discussed the rumors around his situation,” Oscar said. “But we spun it. I have to get back to the office and write it
up, but my editors are looking at images now for the piece. We’ll have everything online at midnight on Saturday before the
paper is out in the morning, and before the state visit begins.”
“I don’t even know what to say.” Lauren felt breathless, still processing the huge 180 in this crisis and the fact she had no idea that this had even taken place. “Oscar, seriously, thank you.”
He shrugged. “Gotcha journalism isn’t really my thing, anyway.”
Lauren folded her hands together on the park picnic table. “I’m very sorry about what— No, no, let me say this,” she added
as Oscar started to wave away her apology. “I need to say it because you deserve to hear it. I’m sorry I got so upset and
yelled at you. And I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about my dad. You were vulnerable with me, and I didn’t meet you there. I was
just worried about my dad and mom—and myself, for that matter—and I panicked, and I’m sorry. You didn’t deserve any of that;
you were just trying to warn me.”
Oscar blew out a breath, looking over her head. “You Americans and your overly effusive apologies,” he teased. “Now I have
to match that.”
Lauren smiled at him. “You don’t,” she said.
“No, I—I shouldn’t have accused you of holding things back from me. What we have is . . .”
“Complicated?”
“Well, I had been about to say ‘special,’ but also complicated, yes. You weren’t wrong to protect your family, at least from
the press. You always try to do the right thing.” Then he paused before adding, “Even when you completely fuck it up in the
process.”
Lauren laughed, feeling a little lighter than she had in days. “Was the duke okay with doing the interview?” she asked. “Was
he snippy about it?”
“He doesn’t have a snippy bone in his body,” Oscar replied. “Honestly, he was fine. He did that whole gentlemanly charm thing
that seems to work.”
“And did it?”
“Definitely. Even I was swooning by the end of it.”
“Doesn’t take much,” Lauren said, then laughed when he threw his paper straw wrapper at her. “And what about the video of
my dad?”
“Dead for now,” he said. “That doesn’t mean it might not resurface again, but at least you can get your talking points ready
with the comms team in case it does.”
“Thank you,” she said again.
“I do what I can,” he replied. “Oh, and you’re definitely buying me dinner. Sushi. Omakase. Lots of it. Maybe two dinners,
now that I think about it.”
“Deal,” she said.
“And the next time you buy a bunch of seasonally themed house stuff, you’re returning it by yourself.”
“Done.”
“And—”
“Whatever you want,” she said. “You really helped me out today. All the sushi for you.”
“One last request.” He caught her gaze. “Fix things with Joy.”
Lauren tried to stop the rush of tears to her eyes but was only marginally successful. “I will,” she said. “I have to. I know.”
Oscar looked at her for a minute, his eyes both soft and sharp, making Lauren’s pulse start to beat just a bit faster. “I
can’t tell if you’re good for this place or not,” he said, “but I’m really looking forward to finding out.”
“Me too,” she said, and when he reached for her hand, she wrapped her fingers around his, grateful for the anchor, and even
more grateful for him.