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doesn’t talk to you. I tried to initiate conversation and she was anything but a lady.”
    Paisley’s head snapped up, and just like a scene from a horror movie, a man she had no desire to ever see again was being served by another member of the staff. He no longer had the knit cap and rainbow suspenders. Now, his beard looked like it had actually been combed and his clothes didn’t look like they came from a store rebellious teens shopped at to piss their parents off.
    All cleaned up, the robohipster she had met in the coffee shop looked kind of hot. He had trimmed the new growth on his cheeks and some product in his hair had it laying perfectly with just a little bit of shine.
    Paisley was frozen in space. What was this guy doing at a formal royal dinner? Was he with the hot guy she was going to quiz Coral about? Paisley couldn’t move. Or she didn’t until Bridget walked by and swung her hip into Paisley’s on purpose.
    The momentum flung her forward and she scrambled to get a grip on the table. Being a formal dinner, the lace table cloth had been lain out. Per normal dinner prep, Paisley had polished the table with a solid layer of shine glaze last night.
    Thanks to her brilliant cleaning skills, Paisley’s hands gripped the lace, just in time to feel the delicate fabric begin to slide. Images of pulling the entire dinner service off the table flashed before her eyes and she tried to adjust her stance. Her arms splayed and she turned so as not to go face first into the soup she had just served.
    She turned the wrong way, and when her feet twisted her ass ended up falling right onto the hottie.
    “Oh shit.”
    Curse words are not appropriate to use in polite conversation. When you are a staff member at a royal dinner, using them was a terminable offense. There were probably older laws on the books that would have had her beheaded for this, but luckily the queen had a potty mouth too. Paisley had gotten away with some mild language slips before. She hoped it would save her this time too.
    Her majesty coughed loudly as soon as the “s” sound started leaking from Paisley’s lips. It covered the curse for everyone except the man whose lap she’d taken over. Theirs was a queen of the people for sure.
    Paisley used the distraction and attempted to run, but a strong arm looped around her waist and held her there. Warm breath blew at the baby hairs surrounding her ear as he whispered to her.
    “Know that this was the best part of my visit to the palace. Don’t you dare apologize.”
    He let her go after that, but Paisley’s underwear had fused her legs together and she thanked whatever god was in charge of genitalia assignment that she wasn’t a guy, because she had a lady boner to end all lady boners right then.
    The queen coughed again, but this time it wasn’t for her to distract everyone at the table. It was to let Paisley know everyone was staring at her.
    Paisley ran. There was no graceful exit. There was no dignity. There was just the fight or flight instinct set to get the hell out of there.
    She wasn’t serving any more dinner. She was just getting the fuck out of the palace. Paisley was the most forward person one could ever meet, but she kept her business life and her getting busy life separate. Having someone hit on her in her uniform wasn’t anything new.
    Having someone make her eyes cross with lust while she was serving them wigged her out.
    She jumped down the last two steps to the servers’ quarters. Paisley shut her door and stripped out of her uniform. She threw on a shirt and jeans, and texted Coral while she took down her hair and the stupid little clip she had glued to her head with hairspray.
    Usually she would take the time to take down her bun and release her hair, but she needed to get out of the palace now. She tossed her uniform and a change of clothes in the sack.
    What the fuck did that guy think he was doing? It didn’t matter. One thing a staff member couldn’t screw up was