Royal Scandals: Scandal With A Prince Part 14

That pulled a laugh from her. "I was thinking that these last few weekends have been wonderful."

"I told you we could make this work." Before she could argue with whether make it work was the proper standard for considering marriage, his gaze softened. "I know we're not exactly living in the real world. I can't hide under a baseball hat all the time and you can't hide our relations.h.i.+p from your coworkers, given that you live where you work. But what's important is that we make this work between us. You and me. If that happens, the rest will fall into place. I believe that with all my heart."

With that simple word, us, he addressed one of her biggest fears. Perhaps he did want her for her, and for what the two of them could be together, rather than because she was the mother of his child.

A plaintive beep sounded from one of the kitchen stools, where she'd dropped her handbag after returning from the beach. She ignored it and smoothed her hand over the front of Stefano's s.h.i.+rt, feeling the firm muscle and strong heartbeat beneath her fingertips.

Stefano was larger than life, yet so very human. If she chose the path he offered, which part would dictate her life? The prince or the man? She leaned into him, absorbing his heat as she touched her lips to the spot her fingers explored. All she had to do was say a single word and her world would change.

Take the leap. Trust him. Trust yourself. As Stefano said, the rest would fall into place.

She smiled against Stefano's chest, remembering that those were the exact words her mother used when Megan discovered she was pregnant with Anna. She'd tearfully informed her mother that she couldn't comprehend balancing motherhood, graduate school, and a career that hadn't even started. She'd never forget her mother's straightforward response.

Love the child. The rest will fall into place. Her mother repeated that mantra several times during Anna's bouts of colic. While there'd been a tough period of adjustment, eventually, her mother had been proven right. The rest had fallen into place. Now Megan couldn't imagine what life would've been like without Anna, nor did she want to.

It could be the same with Stefano, if she let it. She couldn't imagine life without him. Not anymore.

She swallowed hard. What she said in the next breath would change her life forever.

When Megan's cell phone emitted a second beep, Stefano pressed a soft kiss to her forehead. "I hate to say it, but should you get that in case it's Anna?"

Despite reminders, Anna probably forgot her toothbrush or pajamas. "Wouldn't be surprised. Her timing is terrible."

She reluctantly left his embrace to fetch her phone. She frowned at the screen, which displayed Ramon's office number. "It's the hotel manager."

Stefano gestured for her to take the call.

"Good afternoon, Megan," came the familiar voice. "I hate to interrupt your weekend, but are you on the premises?"

"Yes." He wouldn't need her in the hotel on a Sunday unless it was urgent. Perhaps Santi's attempt to locate her earlier was related. "Is there a problem?"

"No problem, but would you mind coming to my office? Mr. Gladwell is here from the UK and we have something important to discuss with you. Shouldn't take longer than ten or fifteen minutes."

"Of course." She glanced at Stefano, who had crossed the room to pull a large manila envelope from his overnight bag, which was tucked alongside the sofa. "But I'm not dressed for-"

"You're fine as you are. We'll see you shortly."

She clicked off the phone and set it on the countertop. So much for her conversation-and whatever else she'd been about to do-with Stefano.

"Trouble?" Stefano asked as he tapped the envelope against his palm.

"I don't think so. The hotel's owner is visiting from London." Her heart thrummed as she began to grasp the enormity of her next sentence. "He's in Ramon's office. They want to see me right away."

"Jack Gladwell owns the Grandspire, doesn't he?" Stefano didn't hide his surprise at her reference to the world-famous billionaire. "Were you expecting him?"

"Yes. And no. I mean, I've certainly never been invited to meet with him before. He usually swoops in and out without telling a soul. I'd hoped he'd attend the grand reopening, but his sister's wedding was the same weekend." Suddenly fl.u.s.tered, she swept a hand along her casual sundress and flip flops. "Ramon told me not to change, but I'll at least slip into slacks."

She took a step toward her bedroom, then stopped. "I'm sorry, Stefano. We were talking about-"

"Don't worry about it. I'll have my car service come now." He flipped the envelope so she couldn't see what was printed on the front. "From what I understand, Jack Gladwell isn't free with his time. We can talk next weekend."

She wanted to finish their conversation today, wherever it led. Another week would fray her last nerve. Plus, now she was curious about the contents of Stefano's envelope. She had the feeling it was meant for her.

"They said it'd only take ten or fifteen minutes, so figure thirty at the most. You're welcome to wait here." It was all she could do not to add a begging please to the end of the sentence. She wanted to spend the rest of her life with him. She'd be d.a.m.ned if she let a random cameraman or even a billionaire stop her from telling Stefano what she felt. She was ready to take the leap.

He turned to sit on the sofa, sliding the envelope back into his bag as he did so. "In that case, I'll see you in a half hour."

On first glance, few people would recognize Jack Gladwell as one of the richest, most business-savvy men in the world. With ruffled blond hair worn in a style slightly longer than was fas.h.i.+onable, tanned skin, and windburned cheeks, he looked as if he'd just stepped off a boat. A light coating of freckles dusted arms sufficiently muscular to haul crates or fis.h.i.+ng lines with ease, and his casually untucked gray b.u.t.ton-down s.h.i.+rt, jeans, and well-worn loafers added to his relaxed appearance.

However, on second glance, Jack Gladwell left no doubts about his abilities. His wide stance and straight spine betrayed the type of inner confidence a man gained only through experience and repeated, hard-won success. Despite his crooked smile, a sharp intelligence filled his gaze. He appeared able to size up a person in a few seconds and use that information to his advantage. As Megan entered Ramon's s.p.a.cious office, Jack Gladwell stood near the panoramic window, seemingly oblivious to the stunning view behind him as he turned that a.s.sessing gaze toward Megan.

"Thanks for coming down on a Sunday, Megan," Ramon said, striding across his office to close the door behind her. "I'd like you to meet Jack Gladwell."

The British billionaire's light blue eyes danced with amus.e.m.e.nt as he approached her. He clasped Megan's hand in both of his and raised one eyebrow. "You changed clothes, didn't you?"

"I did," she admitted. "I couldn't bring myself to enter Ramon's office in an old sundress and flip flops. I hope you weren't waiting long."

"Not at all." He released her hand and gestured for her to take one of the two empty seats in front of Ramon's desk. Once she did, he took the other and turned it to face her. "I'll get right to the point, Megan. I have both good news and bad news to share with you."

Megan glanced at Ramon, who'd moved to stand behind Jack Gladwell, but he didn't appear concerned. In fact, he seemed to be holding back a smile.

"First, I'm afraid that Ramon will be leaving his position as manager of the Grandspire at the end of the summer," Jack said. "He's done excellent work here and I like to reward those who look after my financial interests. Therefore, I've asked him to join me in London, where he'll oversee my entire hotel business."

"That's terrific, though he'll be greatly missed here," she said. Ramon had worked hard with little credit to rebuild the Grandspire. The promotion was well-earned. "Having worked with him here the last few years, I can a.s.sure you that you'll be thrilled with your decision."

"I already am," Jack replied. "It's an entirely new position, created to ensure a consistently high level of quality across all twelve of my worldwide hotel properties. If anyone can keep a tight rein on such diverse locations, I believe it's Ramon."

She agreed. So why had she been called down?

Then the realization hit her: Jack Gladwell was restructuring his entire hotel division. She was going to be let go before she had the opportunity to leave on her own. She glanced to Ramon, then back to Jack once more, hoping her face didn't betray her emotions. "If that's the good news, what's the bad news?"

"That is the bad news, as it means I no longer have a manager at what has become my premier hotel property. Given the success of the Grandspire's revitalization, I'm quite particular about who will take Ramon's place. It's money in my pocket if I choose the right person and a great loss if I don't. Besides, it'd be a d.a.m.ned shame to see all Ramon's hard work go to waste. Don't you agree?"

"Of course." She smiled at Ramon. "We've learned a lot from him here."

"That's what I thought." He leaned forward, placing his elbows on his knees to look her in the eye. "Which is why I want you to take over the Grandspire, Megan. Are you up to the challenge?"

Megan's jaw felt as if it'd frozen shut. Jack Gladwell, one of the wealthiest, most powerful men in the world, had traveled to Spain to personally offer her a job running his highest-profile hotel? He hardly knew her.

He must have known what was going through her mind because he explained, "I realize that this comes from out of the blue, but Ramon has kept me apprised of your work here the last few years. I've looked over your reports as well as your conference bookings. You're astute when it comes to bringing in business and antic.i.p.ating customer needs, and your staff adores you despite the fact you drive them hard. Ramon is confident you're the best choice for the position, as am I."

His praise made it difficult to find her voice. "I'm honored."

"So you'll take the job?"

No wonder Jack Gladwell was a billionaire. He spoke with the confidence of a man who always got what he wanted. "Do you need a decision today?"

The grin that spread over his tanned face surprised her. "Now that's the kind of response I'd hoped to hear." He turned to Ramon and said, "You told me she was smart."

At Ramon's shrug, Jack faced Megan again and said, "I like that you don't allow yourself to be railroaded into a quick decision."

"I wasn't aware I was being railroaded," she replied. Though of course she was.

"Let me know by Friday." He picked up a manila file folder from Ramon's desk and offered it to her. "This is a summary of your compensation package. I won't negotiate beyond this, so don't bother asking. You'll find it more than generous. In return, I expect you to remain as dedicated to the Grandspire as you have been since Ramon hired you. More so, if possible. I need people like you in my organization, Megan."

She accepted the folder without opening it. "Thank you, Mr. Gladwell."

He clapped his hands on his knees, then stood. "Call me Jack. And call me by Friday."

Chapter Twenty-One.

Megan kept the folder closed as she took the mezzanine stairs from Ramon's office down to the lobby. A month ago, every fiber of her being would've been overcome with the urge to whip open the folder and peruse its contents. An offer like Gladwell's was what she'd been working toward her whole life. Whatever the folder contained, it would mean security for her and Anna. She knew what Ramon's compensation had been as manager. She doubted Gladwell would offer her any less, especially given that she'd been with the Grandspire for several years already. She'd be able to sock away enough to cover Anna's college tuition without worrying about meeting her other expenses. Perhaps she could even afford to fly her parents here once in a while, rather than having them absorb the cost. But as wonderful as the financial security might be, the position itself meant more. She'd have the power to shape the Grandspire for years to come, she'd have Jack Gladwell's ear, and she'd have the ability to move to any job she wanted in the future.

It was a dream come true.

However, it would mean saying no to Stefano, which meant trading one dream for another. No matter what she did, the price would be steep.

She forced a smile as she approached an animated-looking group a.s.sembled near the bottom of the stairs, most of whom were studying city maps as they waited for the bus driver to pull around to the entry for the hotel's regular Sunday afternoon shopping tour. After giving one woman directions to the nearest restroom and promising that the bus would wait, Megan checked her watch. Still plenty of time before Stefano's driver arrived. As she pa.s.sed the registration desk on her way to the main bank of elevators, she caught a glimpse of Cristina speaking to a guest.

"Shoot," Megan mumbled to herself, remembering that she'd promised to call Santi. She'd see what he needed after Stefano went to the airport. For what was normally her quietest day of the week, this Sunday was turning out to be quite eventful.

She exhaled, her mind racing a mile a minute as she traversed the s.p.a.cious lobby. She couldn't tell Stefano about the job offer, not yet. She needed to contemplate it with no outside influence, even-perhaps especially-without Stefano's influence. He'd asked far too many questions about her job hunt already. She clutched the folder a little tighter. Perhaps the offer from Gladwell was the universe's way of stopping her from making a mistake, marrying a man who didn't love her back.

She punched the elevator b.u.t.ton harder than necessary, frustrated with herself for allowing doubt to creep in where it shouldn't. Half an hour ago, she'd been ready to accept Stefano's proposal. When she saw Stefano, her gut would tell her what to do.

h.e.l.l, she knew without seeing him again what she'd do.

A long Sat.u.r.day spent walking La Rambla and enjoying the Magic Fountain with Anna showed her that Stefano was everything she'd believed when they'd first met in Venezuela. She loved that man-self-a.s.sured, witty, caring, and, yes, s.e.xy as all get-out-whether or not he wore a crown or lived in a royal palace. Being a royal was his circ.u.mstance, not his character. Circ.u.mstances could be adjusted, or you could adjust to the circ.u.mstances. But character didn't change. The weekends that followed their day on La Rambla only cemented her belief.

The rest will fall into place.

The lights over the doors ticked off the floors as an elevator approached. She'd never seen the numbers change so slowly. She needed to see Stefano, and she needed to see him now.

As she reached out to hit the b.u.t.ton again, a beefy hand came to rest on her forearm. "Megan."

She turned to see a familiar face. "Santi. I was just about to call you." If "just about" meant a solid hour from now, after Stefano left for the airport.

"I have looked everywhere for you." The heavily-accented voice was hushed, breathless. She started at the rapid rise and fall of his chest. The man who never ran anywhere had apparently chased her across the lobby.

"What's wrong?" He appeared on the verge of collapse.

A family approached as the elevator doors opened to spill another large group into the lobby. Santi waved for the family to go ahead and take the free elevator, apparently needing to speak with her in private.

Once the crowd cleared, Megan said, "Now you're worrying me. The last time I saw you this serious, you had a banquet to serve and half your staff ill."

"This is worse. This is about you." His eyebrows puckered in concern. "Have you heard any...any news today?"

"News?" Had he somehow learned that she was being offered the manager's position? If so, why would he consider that to be bad news? "I don't think so."

He puffed out a breath through his nostrils. "Come with me."

Could no one tell her anything straight today? "Can it hold for an hour or so? I have someone waiting for me upstairs."

Stating that she had a guest in her suite only seemed to increase his agitation level. "I will be quick. Please, we should talk in my office."

He led her through a service door to the back hallway that connected the banquet rooms to the kitchen. Once in his domain, he wound his way through the cooking area at lightning speed, then past rows of stainless steel shelving and the hotel's two commercial dishwashers to his closet-sized office in the very back of the kitchen. Though small, the s.p.a.ce was neat. Menus and order forms occupied bulletin boards on the walls. An ap.r.o.n hung on a corner rack and a photo of Santi's wife and children stood in a place of honor on his utilitarian desk. He opened the desk drawer and withdrew a page ripped from a newspaper, then held it out to her. "This was in yesterday's edition of ultima Celebridad. Have you seen it?"

She took the clipping and scanned the article that dominated the top of the page. Her Spanish was far from perfect, but she gathered that it was an account of local soccer stars who'd engaged in a bar brawl after losing an important game to Real Madrid. The fight happened nearly a mile from the hotel. She quirked her mouth at Santi. "I don't get it. Were some of our employees involved?"

"No, no...not the article. The photo below it."

Her eye moved past the soccer news to the bottom of the page. There, in black and white, was a hazy photo of her sitting cross-legged on the gra.s.s with Anna's head in her lap. Beside her, Stefano was pulling off his sungla.s.ses and smiling at her. It had been taken almost two months ago, the night they'd visited the Magic Fountain. She couldn't prevent her sharp intake of breath when she saw the caption. Roughly translated, it read: Royal in Disguise! Secret Girlfriend Has Child!

A paragraph-long blurb followed, speculating that the man in the photo was Prince Stefano Barrali, whose whereabouts during the weekend in question could not be verified. It went on to question the ident.i.ty of the woman in the photo and her possible relations.h.i.+p to the prince.

She sat on the edge of Santi's desk to reread the paragraph. Though the caption could be read to indicate that Stefano fathered the mystery child, nothing in the paragraph itself indicated that, nor did Santi seem to have considered that possibility.

"I had no idea," she said. "This was several weeks ago. I didn't think anyone photographed us." She hadn't seen any cameras aimed their way. Nor was the shot taken from the direction where Ilsa and her companions were seated, snapping fountain photos with their phones.

But the published photo might explain the man on the beach. Given that this was yesterday's paper, someone could have figured out her ident.i.ty and followed her today, hoping she'd lead to the prince. Or they might've followed Stefano from his hotel, hoping to discover his mystery woman. If so, there wasn't anything she could do about it now.

Besides, it wouldn't matter at all once she told Stefano yes. After that, it'd only be a matter of time before their relations.h.i.+p became public.

A busboy carried a tray of dishes past Santi's office. The chef cut behind Megan to close the door against the clattering of plates being loaded into the dishwasher. "My cousin works in advertising at the paper. When I saw this last night, I asked him off the record if he could find out how it was acquired. He said that a Belgian tourist was looking at her family photos after she returned home from vacation and noticed a man who appeared to be Prince Stefano in the background. She sold the photo to the paper, who cropped it to focus on you."

"This is all speculative," she said quietly as she continued to stare at the photo. "The photo was a fluke. The paper can't even say for sure that it's Stefano."

"The prince is difficult to identify," he admitted. "And Anna's face is also hard to see. But your face is very clear. This is a popular tabloid, Megan. Many of the employees read it while they're commuting to work on the bus or the metro. It will not be long before someone here identifies you, if they haven't already. I did."

"You are also the only person on the planet who knows he's visited me in my suite."

He ignored her comment, mumbling to himself as she continued to study the photo. "I hear things, you know. Things that make me think you are in trouble."

Her head whipped up. "What things?"

"I hear that you are out nearly every weekend. No one sees you come or go or knows where you are. I hear that Anna has not seen as much of her friends as usual." He waited a beat for drama before adding, "And I hear that Jack Gladwell is in the building today. It cannot be coincidence. The head of housekeeping insisted she saw him in Ramon's office-"

Megan shook her head at her friend. "Dear, dear Santi. I love you to death, but you are a worrywart. Mr. Gladwell is here, but I doubt a grainy black and white photo on the twentieth page of a gossip rag registers on his radar. He certainly didn't mention it."

Santi's eyes widened at her slip. "You have seen Jack Gladwell? In person? You spoke with him?"