His Royal Favorite by Lilah Pace

whatever they’d been doing to stare at him, as though they hadn’t seen him every single workday of the past five months. The only person who didn’t fall silent was Roberto, who simply flipped Ben a wave while continuing to talk on the phone.
    Fortunately, Fiona walked up to him at that moment, her floral-patterned wrap dress the only splash of color in the drab newsroom. “Come on, guys, get it together. Back to work,” she announced. As the newsroom slowly went back into motion, she put a hand on Ben’s shoulder. “Mob scene out there, huh?”
    “It won’t last.”
    Fiona arched an eyebrow. “You think? Well, let’s hope not. Building security already complained twice.”
    He hadn’t even thought about security being overwhelmed, but he should have, given that the security force consisted of only four or five guys.
    “So, once you’ve pulled yourself together, how about getting me that copy about the South American metals speculation?” Fiona said over her shoulder as she sauntered off. “Hope you recover before deadline.”
    Of
course
Fiona de Winter wouldn’t cut him a break today. At the moment, even editorial nagging was welcome, proof that the universe hadn’t completely changed around him overnight. Ben went to his desk and settled in. “I read your story,” he said after Roberto hung up from his phoner. “Nice work.”
    “Thanks,” Roberto said. “How’s it going?”
    “It’s—strange. But okay.”
    “Glad to hear it. For what it’s worth, the BBC poll says fifty-nine percent of Britons think James should keep his crown.”
    “Excellent to know.”
    He said this coolly, but on the inside, Ben exulted. Fifty-nine percent! That had to be a strong showing. Of course it was ridiculous for the remaining forty-one percent of Britons to object, but this was a very early poll. Over time, that number would only increase . . . wouldn’t it?
    It’s Kimberley Tseng’s job to worry about that, not yours. Your job is to corral the head of Deronda Mining and get the last quote you need to finish this story.
    He pulled up the copy and gave it a once-over: looked good, though he’d have to go over it all once he’d obtained the last information he needed. Quickly Ben pulled up the number for the CEO’s office and dialed.
    “Deronda Mining, Mr. Crispin’s office.”
    “Yes, this is Ben Dahan of Global Media calling back for—”
    The secretary gasped. “Did you say Ben Dahan? As in
Benjamin Dahan
?”
    Shit.
“Yes.”
    He heard the unmistakable sound of fingers being closed around a receiver, and a not-muffled-enough voice say, “It’s the Prince Regent’s boy toy! On the phone! Right now!”
    Boy toy?
    “I last called on Wednesday,” Ben said, hoping to remind her that he had a job other than being with James, namely the job of running her boss to ground for rampantly abusing the international market in silver. “About the efforts to artificially dampen prices in Argentina?”
    “Please hold,” she said.
    Ben thumped his fingers on the desk, trying to decide whether being considered James’s “boy toy” was more offensive or hilarious. On the balance, he was going with hilarious. It hardly mattered as long as he got through to his potential sources, and it looked like he was about to.
    See, this is all you have to do. Keep doing your job, and sooner or later, they’ll have to play ball.
    A few clicks on the other end of the line, and a man’s voice said, “Ronald Crispin.”
    “Mr. Crispin? Ben Dahan with Global Media.”
    “It
is
you.” One split second was all it had taken for a titan of industry to completely derail. “You’re the Prince Regent’s boyfriend? The one in the papers?”
    “I—my personal life doesn’t come into this, Mr. Crispin. I wanted to talk about the silver markets in—”
    “How did you meet him?”
    “That’s not relevant. Let’s not get offtrack.”
    “Relevant to what? You want to talk about silver, I want to talk about the single