Chapter 2 #3
She was pretty sure she had just made her first friend in a very long time
The rest of the day was an experience in diminishing returns.
Nobody was outright mean to her, but they weren’t exactly friendly either.
When Lauren went into the office’s small communal kitchen to make herself a pretty awful instant coffee, conversation wilted away until she was the only one in there.
Setting up her Palace-issued iPhone had been a challenge since nobody was answering the IT number, and when she finally got it up and running, she was immediately inundated with spam emails, including one that cheerily began, “Hello Pervert!” The phone, she was later warned, would be wiped every fourteen days for security reasons, so if she wanted anything saved, it needed to be stored in the cloud.
(The same cloud where Amelia had hopefully saved a folder titled something like “State Visit: Everything You Need to Know!” because there were certainly no documents left on her desk.)
At least one productive thing came from that afternoon: a tall whiteboard that Lauren had wheeled into her office and set
to work covering in Post-its with the names of all the royals who were even remotely related to her new job—past, present;
working and nonworking. It was a very colorful family tree in more ways than one, and Lauren just hoped that the extensive
British monarchy Wikipedia page would not lead her astray.
James was ensconced in his office for most of the day, either loudly tapping on his keyboard or quietly talking on the phone
behind closed doors. Which was better than Eugene, who seemed to have come up with a thousand reasons to walk past her office
door, sighing every time he did so.
At first, Lauren did her best to ignore him by focusing on her project. She made it through the Prince and Princess of Strathearn
and their teenage twin son and daughter. Everything after that got a bit . . . crowded. But when Eugene walked past and sighed
again, Lauren put down the Post-its. “Eugene, can I help you with something?” she asked. “My office doorway seems to have
a magnetic pull on you.”
There was a pause in footsteps, then Eugene doubled back. “Yes,” he said tightly. “It feels as if you’ve accepted this job
with little to no regard for the history of the institution or the family.”
Lauren just nodded. “Yes, I got that impression from you several times today.”
“This job is not a game or a chance to show off to those back in the States,” he continued. “Bribing us with sweets, initiating
all of these American concepts.”
“I suggested press briefings,” Lauren said. “I didn’t say that we should stage the Super Bowl halftime show on Palace grounds.”
“What you don’t understand,” Eugene said, ignoring her, “is that discretion and decorum are at the heart of this institution.
It’s not about access or seeming more friendly or accommodating. It’s bad enough that some of the family have been forced onto social media. But you want to set up a stage like they’re
here for entertainment, and I want you to know that I will do everything I can to protect Her Majesty from any . . . any crassness.”
“Well, since that is your literal job, then okay,” Lauren said. This wasn’t the first time a male coworker had tried to mansplain her job to her, but it was
the first time it had happened in a foreign country where she had jet lag, no friends, and all of four outfits.
“You do what’s right for your job, Eugene,” she continued. “And I’ll do what’s right for mine.”
Eugene sputtered as Lauren sat back in her chair. “Fine,” he said. “But when this whole plan of yours collapses, I’ll be the
first one to point out that I was right.”
“I have no doubt,” Lauren said, turning back to her laptop like she had several important emails to send, instead of deleting
more spam.
She did have a doubt, though. She had several, and glancing back at her Post-it tree, she felt some of her confidence collapse.
It wasn’t just Eugene’s criticism of her plans or the hushed silence that met her in the communal kitchen.
What really rung in her ears was James’s tone when he talked about Amelia’s “leave of absence” for “personal issues.” It made her feel like someone was pressing on a bruise that she thought had healed, and she couldn’t help but wonder if someone back at the White House was talking about her in the exact same judgmental way.
And then she wondered if anyone was even talking about her at all.
An email popped up from Sarah Collins, the head of human resources, with a number of admin-related forms attached. “Hope you’re
settling in well,” it read. “Just wanted to add that, while there isn’t a written dress code, it is advisable that you always
keep a black outfit in the office or with you on travels (in the event of tragic news) and pair your skirts with pantyhose
or tights.”
Lauren glanced down at her bare legs. As she thought about it, she realized that every other woman, Joy included, was wearing
them.
Damn it. She loathed pantyhose.
She sat down at her desk, ready to respond to Sarah, when she found herself looking at her personal phone and logging into
Facebook. She didn’t have many notifications, just a few birthday reminders for friends she no longer kept in touch with,
and she deleted them before moving up to the search bar and typing in “Callum McConnell.”
Her father’s profile came up right away, probably because Lauren had searched for it a few times over the past month. She
had recognized the old photo as a handful of the ones her mother hadn’t destroyed after he had left when Lauren was eight
years old. She hated that the old photo made her feel a bit sad. Had no one taken a photo of him since then?
His location was still the same: Aberdeen, Scotland.
It hadn’t changed ever since the first time she had looked him up years ago.
She had tried to explain it to Brian once, why after everything she still felt drawn to her father, but she couldn’t translate her feelings into words and Brian was a man who dealt in facts.
“Who gives a shit where he lives?” Brian had said. “He left you and your mom when you were a kid. Fuck him. You should just
block him.”
“Yeah,” Lauren had said, and then never brought it up again.
Her fingers hovered over the phone, and just as she was about to take the plunge and begin a message to Callum, the sound
of heavy rain began to batter the glass of the French doors in her office. Despite the bare surroundings of her empty white
office, the tall doors behind her heavy oak desk framed the perfect view of the Buckingham Palace gardens. She had debated
opening them earlier to step out and have a closer look but feared that royal security detail would swoop in out of nowhere
and tackle her to the ground. Just like the White House was in DC, Buckingham Palace was probably one of the safest buildings
in the city to be in—
But security, Post-its, and her dad all left Lauren’s mind when the doors suddenly slammed open, letting in heavy rain, a
gust of wind, and a tall Yeti of a man with a bicycle.
Lauren shrieked and wished she hadn’t bailed on that self-defense class Brooke signed them up for last year.
The raincoat-clad Sasquatch came to a halt, bright blue eyes wide as water dripped off his hair and unkempt beard. He had
a bagel clamped between his teeth. He started to say something, then paused and took the bagel out of his mouth. “You’re not
Amelia.”
“I-I’ve taken self-defense classes,” Lauren managed to stammer.
“Definitely not Amelia,” the Yeti said, with the slightest hint of an Aussie or South African accent. “Where’s Amelia?”
“I’m the new Amelia,” Lauren said, “For now at least. And you can’t come bursting into someone’s office like this and getting water—oh, will you shut the door already? You’re ruining my work! Damn it,” she sighed as another gust of wind sent an entire branch of her royal family tree to the floor.
“Apologies, apologies,” he said, pushing the doors shut with one of his muddy boots. “Amelia let me cut through her office
so I don’t have to go all the way around. Probably should have knocked first.” He glanced at Lauren’s family tree project.
“Well then,” he said. “Forgive me, but shouldn’t you have already learned all of this? Or are you just trying to bankrupt
the monarchy via their office supplies?”
“I’m a visual learner,” Lauren shot back. “And the royal family tree is more like a forest.”
“Very fair, very fair,” the man replied. He stood back from the board for a moment, sizing it up, then bent down to retrieve
a fallen Post-it. “May I?” he asked.
Lauren just nodded.
He reached forward and swapped the Earl of Winchester with the late Earl of Lancaster. “There,” he said with some satisfaction.
“Oh.” Lauren stood back.
The Yeti smiled. He really was a mass of wet hair and ugly cycling gear. He laughed. “I was just cutting through and forgot
about the regime change entirely.” He picked up his bike and his bagel. “I’ll have to find a new secret passage.”
“Wait,” Lauren said. “Which department do you even work in? What’s your job? If it’s in the mailroom, I need to drop this
off, actually,” she added, holding up an envelope.
Lauren saw what she thought was a smirk behind that unruly-looking beard. After a beat, he turned to the whiteboard and pointed toward the Post-its. “Pick one,” he said, then nodded at her as he took the envelope and wheeled his bike out of the room.
Lauren looked at the whiteboard, covered in names and titles of very, very important people. WTF.
Lauren made her way to the office kitchenette, hoping there would be some doughnuts left. She could use a sugar fix after
that embarrassing encounter. She spotted the box, and luckily there was one left. She was about to bite into it when she had
an idea and grabbed a plate.
She knocked on Joy’s office door. “Come in!” Joy said, sounding as chipper as Eugene had sounded irked. “Well, hello you.
How’s the first day?”