Going Royal 02 - Some Like It Scandalous (15 page)

“You think a C-average student is really going to apply?” Becca was young, but her cynicism finely honed.

“I think a C-average student should absolutely want to apply and not feel that his or her grades automatically disqualify them. Some kids don’t do well in high school—whether it’s their friends, their teachers or their circumstances. You take that same group of teens and you put them in college with even one person saying ‘I believe in you’ and they thrive. That’s what every single one of these brochures has to deliver—the promise that we believe in them.” She exhaled. It bothered her when her staff, even those who believed in the opportunity, limited the vision to the definition of who “deserved” it. Derrick Milton had proven in every way to be a poster child for this effort—he didn’t think he was worthy, but she’d made a point of emailing him and calling him since they’d spoken. If someone told him enough times he deserved the chance to fly, maybe he would begin to believe it too.

“But they still have to qualify, which means it’s more than the application process—they have to be approved.” Becca chewed her lip and studied the layout. “That’s why I think we need to really sell this based on those we’ve prequalified and made our offers to. You use their names, their stories, their backgrounds and you’ll have kids going, ‘hey, that girl’s just like me’ or ‘I am doing the same things this guy is doing.’ They want someone to believe in them, but they aren’t going to buy that at face value and as Pollyanna as you can be, you know that.”

And the only reason she dragged Becca with her from the last project was her blunt approach to marketing faith.

“Okay, let’s get some phone calls made. We’ve got ten offers out there for the first round of scholarships and only two have accepted. I’m betting the others don’t believe it’s real or there’s another issue.” She turned her chair around. “Tony?”

“Already on it.” He waved at her with the phone in his hand. “I’m waiting to talk to Darnell Jamison’s foster mom.”

“Great. Good work, Becca.”

“Yep.” Becca left the mock-up on her desk and went back to work. Anna turned back to her screen and pulled up the initial funding spreadsheet. They could afford to offer twenty scholarships immediately. They earmarked ten based on questionnaires sent to one hundred high schools and cross-checked with those sent to all the social worker offices in the same areas. Pooling the data helped them identify the ten most worthy and needy candidates. Students with promising futures deemed least likely to go to college because of financial concerns—and in the top two cases because of conflicts within their foster care situations.

Twenty scholarships.

It was a small start. But they dedicated the rest of the money toward fundraising with the goal of increasing that number ten times for the next autumn. The Dagmar Foundation pledged ten million—a check she would receive on Friday during the charity event at the Disney center. The check, of course, was only symbolic. The funds would be transferred electronically. The move was to encourage others to donate as well—the first unofficial fundraiser for the Princess Alyxandretta Dagmar scholarship fund.

The numbers blurred on the screen and she blinked rapidly. A tear slid down her cheek and splashed against the keyboard. Dabbing at her eyes, she frowned. Sniffling, she pulled her purse out of the drawer and fished out a tissue. It wasn’t the first wave of tears to assault her that day and it probably wouldn’t be the last.

Forcing herself to focus, she stared at the spreadsheet again and saved it as a different file. Adding the prospective ten million and creating columns where the number increased in five-hundred-thousand increments, she began to calculate operating costs and scholarship disbursements. In a separate worksheet, she checked the expected increase in college tuition over the next five years.

The average student entering a four-year state university in their home state could expect to spend twenty thousand dollars annually—and that included food and residency. The current scholarship would allow for two years, but not the full four. Specialized schools would double that amount and a for-profit institution could triple it. The words wavered every few minutes and she dabbed her eyes again, thankful she skipped any mascara after her workout this morning.

Charlie.

She dubbed him Charlie. He told her his last name and his first, but beyond that first date he was always Charlie. Her crazy, off-the-wall, terrifically romantic Charlie. Moving in together at the end of their sophomore year made sense. They were always together and it saved money for both of them.

She paused midcolumn. No. It had saved money for her. Charlie never said it saved anything for him and that wasn’t why he made the offer. Money never came up in conversation unless she brought it up.

And it had usually involved her saying no to something because it was too expensive. Squeezing her eyes shut.
Idiot.
Idiot.
Idiot.
Idiot.

More tears fell and she had to keep her back to Becca and Tony when they headed out at four so they wouldn’t see her red-rimmed eyes. Kate paused to drop a printout on her desk, but Anna didn’t look up and after a moment she moved on. Anna stayed planted at the desk, determined to finish her projections so that if it came up at dinner they could brainstorm fundraising ideas.

Because fundraising is safer than talking about how stupid you are...

A dull ache formed behind her right eye and began to pound in time with her pulse, but she kept at it. Flipping screens, she looked up different schools and their current tuition rates, and programming alternative columns to increase the rates by ten percent per year. The graphic representation showed that at bare minimum students would need about sixty thousand dollars to complete a four-year degree at a non-specialized school while for-profits and specialized universities would cost upward of one hundred and fifty thousand for the same four years.

The bleak results didn’t improve her rapidly darkening mood. The phone on her desk rang and with everyone else gone, she answered it automatically. “Alyxandretta Dagmar Scholarship Fund, Anna Novak speaking. How may I help you?”

“Miss Novak. Thank you for answering. This is Lilly Lymon with the
Evening Star
,
London
news. We were calling for your comment on the recent engagement announcement released an hour ago.”

Damn press
,
and we just changed the number.
“I’m sorry, Ms. Lymon, I’m afraid I have no comment.” She went to hang up the phone, but the woman rushed onward.

“None at all regarding the engagement of the Andraste prince to Nikole?”

The headache behind her eye became an ice pick striking right through her heart.

“No.” Miraculously, her voice remained completely calm. “None at all.”

She hung up the phone and stared sightlessly at the computer screen.

After hitting two buttons to save the work, she stood up and walked past the guards and into the bathroom. Her red-rimmed eyes hurt and the surge of temper flooding through her aggravated her more. She pulled out her cell phone and turned it on. It took a minute to boot up and she ignored the incoming texts and waiting voicemails to flip to the web browser. Plugging in the name
Nikole
,
news
and
prince
, she let it search and washed her face. By the time the screen populated, she saw several reports—all filed in the last sixty minutes—announcing Nikole’s “secret engagement,” to the Grand Duke Andraste.

Torn between outrage and amusement, she started laughing.

Nikole let the details “slip” during a recent party on a Mediterranean yacht. She immediately retracted the statement with a coy wink and a nod.

Nikole. Not Charlie. Not his family.

They weren’t engaged. Pleased, she shut her phone off and ran her fingers through her hair. She exited the bathroom and her heart hitched again.

Sebastian perched on the corner of her desk—a younger version of her Charlie. His exploits had earned more headlines than his brother. Pale beneath his tan, the prince stood with a faint grimace at her approach. “Hello, Anna.”

To her utter surprise, he caught her hands and drew her close to press a kiss to each of her cheeks. “Hello, Sebastian.”

It had been a decade since the last time she saw him anywhere beyond a news article. Of all the people she’d met during her sojourn in Norway, Sebastian had shown her the greatest amount of kindness and insisted she call him by his given name. Canting his head to the side, he studied her puffy eyes. “Are you all right?”

Plastering on a smile, she resisted the urge to sniff. “I think I should be asking you that question. Weren’t you injured recently?”

He waved off the concern. “I’ve done more damage on a ski trip in Switzerland.” Despite the airy words, lines of strain tightened the corners of his eyes.

“I’m afraid Charl—” she bit off the name, “Armand is not here.”

Sebastian glanced over at Becca and Tony, who made no pretense of not staring at them. Becca, at least, had the grace to blush and get back to work. “Do you mind if we talk somewhere more privately?”

Kate rose from her desk and pointed to the eastern wall. “They finished the conference room today, Anna, and I’ll take care of this last spreadsheet if you like.”

“Thank you.” Anna followed Sebastian and noted the faint stiffness to his gait. He might have dismissed his injury, but he couldn’t disguise the physical effect with an expensive suit or easy smile. Kyle and a man she didn’t recognize followed both of them, but neither made any attempt to join them in the conference room.

Sitting, so Sebastian would do the same, Anna studied Armand’s younger brother. It was uncanny how much he and his brother could be twins, but the differences were there. A scar high on his right cheekbone, an easier smile, and his eyes didn’t have the same lingering sadness or depth—as though the weight of the world rested upon him.

“I fear I should go directly to the point of this visit.” The grave tone sent a warning shiver up her spine. George made it plain he did not want her around, going so far as to avoid her completely. She hadn’t missed his very deliberate snub in the hallway the day before when they’d approached from opposite directions. He’d simply turned his back on her and gone back the way he came.

Clasping her hands together, she lifted her chin. Braced for it, she waited. “Go ahead.”

“I owe you a profound apology, one I do not think I can ever make amends for.” He sat forward in his chair, hands together on the edge of the table. His aristocratic bearing failed to hide the distress lurking beneath the surface. “I truly believed that it would take certain maneuvers to undo the great injustice of the past. Sometimes, dramatic solutions are called for... I am saying this very poorly.”

“I’m sorry, I’d have to agree. What great injustice?” Unable to ignore the upset radiating off him, she covered one of his hands.

“You and Armand. The two of you were once happy. Our family, our way of life—it can be overwhelming. I recognize that.” Desperation flickered around the edges of his words. He turned his hand beneath hers, capturing her fingers. “But you two were very good together. I do not believe he has ever gotten over you and my only defense lies in wanting my brother to be happy. He can very hidebound—very restricted by responsibility. I didn’t think he would ever make the move on his own.”

Anna frowned, trying to follow Sebastian’s rather circuitous dialogue, and the dull thud of the headache behind her eyes wasn’t helping. “I’m sorry, Sebastian. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

He sighed and glanced down, an expression vaguely resembling shame on his face. “I called them.”

“Called who?” Utterly mystified, Anna fought her scowl. It was like having a conversation with Penny when she didn’t want to admit something out loud.

“The press.” The younger prince grimaced. “I called the press and told them you and Armand were together again—”

“You did what?” Armand’s furious voice sliced across the stunned silence.

Chapter Ten

“You did what?” Rage burned like acid in Armand’s veins. He took in the scene with one glance from Anna’s red-rimmed eyes to the way his younger brother held her hands—comforting and familiar. Too damn familiar.

Sebastian jerked to his feet, releasing her in the process. “Armand, I—”

“Silence.” For once, his brother did exactly what he told him to do.

“Charlie.” Anna stood. “Sebastian was just—”

“Anna, if you will excuse us, Johnson can return you to the penthouse.”

“I will not excuse you,” she sputtered. She paced toward him and he got a better look at the puffiness around her eyes—the redness. “I’m a part of this.”

Coldness fisted in his gut. George. The FBI. The death threats. Anna’s reticence. Now Sebastian. His world threatened to spin out of control, and it was his responsibility to see to it all. It had always been his responsibility. Dabbling in the game of Charlie was an amusing pastime, but he’d made the mistake of believing in the fairy tale. “Actually, it is a family matter. Now please excuse us.”

Anna stiffened. “Charlie—”

“Enough, Anna.” An aggravating day with the FBI’s team of analysts and his own security forces had left Armand in a foul temper. The FBI further rocked him with news about the discovery of a device in Anna’s house that could have detonated her gas line. Yes, they’d removed it and kept it quiet, but their actions didn’t change the vigor of the threat. Richard’s texts about Nikole’s ill-advised slip had served to only fuel his anger. He’d gone directly to the fourteenth floor to find Anna. The last thing he wanted was
another
battle with her—not when they’d come so close to a breakthrough earlier in the day—before his life, his
duty
intervened. Now, Sebastian’s betrayal, it was just too much.

He stared at his brother, but directed his words to Anna. “
Go
.”

Without another word, she strode out of the room and the door slammed behind her.