Prince: Royal Romantic Suspense (Billionaires in Disguise: Maxence Book 5) by Blair Babylon (best ereader for comics .TXT) 📗

as tall as Maxence. The two of them towered with their heads near the top of the door frame, only inches away from scraping their scalps if they’d walked through.

Dree could instantly tell that guy was not the type to ever fade away. His blond hair just past his shoulders seemed perpetually being blown back by the forward momentum of his ambition, and his personality was so large that it would have filled the office, except that the other man present was Maxence.

The new guy looked a whole lot like Max in his facial features—hard cheekbones and the jawlines like square angles, body language and stance like he knew he owned the room, plus a sexy smolder in his dark eyes. He wore a black suit with his shirt open at the collar.

The woman with him wore a blue sleeveless dress that skimmed her slim body, and her tanned calves were lean like she was a runner. She glanced around the office, checking out the bookcases that lined the walls far, far up to the thick crown moulding on the ceiling far above. Her shoulders hunched just a little, as if she was intimidated by the majestic dimensions of the room.

Maxence grabbed the man around his shoulders and embraced him, kissing him on both cheeks and then going in for a long hug, clapping his palms on the guy’s shoulders and laughing. “Alexandre! I can’t believe you’re home already.”

The man wrapped his arm around the back of Max’s shoulders, their suit jackets almost the same color except that Max’s had a midnight blue cast to the dark fabric.

Alexandre said, “Couldn’t stay away.”

“Thanks for keeping me informed about the machinations in my absence,” Max said, still hugging.

“We both have an interest in that.”

They were still hugging it out.

Dree lowered the tablet to her knees, watching the hug-fest.

The other woman was watching them with a bemused smile. One of her eyebrows floated up as the hug did not end.

The hug went on for far longer than Dree had expected, the two men clapping their arms around each other’s shoulders and then stepping back and holding each other at arm’s length.

Yeah, those Europeans were weird.

When Max broke away, Alexandre flipped his long blond hair behind his shoulder and extended his hand to draw the woman into the conversation, revealing a black cast on his left arm and hand like he’d broken it. “Max, you old dog, allow me to introduce the love of my life, my bride, Her Grace Georgianna Grimaldi, Duchess Valentinois.”

The woman’s smile froze. She extended her hand to shake. “Call me Georgie. Just Georgie.”

She didn’t sound British, French, or Russian like everybody else around Monaco seemed to.

And that guy seemed familiar, though Dree could not imagine where she might have ever met a nobleman from Monaco.

That hair flip, though. Dree had an odd memory of someone who looked like this guy pulling his hair aside because he had a strap of some kind over his shoulder.

Lights flashed around him, too.

Weird.

Alexandre continued, “Georgie, my love, allow me to present my cousin, Deacon Father Maxence Grimaldi, who denies he is Prince Maxence of Monaco and the heir apparent to the throne.”

Maxence smiled smoothly, and Dree could see his eyes sparkle from where she was sitting. He took the woman’s hand between both of his. “I do indeed deny it. Please call me Maxence. It is a pleasure to meet you at last, Your Grace. I could swear I’ve met you somewhere before.”

The woman shook her head and said firmly, “Nope.”

“But you look so familiar—”

“Absolutely not.”

Dree looked back at the nonsense she’d written on her tablet, trying to remain invisible. Everybody who hung around Maxence seemed to have royal or noble titles. They must think she really was a nobody.

Maxence walked toward her and the desk and said, “Come in and sit down. We should plan our palace coup. Would you like coffee or something stronger?”

The woman, Georgie, said, “Coffee,” as the guy said, “Something stronger.”

Maxence said to Dree, “For your notes, these are Their Graces Alexandre and Georgie Grimaldi, Duke and Duchess of Valentinois.”

She wrote that down.

He went on to talk to them without introducing her.

Dree sat on her chair and kept her eyes glued to her tablet.

Maxence returned to his seat behind the desk and gestured at the two other chairs in front of it. He sat at the desk, his posture regal and solidly in charge, and asked his two guests, “Any specific type of coffee or ‘stronger?’”

Georgie said, “Black.”

Alexandre said, “Scotch.” He dropped into the far chair, almost reclining with his long legs stretched out, utterly at ease in a prince’s office in a palace.

Dree wrote their beverages of choice down on her tablet, maybe still trying to mimic a dutiful secretary or just doodling because she still wasn’t being introduced, so it wasn’t like she had anything better to do.

She wrote something about wool.

Maxence pressed the button on the desk phone and put in an order for refreshments. He sneaked a glance at the man and said to the duchess, “Again, it is certainly a pleasure to finally meet the woman who tamed the savage rock star, Xan Valentine.”

Xan Valentine?

Dree looked at him.

One of her friends had ordered a Killer Valentine concert on pay-per-view for a house party. The lead singer of the rock band was named Xan Valentine.

When Dree looked at the guy again, yeah—oh my God, yeah—that was Xan-freaking-Valentine the rock star who was sitting down on that chair just past the woman, right there.

This was so weird. Dree had steeled herself to meet royals and rich people, but she’d never thought a rock star was going to sit six feet away from her.

But the admin outside the office had said this guy was the Duke of Valentinois, a Monegasque nobleman, not a rock star.

He couldn’t be both, right?

Dree must have something mixed up.

This was all too weird.

“Hi there.” Duchess Georgie of Valentinois had caught Dree staring at her husband.

Dree perked up, and she tried not