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

Sault’s eyes tracked downward, and his voice was lower. “I don’t know. It may have just been surveillance.”

May have been. “I want him out of the palace.”

“And where should I assign him, sir?”

“That’s your job. I just want him out.”

“Yes, sir.”

“You’re dismissed.”

Quentin Sault pivoted and marched toward the door.

“Sault.”

He turned back. “Yes, sir?”

Maxence stared at him, trying to pin him to the wall with his eyes. “How did my uncle, Prince Jules, know exactly what time I would arrive at the heliport yesterday?”

Sault drew himself up a little straighter. “Did he?”

“His car drove up, and he walked onto the tarmac just as our helicopter touched down. The helicopter flight from Nice is only seven minutes. Considering Monaco’s hellacious traffic, Jules had to have left his apartment in the Odeon Tower before my plane from Nepal touched down in Nice. He knew I was coming.”

Not one stiff, gray hair on Sault’s head even twitched. “I’ll look into it.”

“That will be all.”

Dammit, what was the use of owning an army if Maxence couldn’t trust them?

He rubbed one side of his face.

All the more reason to find someone electable and get them crowned, so he could get himself and Dree the hell out of Monaco.

Chapter Seven

Kir Sokolov

Dree

Back in the servants’ area of the castle, Dree sought out Chiara, who was in the business office inputting numbers in spreadsheets. The palace areas where the royals held events and receptions were ornate, every square inch studded with priceless antiques or art.

The staff areas were mostly underground, windowless, and utilitarian. Tube lighting buzzed in the ceiling fixtures above spartan desks and net-backed office chairs. The faint scent of damp rock permeated the space despite an air filter whirring in the corner.

Chiara’s dark blond hair was as perfectly coiffed as the day before, except her bun at the nape of her neck was smoothly braided instead of a shiny knot. Her chic dress was burgundy instead of black. She held her hands clasped at her waist and ducked her head as she asked Dree in her low, calm voice, “Did your appointment proceed properly?”

“Oh, yeah,” Dree said, nodding so hard she could see her blond curls swaying around the edges of her vision. “I took notes on everything they said, did a quick summary at the top of the take-aways, and handed the tablet back to him.”

“And then you transmitted your notes to the archives?”

“Um.” Dree paused. “Archives?”

Chiara nodded slowly. “All notes must be deposited in the archives. The Prince, or in this case, Prince Maxence, is the head of state and the government. All documents and items that go through his hands must be deposited. All notes or recordings of conversations must be archived.”

“Okay, I’ll do that next time.” She guessed she wouldn’t be doodling rock band logos on her notes anymore.

“Were you using one of the palace’s tablets to take notes?”

“I think so. Max—I mean, His Serene Highness, Prince Maxence—gave it to me to take notes on.”

Chiara’s regulation smile softened. “Then it’s all right. Documents on those tablets are uploaded automatically to the archive cloud.”

Including her Killer Valentine doodle. Awesome. A winged guitar and the words Duke Alexandre Valentinwah is XAN VALENTINE OMG IT ALL FITS would be preserved in her curly writing in Monaco’s archives forever.

Great.

Just great.

“But that’s not what I’m here for,” Dree said. She pulled her cell phone out of the little beige satchel-bag that Chiara had picked out for her the night before. “Could I get the palace’s WiFi password?”

“Oh, of course. And here, I’ll admit you to the network.”

Chiara handed Dree a business card with an impressively long line of gobbledygook on it. When Dree had meticulously pecked it all in, Chiara found her device and authorized access for her phone. “You should be all set now.”

Just as Chiara finished her sentence, Dree’s phone buzzed.

Texts and notifications poured down her screen.

“Oh!”

They kept coming.

Dree grimaced. “I guess it has been a month.”

And yet more bings and buzzing.

“Okay, this is ridiculous,” she said.

The stream slowed and ended.

Chiara smiled at her. “You’re very popular.”

“Uh, yeah.” Dree started reading.

Many were expressions of concern or outright demands to know where she was from work friends, relatives, and people in her apartment complex.

Dree—Dree honey—Dree are you there—Dree are you coming to work?

Aunt Mortie is sick but she’ll be okay. But she wants phone calls. (eyeroll emoji) Call Aunt Mortie.—Jesus, you didn’t call Aunt Mortie and she’s pissed.

This is to notify you that your request for the return of your security deposit has been denied due to cleaning issues.

What do you get when you cross an MRSA staph infection with syphilis? Room 4929 and Dr. Luis in hazmat gear. (picture of a portly man in a yellow spacesuit)

Hey, what up babe.—Fine don’t talk to me.—You should smile more.

Loretta Mabel has shared a photo album with you. Press here . . .

Mandi: Oh my God, Sis, thank you so so so much for the money. I can’t believe how much therapy and supplements I was able to get for Victor. He’s improving. He’s improving! He signed to me that he wanted milk this morning! And he drank it because that’s what he wanted! MILK! I’ve never been so damned excited about freaking MILK in my life! He hasn’t destroyed anything or slammed into me or bounced off a wall for a week! Neither one of us have any fresh bruises. Thank you. Thank you. May Mary bless you forever.

Dree had to stop for a moment and breathe. Milk. Victor had never purposely signed anything. The reduction in self-injurious behavior and violence was amazing.

Okay, she had to keep the money going.

More texts flooded her phone.

Text C to confirm your dentist appointment on December 8th.

Saw this in Gaggle Magazine and thought you’d like it. (Picture of shirtless vampire actor from TV.)

I’m bored. Call me.—You there?—Hey, Dree? Good Sam says you were fired. U ok?—Dree, I need you to call or text or something. I’m worried.

You have a new statement from Southwestern Medical Group.

Hey