CHAPTER THREE – HATTIE #3
I dig in my bag and pull out the small can of hairspray, then hold it out in his direction as if I’m going to cover him in it.
I suppose I at least need to pretend to be scared.
“What are you doing?” I ask, forcing my voice to shake. “You can’t just—”
“I know,” he whispers, still looking through the peephole. “I’m truly sorry. I owe you a great deal for this.”
“What are you doing?” I repeat, raising my voice slightly.
“Shh, don’t—” He turns, and his gaze drops to the can of hairspray in my hand. “What’s that?”
“Pepper spray is illegal in this country.” I shake the can. “But hairspray isn’t.”
“Smart.” He bobs his head. “Well, you can put it down. I’m not going to hurt you.”
“That’s what someone who plans to hurt me would say.”
“True, but I really do have no intention of harming you. Sorry.” He looks out of the peephole again. “I… It’s complicated. I will make this intrusion up to you, I promise.” He turns back to me. “I only need five minutes. You can even barricade yourself in the bathroom if you don’t trust me.”
“Stay over there,” I demand, squeezing the top of the can to spritz a bit of the spray in his direction. “How exactly are you going to make this up to me?”
He holds up his hands, pressing his back against the door. “I saw your website. You’re an exceptionally talented photographer.”
I blink at him. “If I wanted to hear that, I’d read my reviews.”
“Fair enough.” His lips twitch. “I need a portrait photo taken, and I’d like you to be the photographer for that shoot.”
I narrow my eyes, despite the flip in my stomach.
I need to play this right.
If I’m too eager, my fearful act will have been for naught. If I’m too hesitant, he might withdraw his offer, and any chance I have at getting into the Royal Palace will be dead in the water.
“A formal portrait,” he continues. “Likely more than one. You’ll have to sign a confidentiality agreement before it happens, but you’ll be very well compensated. Not to mention that you could become one of the most famous photographers in the country once the photo is made public.”
“I don’t know,” I reply carefully. “That all sounds very suspicious.”
“I know,” he says quickly. “But everything is above board, I assure you. And yes, I know, that’s exactly what someone who isn’t above board would say.”
I bite the inside of my cheek to stop my smile. Damn it. “Can I get that offer in writing?”
He pauses, pursing his lips. “I thought you’d ask me who I am that I need a confidentiality agreement before you can photograph me.”
“Anyone who insists upon a confidentiality agreement before a photography session isn’t someone who would tell me their identity.” My arm is aching, so I lower the hairspray can, but I don’t let it go. “Send it in writing along with your terms, and I’ll consider it.”
He pulls his phone from his pocket, and the screen lights up. He silences the incoming call before looking back over at me and smiles. “You have a deal, Miss Porter. And I truly am sorry for imposing on you like this. It’s incredibly rude of me.”
“At least you know that.”
“I don’t usually behave like this.”
“I should hope not.” I put the hairspray down on the table next to me as his phone lights up in his hand again. “Is that your hitman calling? You should probably go before another strange man breaks into my room.”
His smile widens into something that reaches his eyes—the kind of something that makes angels weep. “You’ll be hearing from me soon.”
“That’s what you said when we met,” I reply, putting my jacket over the back of the desk chair. “And instead, I was accosted in a busy hotel lobby by your hitman.”
He inclines his head towards me and pulls on the door handle. “It seems I have a lot of inconveniences to compensate you for.”
I swing my gaze towards him, peering at him out of the corner of my eye. “As long as you’re aware of your transgressions.”
He laughs softly and opens the door to step out of my room. “We’ll speak soon, Miss Porter.”
I say nothing and simply watch as he glides into the hallway and closes the door behind him with a resounding ‘click’ that echoes through my now-quiet hotel room.
I pull my phone from my bag and check the notifications.
One is a Google alert I set up to keep tabs on his comings and goings, and I click on the article.
‘Crown Prince Finley opens gardens for the terminally ill funded by his charity’ is the headline that glares out at me, and a quick scan of the first paragraph explains everything about his presence here in Greenwood Bay.
Well, well, well.
Two coincidental meetings in a matter of days.
If I didn’t know better, I’d say the universe was finally on my side.
I kick off my shoes and visit the bathroom, leaving my phone on the bed. I use the toilet and turn on the taps to run a bath, then return to the bed to retrieve my phone. I have a new email, and the sender only identifies themselves as ‘Flynn.’
I told you that you’d be hearing from me soon.
I stare at the message for a moment, then laugh. Loudly and freely, more unreservedly than I have in as long as I can remember.
Ah.
For a moment, I almost feel light.