Royal Player: A Romantic Comedy Standalone by Katie McCoy

Author:Katie McCoy [McCoy, Katie]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Katie McCoy Books
Published: 2017-04-23T18:30:00+00:00

17

Charlie

Emmy wouldn’t tell me what had happened in the powder room, but I could tell something had gone down. That was confirmed when I saw Lady Linda, Lady Tamara, and Lady Margaret slink out of the powder room several moments later looking like a group of chastised kittens. I gave Emmy a kiss on the temple, proud that she was clearly holding her own in a situation that was unbelievably unfair.

I tugged at my collar, wishing I was anywhere but here. These events were the worst. I didn’t mind the end result—raising money for charity—but I preferred my usual manner of participating, which was sending them a check in the mail.

Tonight, in particular, I wasn’t in the mood. I tried to ignore the bitter taste in my mouth when I thought of everything that had happened in the last twenty-four hours. Things had gone from bloody amazing to total shite in a ridiculously short amount of time. And I knew it was my fault. That I had wanted to be a normal guy so badly that I had put Emmy in the crosshairs of the reality of my very abnormal life.

I had to make it up to her, I just didn’t know how yet.

I spotted Hugh across the room and felt my entire body tense. Wanker. I was still burning at the way he had treated Emmy that morning. I hadn’t expected to declare my intentions for her in front of a room full of people—hell, I hadn’t even expected to declare them at all—but when Hugh started speaking about her like she wasn’t important, I couldn’t help but correct him. Because even if I didn’t know where this was going, I knew it wasn’t like my other flings. I knew it wasn’t something I wanted to end when the season ended.

“I was wondering if you’d make it.” Gwen Kingston appeared from the crowd. She was in her sixties, a former tennis pro-turned-charity fundraiser, and the force of nature behind this event tonight. We’d met at a tennis gala, years ago, and she’d brow-beaten me into supporting some of her projects. I was happy to oblige. She was a no-bullshit kind of woman, who liked to use her former glory as a three-time Wimbledon champion to get rich folks like the ones here tonight to pony up money to help those who needed it most. “Now, who’s your gorgeous companion?”

“This is Emmy Anderson,” I introduced them. “What, no compliment for me?”

“Your ego couldn’t take it,” she shot back. “It’s already enormous.”

“You know, they say the same thing about my—”

“Ahem.” Gwen gave me a withering stare. “Let’s not lower the tone just yet.”

“Suit yourself,” I grinned. “If you don’t want me to know about my enormous bank account and the check coming your way, then so be it.”

“Will this one actually have your name on it?” Gwen asked, before turning to Emmy. “Did you know that his donations practically kept the sports school afloat when we first started? Everyone thought it was a wasteful project, but it’s so important that everyone has access to great training.

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