He nodded, trying not to seem impatient. He had signed up with the excuse of “job shadowing” because he hadn’t wanted to accept a paycheck for what would amount to espionage. He followed behind Susan, wondering how quickly and quietly he could access the records room. The sooner he got the information he needed, the better.

  As they wove through the open-plan office, a maze of low cubicles and the clicking of keyboards, he noticed a woman on the phone. She had auburn hair, shoulder length, curling in waves. She tucked a wayward lock behind her ear as she spoke rapid-fire into her headset.

  “I know, I know, you can’t say anything on the record,” he heard her coax, her bottle green eyes alight, full lips curved in a surprisingly alluring smile. “But surely you could say something off the record? Give a girl a hint?” She paused. “I should be an investigative reporter? From your mouth to God’s ear!” Then she let out a peal of laughter.

  He frowned. Even in this chaotic environment, she looked like a live wire. And, he noticed, Susan seemed to be leading him right towards her.

  “I’m afraid that I couldn’t have you shadowing any of our news crew or beat reporters,” Susan said, her gaze apologetic. “But Jane’s one of our best in the lifestyle and features section. If you want to learn the ropes in our business, you really couldn’t find anyone better. I’ve sent her an email, and once she gets off the phone, she’ll help you, all right?” Susan glanced at her watch. “I’m sorry, must dash. I’ve got a new hire coming in, and I need to get the paperwork sorted.”

  “Of course,” he replied. “I really must thank you, again, for all of your assistance.”

  “Aren’t you polite,” Susan said, her smile warm. “And so formal. Maybe you’ll rub off on our Jane!”

  With that cryptic remark, Susan retreated, and Ben watched her go.

  He was standing next to the cubicle, and the aforementioned Jane was still chattering away, taking notes in an indecipherable scrawl across a pad of paper. There was a vase of chrysanthemums on her desk in a variety of colors: white, purple, orange-and-red striped. They were a bright, brilliant cacophony... much like their owner, he thought.

  Then he sneezed.

  He grimaced, groaning to himself. No one else seemed to have flowers. Flowers probably shouldn’t even be allowed in the workplace. He sneezed again, wondering if she’d do anything.

  All she did was glare at him, as if chastising him for having an involuntary allergic reaction.

  It shouldn’t have annoyed him, but frankly, he was under enough pressure right now, completely out of sorts. He didn’t even want to be here, but he needed to, if he was going to find out the truth.

  “So, Barry... how’s your wife? Your kids? They enjoying school?” she continued.

  Ben’s temper rose. He was waiting patiently, and she was simply making small talk? What kind of workplace was this?

  He cleared his throat—then sneezed again. And his irritation grew.

  She held up her index finger as she kept chit-chatting about some party and other personal details. Frowning, she scribbled a note on a nearby pad and held it up for him to see. This could take a bit, he read.

  After ten minutes, and near constant sneezing, Ben was livid. If he didn’t need this woman to keep up a semblance of why he was here—the job shadowing—then he’d have said the hell with it and searched out the records room himself. But he wanted to at least put in an effort, so he wasn’t completely lying.

  There was nothing he hated so much as lying.

  After his fiftieth sneeze, his temper snapped. It happened so rarely—he normally had a lot better control—but he had simply had it. He reached over, grabbing the vase and dumping it in a nearby wastebasket.

  When he turned back to the cubicle, he saw the woman staring at him, a combination of amusement and shock on her face. “It’s been lovely catching up with you, too, Barry,” she said. “We’ll talk again soon.” Then she clicked off. “Well, well, well. You must be my new intern?”

  “I’m just job shadowing,” he clarified. “Temporarily.”

  “Good,” she said. “Because those were my favorite flowers, that I paid for myself, that you threw out.”

  His cheeks flushed with a rush of heat. Maybe he was too used to being a prince, he realized. He was certainly not used to being ignored. He frowned. “I... I’m allergic,” he said, as if that were the only excuse he needed.

  “And of course, it never occurred to you to ask,” she said slowly. “Or walk away until I was done with the call.”

  He gritted his teeth. Actually, it hadn’t occurred to him. He was so fixated on her rudeness, he didn’t think to walk away.

  “You held up a finger at me,” he said, “so you could chat up your friend while I was sneezing my head off.”

  Her eyes widened slightly. “Because—and pay attention, because this is part of journalism—what looks like small talk is important in developing relationships with your sources, especially in the lifestyle section.”

  She seemed to be waiting for something, but when he didn’t answer, she tilted her head, studying him. “Well. You owe me a new bouquet, Your Majesty,” she said, in a sarcastic drawl.

  He jolted before realizing she was being facetious. “My name is Ben,” he clarified. He realized he probably ought to apologize. It certainly wasn’t her fault that she bought flowers that he was allergic to, even if she had annoyed him by ignoring him.

  “My name’s Jane,” she said, reaching out her hand. He shook it, and in that moment, her eyes widened with recognition.

  Oh, no. He knew that look. And considering he both needed information from her, and he’d just managed to irritate her by throwing out her favorite flowers, he wasn’t sure how she was going to react. Maybe she’d just gloss over it. Maybe she’d preserve his privacy. Maybe she was a royal fan, and she’d help him out for that reason alone.

  Or maybe you’re delusional.

  “Your Majesty,” she repeated, then glanced around, standing and taking a step closer to her. “Or should I say... Your Highness?”

  He closed his eyes. Crap. This was not good at all.

  “Would you like a cup of tea or coffee?” he said quickly. “There’s a café nearby, and I’d love to buy you something. And maybe we could talk.”

  He couldn’t force her, but his words were firm. He hoped his eyes were conveying this was a very, very strong request.

  She studied him, not intimidated in the least. If anything, she seemed amused.

  “A cup of tea sounds just the thing,” she said with a smirk. “I’ll grab my coat.”

  Grab your copy of The Billionaire Prince’s Fake Girlfriend

  Available July 29th 2021

  Available for pre-order now! www.LeslieNorthBooks.com

  The Billionaire’s Fake Engagement

  BLURB

  For bad boy billionaire Philippe Durand, love is like mixing oil and water. It just doesn’t work. But after Philippe and his brothers get into an embarrassing bar brawl, his grandfather demands all three complete a community service task or lose their inheritance. Philippe is up first, and it’s his job to make a success of an art exhibition by the gorgeous, if endearingly awkward, American artist Violet Shaw. And it’s not long before this paint-spattered, adorable woman colors his world in ways he never expected.

  Violet isn’t sure about much, including her own talent as an artist, but she knows without a doubt that Philippe Durand is the most gorgeous, charming man she’s ever met. Which is why every time she’s with him, she can’t quite stop herself from saying things she shouldn’t. Such as during her first press conference for the art exhibit when she responds to a reporter’s rude putdowns by saying that she and Philippe are engaged. Oops. Thank goodness Philippe doesn’t miss a step and immediately confirms their relationship. But it’s more than just attraction for Violet; she’s fallen head over heels for a man whose biggest fear is falling in love...

  Grab your copy of

  The Billionaire’s Fake Engagement

  Available 24 February 2022

  Available for pre-order now

  www.LeslieNorthBooks.com

  BLURB

  A billionaire prince. A nanny with a secret. Passion runs high in the palace…

  Katie Crestley is desperate. A blacklisted journalist, she’s forced to take the only other job she’s remotely qualified for: nanny to the adopted daughters of Stolvenia’s handsome young prince. But just as she gives up on her dream of becoming a journalist, the editor of a local paper blackmails her into digging up dirt on the royals. And she’s in the perfect position to reveal some ugly secrets about Armin and his family…

  But the longer she works for Prince Armin, the more she realizes what a good man he is. Worse, she’s falling for him… hard. And he’ll never forgive her if he finds out what she’s done…

  Prince Armin has always tried to live by the rules. So he’s shocked to learn his late best friend named him guardian of his two little girls. Armin hoped hiring a nanny would help, but Katie is far too pretty, and far too free-spirited. She’s getting under his skin, disrupting not only his life, but his very thoughts—which seem to be centered more and more on her…

  Can Armin forgive Katie once the truth comes to light? Or will it be best for him and his daughters to forget the pretty American who made their lives a little brighter?

  Grab your copy of The Billionaire Prince’s Nanny (European Billionaire Beaus

  Book One) from

  www.LeslieNorthBooks.com

  EXCERPT

  Chapter 1

  There was nothing worse than waiting to be called for an interview. Katie was sure of it.

  She sat up straight in her chair, trying to exude confidence to whoever might be watching. It was a feeling that followed her everywhere—that someone was looking, and had already found her unworthy. It wouldn’t be hard to do, if they’d looked her up and seen the mistakes she’d made.

  Fortunately, she wasn’t waiting on an interview at one of the major news networks in the United States. They’d know her name there already. There was no good face she could put on what she’d done—not yet. Not until the news cycles were well in the past and everyone had stopped gossiping about the biggest entertainment journalism scandal in the last five years at least.

  Katie pushed those thoughts out of her mind. She couldn’t walk into this interview with that weight on her shoulders. She’d have to push past it. Visualize. She needed to visualize the interview being madly successful. It would start when she walked into the room to meet the interviewer. Hello. I’m so pleased to meet you. My name is Katie Crestley.

  There was no way it could go but successfully—not if she wanted to keep her head above water. Katie’s resources were rapidly running out. She’d spent the last year traveling from country to country, all over Europe, and her savings were down to the last dregs. All of her travels hadn’t succeeded in getting her a new journalism job—any journalism job—and her freelance prospects had completely dried up. No—it wasn’t that. She could talk her way into any number of low-paying freelance jobs for different blogs and websites.

  Finishing those jobs was another story.

  Writer’s block crippled her ability to string words together on the page. And it wasn’t just for paying jobs. She’d bought journal after journal on her travels, then sat with her pen poised over the page, never writing anything. Eventually they’d all gone to resale shops.

  Which is how she’d found herself in Stolvenia.

  There’d been an unrest there recently that heated her blood and set her journalistic instincts singing.

  She’d read about the situation on a blog, late at night, and it had piqued her interest.

  The people wanted to topple the monarchy.

  She tapped her foot faster against the floor thinking of it. A faction of anti-royalists were out to completely dismantle the political system in the country. The monarchy had stood for six hundred years, and there were those in Stolvenia who were tired of its rule. To hear their views on it, the royal family had been oppressive rulers, always holding the country back from real progress. Not so from the monarchy’s point of view, of course. But the king had agreed to a referendum, putting the question to the people and allowing them to vote on whether they wished to keep the monarchy or let it go. As the voting day approached, tensions continued to climb with both sides doing whatever they could to win the hearts and minds of the Stolvenian people.

  A hard-hitting piece on those tensions could launch her back into the career she’d always wanted. Katie bought her train ticket the next morning, hoping and praying that being somewhere so politically charged and exciting would spark her passion for writing that had gone dormant.

  But until it did, she needed a way to pay her bills. And aside from journalism, the only career she had any experience in was childcare. That was what brought her here—applying for a nanny position in the household of Stolvenia’s youngest prince, Armin. The opportunity was so perfect that it almost felt like fate. Not only was it a job she could do well, giving her a chance to rebuild her confidence while replenishing her savings, but it would also give her an invaluable insight into how the Stolvenian monarchy really worked.

  Stolvenia practically stood alone in Europe for the amount of power the royal family held. Rather than being figureheads or ceremonial figures, they actively ran the tiny, wealthy country to an extent that Katie felt she really did need to see to believe—and understand. Getting this job would be so perfect…if she could just nail the interview.

  At least she looked good. In her tiny hotel room this morning, she’d swept her dark hair into a flawless coif, added tasteful eye shadow above her chocolate brown eyes, and applied a shade of lipstick that trended toward professional woman.

  “Ms. Crestley?”

  She hopped up from her chair. “I’m so pleased—” No. Stop. “Yes. That’s me.”

  The woman who stood in the doorway to the inner office, which matched the rest of the rich interior of the palace, did not look happy to see her.

  “I’m Ms. Mirzoyan. Follow me.”

  Katie did so, waiting for the opportunity to shake the woman’s hand.

  It never came.

  The older woman, wearing a black suit over a teal blouse, went around behind the desk and flipped a folder open. “Your resume doesn’t seem to show a commitment to this kind of work, Ms. Crestley.”

  “I—” This was not how she had visualized the interview going. “I nannied full-time in college to pay my way through school. I took classes in the evening.”

  “To become a journalist.”

  Ms. Mirzoyan did not invite her to sit down, which gave Katie a sinking feeling.

  “Hiring a former journalist to care for the prince’s children is a risk,” the woman added.

  She could understand the fierceness in Ms. Mirzoyan’s eyes. The political situation was fierce—sometimes bordering on nasty—and children were always vulnerable targets. Even more so since these particular girls were new to royal life, not yet accustomed to being in the national spotlight. The prince had adopted them —Katie knew that much. But she didn’t know the details of how they’d lost their own parents.

  What could Katie say? Everything in her wanted to push for this—wanted to make it clear that she was responsible and trustworthy—but how could she prove that, even to herself? She knew that she’d made plenty of mistakes before. “I understand your caution, Ms. Mirzoyan, but I’d hoped that since you were willing to meet with me—”

  “Yes.” The older woman sighed. “It is our custom in the prince’s household to offer interviews to qualified candidates. And while you are qualified in terms of experience, I’m not convinced that you are the best candidate for the job.”

  “I do have that experience, though.” Katie gave her what she hoped was a winning smile.

  “It’s not very recent.” Ms. Mirzoyan looked down at the documents in the folder. “Unless you’ve omitted some recent experience here.”

  Lie, teased the voice of desperation in the back of Katie’s mind. A little fib about babysitting for a wealthy family in the States. Say something about a nondisclosure agreement, how you wish you could name names, but it’s impossible under the circumstances, of course you understand…

  But she couldn’t do it. “No. There’s nothing recent. I did help a young man at the train station find the ticket window last week, if that counts.”

  The joke fell flat.

  “And there’s the matter of language.”

  “Yes. Language.” Ms. Mirzoyan didn’t have to say out loud that it was obvious Katie didn’t speak the traditional local language. The country actually had three official languages, and while Katie was a native English speaker and also reasonably competent in French, the Stolvenian language was completely new to her, prior to her arrival. Of course, since the girls had been adopted from England, they were likely in the same boat. Katie reached for an appropriate way to bring that up. “I like to consider myself a neutral party.”

  Suspicion flashed through Ms. Mirzoyan’s eyes, and Katie knew immediately that she’d made a mistake. “Neutral party” made it seem like she was neutral on the matter of the monarchy versus the anti-royalists.

  “Oh—no. That’s not what I meant.”

  “Thank you for your time, Ms. Crestley.”

  The tone of Ms. Mirzoyan’s voice told her that she was dismissed. Without question.

  “Yes. Yes, thank you very much for yours, Ms. Mirzoyan. Best of luck with—” Oh, god, what was she saying? “Best wishes.”

  Cringing both inwardly and outwardly, Katie went out of the office and through a connecting study. The hallway that led to the main entrance of the royal palace was wide and open, with people coming and going, and the last thing Katie wanted to do was make any kind of scene. Not to mention that it led out to the bustling courtyard, and then to the city beyond. It felt like the city itself was watching. So she rearranged her face into something like composure, tugged her purse closer to her body, and faced reality.