Would Be King Read online

  Copyright © 2019 by Kim Karr

  All Rights Reserved

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written consent of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotation embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. Resemblance to actual persons, things, living or dead, locales or events is entirely coincidental.

  All characters are 18 + years of age and all sexual acts are consensual. Reader discretion advised.

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  BOOK CREDITS

  Cover designer: By Hang Le

  Cover model: John D

  Photographer: Wander Aguiar Photography

  Editing: Insight Editing Services

  Formatting: Champagne Book Design

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  TITLE PAGE

  COPYRIGHT

  EPIGRAPH

  PROLOGUE 1

  PROLOGUE 2

  1: DO IT LIKE YOU MEAN IT

  2: UNFOLD YOURSELF

  3: OPEN SESAME

  4: LOOK UP NOT DOWN

  5: EXPOSED

  6: NEW RULES

  7: STRIKE A POSE

  8: IT’S ONLY RAIN

  9: DINING IN

  10: DID SOMEONE SAY FIRE?

  11: OOPS…HE DID IT AGAIN

  12: TWEETS

  13: A RIDE ON THE WILD SIDE

  14: PUT YOUR HANDS UP

  15: TRAINING WHEELS

  16: TWEETS

  17: IT’S A FEELING

  18: ANOTHER PLANET

  19: IT’S TIME

  20: KANOODLING

  21: TWEETS

  22: SAY WHAT?

  23: OFFICE POLITICS

  24: EXCUSE ME?

  25: HOMECOMING

  26: STRIKE A DIFFERENT POSE

  27: UNLIKE A PRINCE

  28: BLAME IT ON THE DRESS

  29: STRANGER DANGER

  30: NOW YOU SEE ME

  31: NOTHING UGLY

  32: THE PAPER CHASE

  33: SPOTTED

  34: CAB CUTIE

  35: FOUL DEEDS WILL RISE

  36: HERMÈS IN A TWIST

  37: SOVEREIGNTY OF REASON

  38: CONFESS YOURSELF

  39: THE SHOT

  40: CROSSROADS

  41: CONFESSION

  42: WRONG WAY

  43: NO DECISION

  44: CLARIFICATION

  45: TWEETS

  46: THE NOISE

  47: GETTING SOME AIR

  48: THEY ALL BOW DOWN

  49: MIA

  50: PARIS IS BURNING

  51: STILL MIA

  52: TROJAN HORSE

  53: ENGLISH PLEASE

  54: TROJAN HORSE

  55: FOUND

  56: WHO ARE YOU?

  57: SMOOTH OPERATOR

  58: FOR THE LOVE OF CARDS

  59: WHERE’S THE LEASH

  60: MESSAGE IN A BOTTLE

  61: CHANGE

  62: IN OTHER NEWS

  63: FINALLY

  64: WILL THERE BE BELLS?

  65: HERE COMES THE BRIDE

  EPILOGUE

  A NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR

  YOUR WHO’S WHO GUIDE

  PREVIEW: REWINED

  ALSO BY KIM KARR

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  SOCIAL MEDIA LINKS

  “Only do what your heart tells you.”

  ~Princess Diana

  A hopeless romantic is a person who holds sentimental and idealistic views on love, especially in spite of experience and evidence.

  A ROYAL BAD BOY

  The Casanovia Conquest

  Breaking News

  WHEN THE PRINCE GOT IN VERY HOT WATER

  By Ian Wesley

  Ever since Prince Maximus Napoleon Montgomery’s breakup with the recently crowned Queen Victoria of Alexandria, this Would-Be-King has demonstrated all kinds of never-seen-before bad-boy behaviors.

  In the past sixty days, our beloved ginger-haired prince has been photographed in various compromising situations, including:

  ✔Drinking alcohol from between a woman’s breasts on said woman’s father’s yacht.

  ✔Kissing another heiress in public the next day and then jetting off to Monte Carlo with her.

  ✔Getting completely naked in a hotel room in Monte Carlo while surrounded by a group of people. Apparently, though, what happens in Monte Carlo doesn’t stay in Monte Carlo. He was snapped playing air guitar and rapping his own version of Post Malone, using the words, “Damn, I’m going psycho, bad like Michael,” and the video went viral.

  ✔Becoming acquainted with a number of strippers at his brother’s stag party and most of them were on his very own lap.

  ✔Partying until 6 a.m. the night before his brother’s wedding and although he showed up just in the nick of time, he brought an uninvited guest, a commoner from a party he met during the rehearsal festivities.

  Commoner, in case you didn’t catch that.

  Yikes.

  And it’s that last one that landed him in hot water. Scalding hot water, that is.

  The Queen was not happy—at all.

  Two days after his brother, The Crowned Prince Leopold, married Lady Petunia Sussex, Prince Maximus was seen being driven to a private airport by an equerry of the Palace, also his best friend, Hunter Tigress, and was whisked off in a plane to Newport, Rhode Island.

  Exiled?

  No, but banished. Yes.

  Most of us think the Prince is just sowing his oats after his broken arranged engagement. I mean it couldn’t be more obvious. Note my use of the words most of us.

  Still, this Prince has been bad.

  Extremely bad.

  Bad enough that his father, King Winston Alfred Montgomery and his somewhat new stepmother, Queen Genevieve, have had enough of his misbehaving.

  Presumably completely unaware he practically broke the internet with his rebel-like behavior, Prince Maximus had been told by the Palace he needed his image rehabbed. Immediately.

  Apparently, the tarnished look is not in.

  However, even after being sent to the royal playground of Newport, he continued to grace the cover of every tabloid magazine in the Vespa Isles with his bad-boy ways.

  So naughty.

  Since his arrival, my spies in the small New England town of Newport have photographed him in a number of compromising situations, including:

  ✔Posing in a lewd position while removing his shirt during a polo match, and then wandering around the grounds shirtless afterward.

  ✔Dancing at his family’s cottage and falling into the pool at a party to celebrate the US’s Labor Day.

  ✔Playing soccer Labor Day evening, still shirtless, with his six-pack out for all the world to see, and then fornicating with a known celebrity behind the bleachers.

  After that final event was captured on tape, the King proclaimed, “Prince Maximus will clean up his act immediately or else.”

  We have no idea what the or else is.

  However, reports tell us the Prince is finally taking things seriously and has moved from Newport to New York City to polish his image by putting his passion for women to better use. Business use that is.

  Looks like our prince is in for a boring party season away from his beloved Casanovia.

  Poor chap.

  Stay tuned as I bring you updates on how our royal bad boy is doing towing the line while in the States.

  I have to say, I think his behavior has rocketed him to the top as our most-favorite royal.


  What about you?

  Tweet me who your favorite royal is.

  I’m dying to know.

  Obviously, I’m on the Prince Maximus train.

  TWEETS

  Jazmine Conner @JConner

  @Princess Victoria of #Alexandria is a knockout.

  ♥100.8K

  94,499 people are talking about this

  Raquel Nearly @theNearly

  @King Rutherford of #Eastwood is a beast.

  ♥250.1K

  156,488 people are talking about this

  Tom Riddler @TRiddler

  @King Rutherford of #Eastwood because he wants to make the world a better place by legalizing gambling in the Vespa Isles.

  ♥500.9K

  456,488 people are talking about this

  Shannon Scranton @theShan

  @Casanovia’s Reporter I’m with you. Prince Maximus is dreamy.

  ♥60.9K

  6,488 people are talking about this

  AlexisBlake @AB101

  @Casanovia’s Reporter Prince Maximus is the hottest prince ever.

  ♥90.9K

  15,444 people are talking about this

  DO IT LIKE YOU MEAN IT

  On any typical Saturday at eleven in the morning, I might be having brunch or sex (if I had a boyfriend) or going to spin class.

  Today, though, isn’t a typical Saturday. It’s my unofficial first day of a new job.

  I finally got one.

  Halleluiah!

  By unofficial I mean—I’m not on staff—yet. Only because human resources won’t be in the office until Monday, though.

  You see, my new boss hired me at 9:23 this morning when her first choice didn’t show up for work (promptly at 9:00 as instructed), leaving her short-handed.

  While speaking to me on the phone, Kendra Walters insisted I attend this afternoon’s photo shoot so I wouldn’t be in the dark and to lessen the burden on her. In truth, I couldn’t have been more thrilled either way.

  Second choice—who cares?

  Last minute or not—who cares?

  Unpaid or paid—who cares?

  I got a job!

  At a fashion magazine. So most definitely yes, I want to attend the photo shoot. I mean, hello, fashion.

  Curtailing my joy is the fact that it’s also the first day of fall. And much to my dismay, Mother Nature has decided to crash into New York City like an atomic bomb at exactly the same time I’m ready to leave for work.

  Rushing down the stairs, I stop just outside the door in order to shield myself from the weather. The rain is falling in sideways sheets and the wind is whipping in every direction, making it super challenging to pop my umbrella.

  Screw it!

  After snapping the awfully unattractive raincoat I quickly grabbed on my way out of my new apartment, I wrap my hair into a bun and pull the hood up. I know I’ll have to deal with the consequences to my locks when I get to work.

  But work!

  So I can handle it.

  Hurrying across the street toward the subway station, I simultaneously remove my metro card from my wallet and walk at the same time. When you live in the hustle and bustle of the city, you learn to multitask.

  Out of nowhere, horns start blaring.

  Beep. Beep.

  Beep. Beep.

  Confused, I look to my left and then straight ahead. Instantly, I realize I’m the only one in the crosswalk. Just as I begin to run, my brand new stiletto gets caught in the sewer grate.

  This can’t be happening!

  When I bend to attempt to unstick it, my metro card goes flying out of my hand and right down into the big black hole.

  No!

  No!

  No!

  Sometimes I really dislike the entire mass transit service. In truth, most days I dislike the entire city.

  Yet fashion is my love, and I had to leave my home to pursue it. I don’t remember much about my mother, but she loved clothing, and I think she passed that love down to me.

  Who knows, maybe I have something to prove.

  To her.

  To me.

  Still, I grew up in Texas, where everything is bigger, brighter, more open. Quieter. Easier. There, my father drove a Volvo to get us from point A to point B. Then, when I went to college in Providence, Rhode Island, I drove said old Volvo around town. And I spent this past summer in L.A., where that very old Volvo now has a new owner. Why I ever believed selling the car and using the money for my half of the first and last month’s rent deposit was a brilliant idea is beyond me.

  Well, the fact that it costs more to park a vehicle in this city than I make is an excellent reason, I suppose. And let’s not forget driving here is insane.

  Finally freeing my heel, and simultaneously noticing the gouges in the dark leather of my right bootie, I have no time to even mourn the death of my new shoes.

  Drat!

  As soon as I get to the corner of Franklin and Greenwich, the rain turns into giant balls of hail. That’s when I decide to skip the subway and grab a taxi.

  It’s only money.

  Right?

  Honestly, though, the way the water is pelting down, I don’t want to have to walk the two blocks from the subway station to my new office.

  Bombshell is a soon-to-be launched fashion magazine. And the very publication I landed an assistant to the Assistant Creative Director position. The building is typically on a direct line from where I live, just not on the weekends. And after my unforeseen delays, I don’t have time to switch lines, that will only make me late, which I can’t be.

  I’ve been warned.

  Fashion is my life, and this position is going to be a fantastic start to my career. The pay isn’t great and the hours suck, but after spending so much time searching for the perfect job and not coming close to finding one, I have nothing to lose by taking it.

  Right?

  Two colleges and five years of studying (more if you count my internship with Built for Men in Seattle and a summer stint at Rachel Zoe in L.A.) has prepared me to be the best fashion stylist the world has ever seen. Helping the person who helps the stylist select the clothing and accessories for editorial features at Bombshell isn’t where I’d hoped to begin. However, like my father always says, “Everyone has to start somewhere.”

  Besides, my half of the rent for the tiny one-bedroom apartment my old college roommate, Ava Smart, and I share in Tribeca is due in just over a week, and you know what they say—beggars can’t be choosers.

  Speaking of Ava, she’s one lucky duck. After graduating from Brown University with her degree in fashion and business management, she spent the summer in Newport and worked with Queen Victoria of Alexandria.

  Sigh.

  Alexandria—a country in the Vespa Isles. A place where everything seems so tranquil.

  What I wouldn’t give to move there right now. Five islands nestled on the shore between France and Spain, life there must be surreal. Why she didn’t move there, I have no idea. We’re talking the Vespa Isles, here. Alexandria. The Queen. A kingdom of fashion at her fingertips.

  The thing about Ava though is she’s extremely choosey. Her career goals had been exceptionally lofty. Had been. She wanted to be the next Law Roach. Wanted. However, after landing a super cool gig as an assistant stylist at Vogue, her dreams and desires changed. Life there wasn’t all peaches and cream, and sadly, she quit that job after only a few short weeks. “No creative freedom,” she’d said. “Too smothering. Not for her,” she’d gone on to say.

  After serving her notice, she jetted off to Alexandria to visit her sister and try to get her Zen back. In truth, she needed to figure out what to do with the rest of her life.

  Optimistic and rejuvenated, she told me yesterday she’s going to return to the city to start job hunting anew next week. Thank God. I can’t wait to see her. I miss her around here. New York City is a big place, and I don’t know many people yet. If she had decided to leave the city, I’m not sure what I’d have done. Leave too?
/>   Right now, though, I need to get moving.

  When I spot a cab heading my way, I stick my hand out in the air to wave him over just like Ava taught me.

  Zoom.

  The cabbie drives right past me. Alright, maybe he didn’t notice me in the freezing rain? Although I don’t see how that’s possible. I mean, come on, I look like a giant rubber duckie for goodness sake.

  Still, undaunted, I spot another yellow vehicle, and this time I use some gusto when I stick my arm out. Unfortunately, this move nearly lands me on my bum in the street.

  The taxi barrels right past me and blares his horn as if he thinks I might actually have been trying to get in his way. It takes all my restraint not to give him the middle finger. Gritting my teeth, I toss mental curses around in my head in lieu of swearing out loud.

  Inhaling, I take a deep breath and as soon as I spot another cab, my arm flies out like a flagpole. Third times a charm, right? Even though the rain batters me, I smile because the cab pulls over.

  Fist pump.

  Yes!

  After this, my day can’t get much worse.

  Right?

  UNFOLD YOURSELF

  As soon as I fling the cab door open to slide inside, a wind tunnel of sorts barrels through the vehicle and straight up my skirt.

  I have no choice but to ignore the unsettling fact that the window on the passenger side must be open and therefore the interior soaking wet.

  I’m quickly bending to get out of the pouring rain when suddenly a rather nice leather satchel takes up residence in the space on the seat I am meant to occupy.

  Whipping my head up, I notice a pack of reporters taking pictures of something nearby. Ignoring them, I get on my tip toes and peer over the top of the cab, and that’s when I notice the mushroom head of a black umbrella collapsing into a pole and sinking inside this very cab.