Beneath Mr. Crown's Disguise

1. Natalie

CHAPTER ONE

NATALIE

Natalie Powell wasn’t a klutz, but she had the occasional moment.

Like now. One misjudged step out of an Uber and crack!

Her heel snapped clean off. Not just any heel.

The heel. From those suede boots. The six-hundred-dollar, only-worn-on-holy-days boots.

The last indulgence she allowed herself before her life became all budgeting apps and bank alerts labeled “low balance”.

She cried out as though she’d broken a bone, her deep bellow catching the curious glances of several passers-by.

Natalie stood there on the sidewalk, lopsided and betrayed, staring down at the busted heel as though it were a severed limb.

She scooped it up and gave it a quick inspection. Still in good shape, for the most part.

“Unfreakingbelievable,” she muttered, tucking it in her purse. She limped toward the door of her favorite pub, cursing quietly with each off-kilter step. An incoming text from her sister stopped her at the entrance.

Kate: One more sleep until you’re back!

Natalie retreated a few steps and texted back.

Natalie: Can you talk?

Seconds later, a childhood photo of then ten-year-old Kate in equestrian gear and helmet lit up the screen of her cell phone.

“You won’t believe what just happened,” Natalie answered, then launched an f-bomb laced rant about her current predicament. It went on for a full minute before she stopped, took a breath, and apologized for her manic outburst.

“If you weren’t cursed with champagne taste, it wouldn’t hurt so much,” Kate teased.

“Says the artist who drops fourteen hundred bucks on a single paintbrush without a thought,” Natalie shot back.

“Touché. Do you have time to go back to the hotel to change?”

Natalie scanned the busy street in front of the pub, mind whirring.

Going back to swap footwear meant two more rideshare charges (there and back again, which she hadn’t budgeted for).

Emma would be arriving any minute, and to make her best workmate (now former workmate) wait would be rude, especially when Em had worked hard to find a sitter after her regular had bailed on her earlier in the day.

“I’m already here and Emma should be rolling up any–.”

Natalie’s phone pinged.

Emma: Have you left?

“Hey, Em’s texting me. I’m gonna put you on speaker. Hang on,” Natalie said as a second text arrived.

Emma: Little George is sick. He’s puked everywhere. Even on the cat. Can’t make it tonight. So sorry. Wanted to send you off with a bang :(

So much for best laid plans.

Natalie's shoulders and spirits dropped. Her colleagues at Flawless Events had thrown her an epic going away party, but she’d been saving her sentimental energy for one last night with Emma.

“Well, damn.” Natalie blew out a breath of disappointment.

“What’s wrong?” Kate asked.

“Emma’s out,” she said, typing back the only thing she could.

Natalie: Totally ok! Hug that sweet boy for me.

“What now?” Kate asked.

Natalie sighed. “Guess I’ll grab a quick drink while I’m here. One for the road, as they say.”

Kate went silent for a moment before she said, “Wow, Nat … the end of an era.”

“End of a dumpster fire wrapped in a train wreck, you mean,” Natalie corrected. “This city even took down my beloved boots.”

“Stop it.” Kate said with firmness. “It’s not how you start, it’s how you finish, and you’re finishing strong after the whole terror ring clusterfuck.”

Natalie sat down on the edge of a large concrete planter box, her thoughts scrolling through eight years’ worth of London memories.

A city in which she experienced the highest of highs (new business, new boyfriend) and the lowest of lows (failed business, bad breakup).

An advanced degree in adulting, no matter how she sliced it.

As her dad always said: You’re either winning or learning.

“You promised you’d stop calling it that. I’ve fought hard to be taken seriously again.”

“And you are, except by that one reviewer, William. Pretty sure he still hates you.”

Natalie snorted. “Thanks.”

“Which is why you should get in there and toast yourself on a comeback for the ages. I’m proud of you. Speaking of … Cookie said to tell you he knows someone in Chicago who—”

Natalie cut her off. “No way. Cookie is very sweet to offer, but I have to do this myself.”

“I get it, but elites help elites by sharing contacts, Nat, so keep an open mind,” Kate encouraged. “Call me later if you want. And don’t forget to check-in with Pop tomorrow so he doesn’t panic.”

“I will. Love you.”

“Love you more. Now go have all the fun you can before your London meter runs out.”

Natalie laughed loud enough that it caught the attention of a couple entering the pub. They stared at her with judgmental eyes. She ignored them, turning her gaze back to the busy street.

“All the fun will be exactly one martini.”

“That’s what you think. You know how that mane of yours attracts attention everywhere you go? You’ll have ‘em lined up around the block to buy your drinks tonight. And you should let them.”

Maybe she would. Tonight was her farewell kiss to the UK—to mistakes, heartbreaks, and the personality she barely recognized during her blaze-of-glory downfall.

Tomorrow, she’d fly to Chicago for a new job at Soiree and start her dream: launching Natalie & Co, an all-female event planning firm, in eighteen months.

She just needed one thing: an investor with a fat wallet.

“You give my hair way too much credit but thank you. Talk to you later.”

She slipped her cell phone into her purse as she swung open the door to the pub, stopping a half step inside when she locked on the crowd. Not a single open table, and the line for pints stretched the entire length of the bar. Even the small darts room stood packed.

A quick drink? Not here. Natalie mulled her options.

Hit the ladies’ room, then head back to the hotel bar. Better yet, skip the drink and get a jump start on packing.

She pushed her way through to the restroom.

Inside a stall, Kate’s mention of her dear friend, Cookie, twisted in her mind.

The moment that blew up her business replayed itself: the choice she’d made to keep her ex-boyfriend, Roman, happy instead of showing up for the gala Cookie had secured for her tiny event planning company, Blaze.

She’d ducked out to Italy that weekend, dazzled by Roman’s racing debut with Team Scorpius.

Champagne, sex, and schmoozing with Grand Prix royalty.

It felt like a dream, right up until her London gala crashed and burned without her there, just as Roman had in the third lap of his race. Prophecy? Perhaps.

Her London soiree went south when two unvetted servers were arrested mid-event by a ninja-like tactical team, weapons drawn and vicious canines in tow.

Clients fled the venue, their faces painted in terror and disbelief.

Viral videos popped up all over social media in the hours that followed.

By the next morning, Blaze Events UK, the company she and two college friends poured their lives and bank accounts into—gone.

A total dragging on the internet for the ensuing chaos.

Her ex, Roman—also gone—along with her professional reputation.

Natalie washed her hands, meeting her reflection in the mirror. Her russet curls lived up to their reputation. But tonight, her hazel eyes outshone everything—bright with anticipation, confidence, and cautious hope.

Kate was right. This was a phoenix moment. She just needed one believer with deep pockets to rise from the ashes of her long-dead London dreams.

As she dried her hands, an outdated darts competition flyer caught her eye. The event had fallen on her father’s birthday, three months prior.

Her mind raced and a plan sparked.

She called Kate back. “I know how to find an investor.”

“I’m listening.”

“Pop’s 70th birthday. I know it’s still months away, but what if we throw him a massive surprise birthday party and it doubles as a showcase for Natalie & Co? This way, I’d be getting my name out in more than just Chicago.”

“You mean like a soft launch?”

“A whisper-soft launch, because I wouldn’t tell anyone at Soiree.”

“Yeah, you definitely don’t want your new boss to know you’re planning to launch a business. Or be accused of poaching clients or anything.”

“Exactly. It’ll take every dime I’ve saved over the last two years, but if I can—”

“No buts. Nat, this is a really good plan. It’s subtle. Strategic. Your best one yet. And what if we got some press to cover it? Like, a dual story of Pop’s success, training horses in Nashville for almost fifty years, and your hopes for the same success with the launch of Natalie & Co.”

A mile-long to-do list unfurled in Natalie’s brain. Call Nashville Now Magazine. Set up Natalie & Co website. Design invitations. Check availability at Terrace Oak.

“Well, there is one but actually …” Kate added.

“What?” Natalie asked.

“Your original launch goal of eighteen months?”

“So, I’ll bump it up a little.”

“A little? This would mean cutting your original timeline in half. Now I’m not saying you can’t do it—and I’ll help anyway I can—but it is something to think about. I mean, you haven’t even stepped foot in Soiree. You don’t know what your workload will be.”

She took in her reflection once more, that confident gleam more pronounced. “I can do it. As soon as I get settled in my new place, I’ll sit down and create a whole plan. Budget. Mission statement. Moodboards. Everything. Give me one week.”

Kate laughed. “Okay, okay, but maybe unpack a box or two first.”

“I’m best when I’m busy, you know that.”

“If anyone can do it, you can. Pop knows plenty of wealthy folks. You just need one who’s willing to cut you a check. And I have some money to throw at the cause. Not a ton, but I can help. And you’ll have to reign in your personal spending.”

“I know. No more expensive boots.”

“Exactly. Now go have that drink. Maybe two, now that you’ve birthed this brilliant idea.”

Call it luck or kismet or whatever, a couple of barstools stood vacant when Natalie emerged from the restroom.

She wasted no time securing one, along with the bartender's attention. He answered with a nod of his bald head. Natalie smiled in response and pulled her phone back out. She texted an old flatmate and a couple of her former colleagues, hoping to keep the night from being a total bust. All responded immediately with similar sentiments: Can’t make it.

Thinking of you. Best of luck. Safe travels tomorrow.

“And for you, miss?” The bartender slapped a fresh cocktail napkin on the bar in front of her.

"Vodka martini, please. Very dry, Eddie.”

The man nodded again as he reached for a cocktail shaker. Promptly focused on the collection of bottles on the wall behind the bar, Natalie’s new idea opened a thousand and one browser tabs in her event-planning brain.

"Actually, can you make that two?" An American man judging by his accent, took the barstool beside her. "With two olives, please, unless you have a jalapeno pepper back there."

Natalie remained vigil on the bottles. Engaging in polite chit-chat with a stranger was not on her to-do list. Thankfully, Eddie was quick with her drink. Natalie took a sip, then placed it precisely in the center of the cocktail napkin, exhaling with happy approval.

"I’ll get this first round,” the voice beside her said, pulling his wallet from his hip pocket.

This first round? As in he’s anticipating a second round? Bold, but okay, random dude. You do you, sir.

"Thanks,” she said. More of a mutter, but she hoped it conveyed a clear message. Generosity aside, she simply wasn’t interested in striking up a conversation with him.

Natalie kept her gaze straight forward, eager to disappear inside the frosty glass of Grey Goose and vermouth.

From her peripheral, she spied him removing an object from his pants pocket.

A soft click hit the bar. Something metallic.

She glanced sideways and found a vintage silver pocket stopwatch ticking away.

"Been a while since we've seen that thing," the bartender said with a grin.

"That's because there hasn't been a reason for it until now," the man replied.

Her interest piqued. While not a regular customer, she dropped in enough times to know the bartender's name, that he was also the owner, and had no problem personally tossing drunk and disorderly patrons from his establishment.

She'd never seen the gentleman beside her.

Not that she'd taken a real good look at him—but she'd have definitely remembered his voice and his slow southern drawl.

A refreshing sound but painfully out of place in London.

"How long you givin' it?" Eddie asked.

"This one might take a little while. Not sure I'll be setting any records.”

"Never know what the cosmos has in store for us, do we? I have a feeling tonight might be the exact opposite.” Eddie winked.

Their conversation ended. Eddie pried open cardboard wine boxes with a pair of utility scissors.

The man beside her nursed his martini. As discreetly as possible, she eyed the stopwatch.

Natalie knew his game. His methods were unconventional, creative, and snarky.

A trifecta of sorts. She couldn't help but play along. She was single. It was her last night. She’d never see him again. Why not have a little fun?

She pulled her cell phone from her purse, typed a quick text, then placed it face up on the bar. Right on cue it rang.

"Hey," she answered the call, louder than normal.

"Thought you might want to know tonight’s gimmick.

What? Oh, it's a stopwatch. What's with men today?

My guess is that he's trying to get me to ask him about it.

No, I'm not gonna ask him. My plan is to sit here and finish the drink he bought me while he sweats it out.

I'm sure he's used this trick hundreds of times. Even the bartender knows it."

Eddie stopped slicing and looked up, his mouth agape.

"Looks like she had your number from the get-go," he finally said, his normally gruff voice now sing-songy.

"Oh, I don't mind, as long as I leave here with hers.” He raised his glass to Eddie.

Ha! As if!

She shoved her phone back in her purse, then turned toward him, only to lose her breath half a second later. A rugged-handsome face. Eyes the color of an endless Texas sky. A strong jaw, dotted with dark stubble that matched his thick hair. Hair just begging for her fingers.

Oh, man. You are a handsome one. And those blue eyes? Damn. My greatest weakness.

Rowdy cheers erupted from the direction of the darts room, breaking her stare.

“Thanks for the drink, but I’m working on a clock of my own tonight.” Natalie pushed the stopwatch back in his direction, exchanging a look with Eddie.