“Ghost? Whoopi? As in a charlatan psychic?” Her annoyance grew, fed by her fatigue and her anger that even a stranger could take one look at her and tell her she was silly for expecting someone to care about her. “Ooo, do I get to be the ‘close acquaintance’ who calls the Looking Glass to inform them of Prince Johan’s psychic powers? I don’t really need the money, but it would be an upgrade from the usual stories they write about you.”
His confusion faded and he set his mug on its saucer. “You are a people pleaser. You worry about failing those around you to your own detriment, and you don’t stop to think about what you’re getting into until you’re past the point of no return.” He opened his mouth as if to say something else, but then caught himself, pressing his lips together.
She put her phone down in her lap, trying to hold his gaze even though she felt as exposed as she had by the hacking attempts. “Is it my turn to play this weird party game?”
Johan did his hair toss, and angled his face so that she got an eyeful of sharp cheekbones and pouty lips. He was trying to distract her with his beauty, likely out of sheer habit. His eyes held no hint of flirtation—they were serious and somewhat cold. She thought of the dazzler Tav had explained to her. “Party games are fun, or the ones I’m used to are, and this isn’t. I think you know that, as you’ve been scanning the room trying to figure out what people needed and how you could give it to them since you met me.”
What the hell was this? She wanted to tell him that he had it all wrong, that she was selfish and didn’t think of others, except he wasn’t. She was always trying to figure out how to please people. She was always running low level scans making sure there was nothing for her to do. It was exhausting, now that she had put her finger on it. Now that Johan had, rather.
“Is there a point to this?” She took back whatever kind thoughts she’d had about the prince, and about Thabiso for sending him.
“You’re a comfortable person to talk to. Has anyone ever told you this?”
Portia blushed despite knowing he was buttering her up, but then he kept going.
“Because of that, I will be to the point. If you have a choice, and you do have a choice, you should run far and fast from this situation.”
“And why would I do that? Because some bored royal is trying to mess with my head?”
Johan dropped his gaze into the bottom of his teacup, and when he spoke his voice was as bitter as the leaves at the bottom of it. “My mother was my father’s secretary. Their love story is very famous. There are even films about it! The bachelor king falling for his commoner assistant.”
“I’m not exactly a commoner,” Portia said, slightly offended. “I’m the wealthy American teaching Tav how to maneuver through high society. It’s not like I’m powerless.”
“Even more reason to run. You don’t need him.” Johan caught her gaze with his and she could see that his concern was genuine. He wasn’t playing some aristocratic mind game with her. “You were hired as his apprentice, yes? I read your blog posts on the way here. When did you last make a sword? What are you getting out of this?”
Portia had asked herself the same questions, but hearing them come from a complete stranger was bracing.
“That’s none of your concern,” she bit out.
He nodded thoughtfully. “That may be true, but please ask yourself—where does your work stop and your relationship begin? My mother dedicated every bit of herself to supporting my father. To making sure she lived up to this great man who had chosen her of all people, and taken in her son as well. And, this part you may know, if you’ve seen the movies or books or commemorative plates—my mother is dead.”
Before Liechtienbourg had a wild semi-prince, they’d had a beloved queen. Her passing had been covered extensively by the tabloids, too, but Portia had been a kid then, and she’d purposely avoided it. It had reminded her that her own parents were mere mortals. If a kind queen could die, couldn’t they? Couldn’t Reggie? She’d remembered that fear as she sat next to Reggie in the hospital and felt a wave of guilt. Maybe she’d caused her illness with her constant worry . . .
“I did know that. And I’m sorry for your loss.”
“As am I.” The look he gave her now was sheepish, real, and not something contrived by a manipulative tabloid prince. She wasn’t the only one feeling exposed. “That is why I am being completely rude and warning you off. I see the way you look at him, so ready to make his life easier without regard for your own, and it’s much too familiar to me.”
Portia was suddenly aware of how she’d been pouring her energy into others for weeks. The pressure she had placed on herself to get Tavish ready, to cover all the bases, to make up for being the one who had brought this on to him and turned his life upside down. He hadn’t asked any of this from her, had tried to muddle through on his own, but could things ever be different between them? Could she ever be simply Tav’s partner, and did he even want her to be? Did she want to be?
Her head was spinning, reminding her why she shouldn’t have broken the rules of Project: New Portia.
Johan sighed. “I don’t say this to distress you, poulette.”
“I don’t quite think we’re at the nickname stage yet,” Portia said, holding up a hand. “Is this part of the Liechtienbourgian forwardness?”
Johan grinned. “It’s Liechtienbourger. And it’s a habit of mine, but fine, no nicknames. I’ll simply say I did not have a choice in my station in life. You do. While relationships are about assisting each other, with your inclination, you can be his assistant or you can be his partner. You should not be both. Das ist tout.”
Tavish walked back in then and Portia jumped guiltily as he dropped onto the chair beside her.
“This is mad! Some guy jumped out from behind Cheryl’s stand and snapped a photo as I hugged Greer goodbye.” He dropped into the chair beside Portia.
Johan sighed. “Ah, so tomorrow I’ll have to share the front page of the paper with you. I suppose I should be offended, but you’re better than the reality show star who’s trying to crowdfund their own country.”
Tavish snorted.
“Is everything okay with your social media accounts? Do you need help with anything?” he asked, surprising her. He usually didn’t care about internet shite, as he called it.
“Yeah, I’m just a little freaked out. I have to change my passwords. I can change you—”
Johan loudly cleared his throat and stood up, and Portia caught herself. Tav could handle changing his own passwords.
“I must be going. Will you be free tomorrow at the same time?” he asked Tav.
Portia felt Tav’s gaze land on her, but she kept her eyes glued to her phone.
“Aye,” he responded when she made no move to answer.
“Excellent.”
Tav made another trip to the front door, and Portia flopped back in her chair.
She’d expected Johan to be frivolous, but he’d walked in, spotted her biggest worry, and turned a floodlight on it. She couldn’t keep this up—she couldn’t downplay it as a crush or something that would go away. She’d fallen for her boss, and her work had taken over her life, and everything was a mess. She’d come to Scotland to escape herself, but she was falling right into the same cycle that had gotten her into trouble with Ledi and her family.
She didn’t wait for Tav to come back to the parlor; she went up to her room with her phone in hand and scrolled down to a number she didn’t think she’d need while on the trip.
The phone rang and was answered by a human instead of going to voice mail.
“Hello, Dr. Lewis speaking.”
“Hi. It’s Portia Hobbs. You said if I ever needed to talk . . . well, um, I’ve been having some boundary issues again. And some family issues. And relationship stuff and just . . . Do you have any appointments available?”
Chapter 23