11. Kale

A weekafter the most unforgettable night of my life, Christian emailed me. I had just finished dinner with Boston and I was half a block away from meeting Ford for drinks when my phone pinged like a doorbell in my pocket. I normally made a habit of keeping my phone on silent, but I had a new sender alert in my work email that would switch to sound if the email was from a new contact. Generally, the alarm would draw my attention to client requirements and communication from opposing counsel on new cases, but this time it was Christian's name in the sender field.

Or rather, his title.

New message received: HRH Christian Davenport-Spencer [emailprotected]>

At the sight of his name alone, my breath hitched in my throat and I had to stop and lean against a wall so I didn't fall over into the middle of the street. Upon closer review, the breath turned into a laugh rushing out of me so loud it drew the attention of passersby, which was saying something considering no one in the city cared about other people or loud noises.

It was true, I hadn't been able to stop thinking about him since he disappeared before sunrise after our night together, and also true that was extremely out of character for me. Another truth was that I'd jerked off once a day thinking about the outline of my hand against his gorgeous white ass and at least once more per day thinking about how good it felt to fuck him until we were both positively wrecked. All in all, it had been a lot of lonely hours spent with my hand because the memory of his mouth and his ass was unfortunately not enough to sustain me on its own. I'd even let my own primal urges get the better of me one night, and I'd wrapped that little blue ribbon of his around my cock, strangling my erection until I came so hard I almost lost consciousness. I'd soiled the already spit-stained piece of material, and then I'd spread it across the top of my dresser like a trophy.

Even with all of that in mind, I hadn't expected to hear from Christian ever again. I was, of course, sad at the thought of it, but I understood we were from different parts of the world and no matter how privileged I was, we led very different lives. I'd had no idea Christian was royalty when he ran into me on the street, and I'd like to say if I had known I would have done things differently, but I'm not sure I would have. His reappearance in my life cracked open a door that I was certain had previously been dead-bolted shut and bricked over.

Mr. Sheffield, the email started, and I rolled along the wall so I could change the angle of my body away from the street. The very careless yet contrived use of the honorific did something extremely troubling to my normal blood flow, and while pedestrians might ignore my ill-timed laughter, public indecency was another thing entirely.

Mr. Sheffield,

Apologies for emailing at such a late hour, but it's recently been brought to my attention I may have accidentally left my royal order, bestowed upon me by my father, in your possession, and I'm going to need it returned. I assure you I most definitely did not leave this esteemed decoration behind on purpose, at least not entirely, but I'll be happy to collect it at your leisure.

Best,

Christian

P.S. – Also, consider this an apology for the delay in contact even though I don't imagine you ever expected to hear from me again. My closest friend, Parrish, had to procure a phone for me as I don't have one of my own.

I read the email at least five times, hearing the inflection of Christian's voice in my head a little differently on each pass. The tone was exceedingly formal, but it felt flirty, and because I was an intelligent man, not a smart one, I latched on to that like it was a lifeboat in the middle of a storm.

I typed out a quick reply before I could overthink what I wanted to say to him. Christian and I hadn't fallen into bed together because either of us was discerning or thoughtful about choosing our partners. In fact, it had been quite the opposite that brought us together in that suite at The Plaza.

Princess,

I have your fancy little ribbon at home on my dresser, but it's a little worse for wear than when you left it under the couch in the hotel room. Admittedly, the damage is my own doing, but if you need it back, it's yours. Come and collect it.

Kale

I hit send and then switched off the screen and pushed away from the wall. The bar Ford had told me to meet him at was only four buildings down, and the soft amber glow of the sconces mounted on the brick facade washed over the sidewalk and into the street. Ford was in front of the door, talking on his phone and pacing back and forth the length of the bar windows. When he saw me, his lips pursed and he came to a stop. Once I reached him, he sighed, shaking his head.

"I told you before," he said into the phone, catching my stare with what I read to be an apology in his expression, "it was just casual. A one-time thing."

He opened his mouth and snapped it closed again, whoever was on the other end of the call replying in a raised voice. I could hear the abrupt cadence of their speech, and even unable to make out the words themselves, I knew the conversation wasn't something new to Ford. He'd always been a love ‘em and leave ‘em kind of man, much to the chagrin of all the men he left behind.

"You can tell him if you want, but it's not going to change anything," Ford said, and it was then I recognized the frenzied voice on the other end of the line. "Stefan…you're not making this any easier."

"You're a prick," I told him, pivoting on the ball of my foot and heading into the bar. He could clean up his mess on the sidewalk by himself and join me when he was finished. I'd told Ford on more than one occasion to keep his flirty little hands off my assistants, and even though he'd teased about sleeping with Stefan, I thought he was joking. Clearly not, and all that meant for me was that the time had come for me to find a new assistant.

Again.

Shrugging out of my coat, I took a seat at one of the small two-top tables against the far wall of the bar. I had a great view of the window and I could see Ford on the street, his features turning more tense by the second. I had to give it to him, at least he was doing his best to smooth things over with Stefan. Ford wasn't the softest with his demeanor sometimes, and once he made up his mind, there was hardly ever any turning back. He was a hell of a businessman because of it, a relentless lover, but also a bit of a bull when it came to handling other people's emotions.

I ordered myself a glass of wine, because the email from Christian had already done enough for my anxiety and whiskey wasn't going to make anything better. Ford was still outside when my screen lit up with another email from Christian. The waitress brought my wine, and I opened the message.

Damaged how?

Ford was off the phone and inside, slipping out of his coat and stalking toward the table. His face was flushed and he dropped his phone next to my wine, holding up his hands like he was ready to surrender.

"Please, don't even say it," he pleaded, collapsing into the chair opposite me.

"Say what?"

"Don't fuck my assistant, Ford." He bobbled his head back and forth, but there wasn't any fight in it. He knew he'd made a bad decision.

"You said he was good with his hands," I reminded him. "I hope it was worth it."

"I mean…" Ford cracked a smile, and I couldn't help but roll my eyes at him.

"The agency is going to stop sending me candidates if they all leave with the same complaint."

"You don't think they're really telling people their boss' best friend is taking them to bed, do you?" He arched a brow. "I make sure they don't."

"And what do you have them say instead?" I asked, not certain I wanted the answer.

"That you're too nice, of course." Ford flagged down the waitress and ordered himself a martini. "That the work is too easy and they're bored. They need something faster-paced."

"I'm not sure that's a better lie. No wonder I'm getting horrible candidates."

"They're not horrible at everything."

"My front office is not a goddamn dating pool for you, Ford." I scrubbed a hand down my face and my phone rattled against the tabletop.

"I don't date them," he promised, leaning back with a hearty laugh.

I knew there was no reasoning with him, but it would be back to the drawing board when it came to my assistant once I was back in the office. Unfortunately, Ford had never met a man—or woman, for that matter—he didn't like. Maybe I could hire an old, retired grandmother or some no-nonsense paralegal from the eighties who would eat a man like Ford Carlisle for breakfast.

The waitress brought his drink and he eyed her appreciatively. I swiped open my phone, finding three emails when I had expected none. The first from Stefan, resigning due to a misrepresentation in the kinds of duties the job entailed, the second from the temp agency confirming I was aware of the resignation, and the third from Christian. I had half a mind to respond to Stefan and tell him fucking every handsome businessman who came into my office was not, in fact, a stipulation for continued employment, but I'd heard enough of him on the phone with Ford to know he was too riled up to see reason.

"How do you convince them to lie for you?" I asked, deleting the two emails about work and opening the only one I wanted to read.

"Do you really want to know?"

I sighed. "Yes."

"I bribe them."

I pinched the bridge of my nose between my thumb and forefinger. "With what?"

"Depends."

"What did you offer Stefan?" I asked.

"Another go."

"I appreciate that you have limited to non-existent morals," I told him. "Thank you."

"You're welcome." Ford grinned and took a drink of his martini before popping one of the stuffed olives off with his teeth. "So, what's going on with you? Any word from that Christian man?"

I tapped my fingers against the black screen of my phone. "I was just chatting with him."

"Are you going to see him again?"

I swiped open the email.

Damaged how, Kale?

Hopefully you can spring for some dry cleaning before you post it back to me.

- C

No.

Nothing in that message would do for me, and I wrote out a reply telling him as much.

Back to a first name basis, are we? I have to admit, I liked you better when you knew your place. I'm happy to dry clean your spit and my cum out of the strip of ribbon if that's what you demand, but there's no way I'm mailing it back to you. If you want it, you can come and get it.

I hit send and glanced up at Ford, who eyed me with an indescribable kind of glint in his eyes.

"What?" I barked, swirling my wine before taking a sip.

"Just never seen that look on your face before."

"How would you read it?" I asked.

"If I didn't know better, I'd think there were feelings involved with whoever you just sent that message to."

"I do have feelings, Ford." I scoffed, the insinuation beyond ridiculous. "I'm not like you."

"I'll have you know I have feelings," he protested. "I feel lots of things."

"Like my assistants' hands?"

"And their mouths, if I'm lucky."

He laughed, and I took another drink of my wine. My phone flashed with another email, and I was going to have to switch to text because the formality was too much for me. I appreciated the honorifics, though. I was actually close to demanding them, but the prehistoric use of email felt beyond dated.

Apologies for the brevity, Mr. Sheffield.

That's curious. I don't remember leaving cum on one of the highest orders of my very own kingdom, but that's neither here nor there. Getting out of the county is a little harder than usual, on account of the fact last time I was abroad, I slipped my security detail, met a handsome stranger on the street, and eventually let him gag me with said royal order. As it is, I'm already risking life and limb by emailing you from a throw-away phone my best friend procured for me. To say I'm in a state of lockdown might be an understatement. As always, though, open to suggestions.

Your humble servant,

HRH Christian Davenport-Spencer

"Yeah." Ford smacked his lips together, eyeing me over the brim of his martini. "Definitely feelings."

"I don't know what you're talking about," I said, scratching my chin.

In light of Christian's most recent email, I found myself facing a series of problems, each one feeling a little more insurmountable than the last. Replacing Stefan, I could manage. Trying to find a way to see Christian again? That felt a little more out of the question, but I wasn't the kind of man to back away from a good challenge, as I'd already proven from the first night we met.

"Tell me what's going on in that pretty little farmer's brain of yours, Kale. I can tell you're going a mile a minute, but it doesn't look like you're going anywhere good."

"I just…I don't think you'll believe me if I tell you."

"Try me."

I gave Ford a helpless shrug and a cockeyed smile. "I'm just trying to figure out how to kidnap a prince."