The Billionaire Prince’s Stubborn Assistant by Leslie North Page 0,8

his hand, the man broke into a coughing fit as if he had choked on his own saliva. On cue, Clementine tumbled clumsily through a door in the back of the shop and rushed toward the pudgy old man.

“Dad, are you alright?”

Edward’s breath caught as he took in the sight of her. Dressed again in baggy jeans and an oversized wool sweater, Clementine looked like a princess disguised as a pauper. Wisps of golden hair snuck out from a loose girlish braid that hung from the base of her neck. She was altogether refreshing with her unfinished, no-frills style. Edward wanted to breathe her in and keep her with him like a secret, one that made him feel alive just by being near her.

“I’m fine, Clem,” the old man said and cleared his throat. “Just swallowed something down the wrong pipe is all.” When he regarded Edward, a surprised look on his face, Clem’s eyes followed her father’s. Until that moment, she hadn’t seemed to realize Edward was there.

Clementine cocked her head and put one hand on her hip but said nothing. Edward almost chuckled at her defiant stance. He guessed she was less than happy to see him. His sell might be harder than he’d thought.

“It’s nice to meet you, Prince Edward,” Mr. Wicke said.

“Very nice to meet you too, and please just call me Edward.”

The two men shook hands, and Edward glanced at Clementine, who was still looking indignant, her hip jutted out, her eyebrows raised.

“Nice to see you again, Clementine.” It was now or never. “I’ve found myself in a bit of a situation with the castle you seem to find so charming.”

“What kind of situation?” she asked and looked at her hands. She picked up a rag from the counter and began scrubbing at her fingernails. Her father looked from Edward to his daughter, a perplexed expression on his face.

“I need a restoration expert.” Edward began pacing two steps one way and two steps back. Two could play at Clementine’s game of disinterest. “Someone to act as a consultant, so to speak, to oversee that every project is accomplished with utmost care and consideration to preserve the historical value of the castle.”

Clementine’s eyes met his. He’d gotten her attention.

“I don’t know anyone,” she said, her voice flat. Edward took notice of her father kicking her foot from beside her.

“Uh… Prince… I mean Edward,” he began. “What types of tasks do you need help with?”

Edward sighed, considering the vast amount of work the castle required to even get it up to code let alone fully restored. “Everything from acquiring the exact type of slate shingles for the roof—they have to be period and…” He scratched his head, annoyed that he couldn’t think of the shingle type. “I can’t remember the name of the style the historian used.”

“Romanesque revivalist.” The words fell easily from Clementine’s lips.

She really did know her stuff. And he really needed her.

But, he realized, from the deathly quiet of Wicke Salvage with not a single customer in sight, she might just need him more.

“The job pays very well,” he said and looked from Clementine to her father and back. “I’d like to hire you, Clementine.”

She opened her mouth, but before any words could come out, her father spoke for her.

“Clementine would be glad to take the position,” he said, smiling. Another old man who strongly resembled Mr. Wicke emerged from the back room.

“What position?” he asked, scratching his mostly bald head and releasing a quiet burp. Edward noticed a white stain of what looked like pudding on the collar of his red and black plaid flannel.

“Clementine’s been offered a position to aid restoration at the old Kawell, Castle, Stoddard!” Clem’s father said, his face beaming.

Stoddard removed his glasses and wiped them with a yellowed handkerchief. “Clem, that’s fantastic!”

Clementine stood between the two men, lips pursed. Her eyes dug into Edward, as if she knew that he had her in a sticky spot. She turned to her father. “I’m not sure I’m really the right person for the job, Dad,”

The man called Stoddard placed a fat hand on Clementine’s shoulder. “Well, of course you’re the right person for the job, Clem! Tell her, Dirk. Tell her she’s the right person,” he said.

“Your uncle Stoddard and I think you’re the perfect person, Clem.” Clementine’s father gave her a look that Edward could read as if it were written in bold ink.

We need this job, it said.

Clem’s father stepped forward and placed his hand on his chest.