Little Lady Agency and The Prince by Hester Browne

‘No, that should be OK. I’m having some more clothes sent round.’
    ‘I’m delighted to hear that,’ said Granny, sounding anything but.
    ‘What were you thinking?’ demanded Alexander. He made a tiny gesture with his head towards me, and looked even more furious. ‘I can’t believe you could be so boorish as to keep our guests waiting . . .’
    Nicolas rolled his eyes. ‘Oh, come on. Roof-top swimming pool – has to be done.’
    ‘It does not “have to be done”,’ snapped Alexander. ‘Why would it have to be done?’
    ‘It’s a phrase .’
    Nicolas turned to me, as if to say, ‘Huh! Old people! What do they know?’ but I gave him the freeze. If he thought I was the kind of girl who was happy to be dipped in a chocolate fountain or tossed fully-clothed into a swimming pool, he was very wrong indeed.
    Super-hot or not, he was a good ten years too old to be excited about that sort of thing himself.
    ‘Does she speak?’ he enquired of his grandfather, nodding at me. ‘Or is she just here for decoration?’
    Up to that point, I’d been somewhat tongue-tied, not because Nicolas was technically royal, but because he was astonishingly attractive. It pained me to admit it of a man so deeply in love with himself, but Nicolas had a real head-turning magnetism. Even in a bathrobe, with his black hair wet and slicked back, and five o’clock shadow tracing along his jaw, he looked as if he were en route to some A-list ‘come in your bathrobe’ party.
    However, equally obviously, he was also an arrogant, sexist, spoiled idiot, and for me that overrode everything else, just like bad breath can ruin a fabulous outfit.
    Even as I thought that, a little voice in my head was telling me not to be such a prig and to look at his fabulous swimmer’s shoulders.
    ‘Yes, she does speak,’ I said quickly, before Granny or Alexander could speak for me.
    ‘And what does she say?’ he drawled.
    ‘She says, you’re dripping onto my handbag.’
    He stared at me, and I stared back. If he’d been nice, I’d probably have been overcome with shyness, but being this uncouth didn’t make him any different from the scores of surly blokes I dealt with on a day-to-day basis. Nelson and Jonathan had raised my expectations, as far as manners went. Even Roger might smell weird but he was never rude .
    Anyway, poor Alexander was now clearly mortified as well as angry. And it was a new Lulu Guinness evening bag that I’d brought out especially for the occasion.
    ‘I do have that effect on girls,’ he drawled, raking his hair back.
    ‘And what’s that?’ I said.
    He winked at me. ‘Damp patches.’
    Granny took a sharp, disapproving breath.
    I gave her a puzzled ‘What?’ look.
    ‘I know how to deal with drips,’ I said politely, moving my bag away from him. ‘They’re quite easy to brush off.’
    ‘Book a room, wait there for your clothes and join us as soon as you can once you’re decent,’ said Alexander in a low, dangerous tone.
    ‘Oh, yah, I booked a room already,’ Nicolas said, and turned his chocolate-brown eyes towards me again. ‘Room 202. Two-oh-two.’ The long lashes brushed his cheek as he winked slowly. ‘Shall I write it down on a napkin?’
    ‘If you think you need help remembering it,’ I said.
    ‘Go!’ thundered Alexander, so forcefully that several heads turned and didn’t turn back again.
    There was a tense pause, then Nicolas shrugged, helped himself to my glass of champagne and swaggered off.
    I watched him go, unable to take my eyes off his bathrobe. He didn’t shuffle, or slouch, as most of my English clients did. He sauntered.
    What an idiot, I reminded myself.
    Granny, Alexander and I repaired to the luxurious dining room of Petrus next door, where Alexander wasted no time in ordering some wine for the three of us.
    ‘I’m so sorry,’ he said, once our glasses were filled and the menus handed out. ‘He knew exactly what time we were meeting.’
    ‘I have no doubt,’