To Kiss A Prince
Notting Hill Diaries 0.5
Shéa MacLeod
To Kiss a Prince
Notting Hill Diaries: Book 0.5
Text copyright © 2015 Shéa MacLeod
All rights reserved.
Printed in the United States of America
Cover Art by Amanda Kelsey of Razzle Dazzle Designs
Editing by Theo Fenraven
Proof reading by Jenx Byron
Formatted by PyperPress
License Notes:
No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.
Publisher's Note:
The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.
Anna's life is falling apart. First she gets fired—totally not her fault!—and then she comes home to find her boyfriend in bed with the neighbor. But a job offer across the Pond gives her the perfect excuse to chuck it all and start again. As the nanny of adorable twins, she finds her new boss, Bella, cold and oh-so-proper, but Notting Hill is nothing short of magical. And as Valentine's Day approaches, Anna realizes anything is possible. Even capturing the heart of a prince.
Chapter 1
"I'm sorry, Anna, but we're going to have to let you go."
I blinked once. Twice. "You're firing me?" I couldn't help the slight edge of panic that crept into my voice. How could Mr. Bain be firing me?
Mr. Bain held out his pudgy hands in supplication. "Now, Anna. This isn't a firing exactly. It's just that with this economy… well, we don't have the budget to continue employing an art teacher. It's not… essential."
"The economy? Are you serious?" The economy was finally on the upswing. That's why they'd hired me in the first place. I'd only been here six months, and it was the first full-time job I'd managed to get since graduating.
"You'll get two weeks' severance pay, of course," he assured me. "And an excellent reference."
"Oh, gee, thanks." Because that would go so far.
"And I'm certain you can get unemployment."
"Fantastic." I jumped to my feet. "If that's all, I've got a class to teach."
Mr. Bain cleared his throat. "This is effective immediately, Anna. We'll be, ah, mailing your check."
I narrowed my eyes. "This is because of that nasty witch, Lala Yarrow, isn't it?" What the hell kind of name was "Lala" anyway?
Bain cleared his throat again and refused to meet my gaze. "I really can't say…."
"Oh, please," I snapped. "You and I both know she's had it in for me ever since that blasted husband of hers tried to grope me." Blake Yarrow had picked up their daughter, Emily, from school one day and caught me in the classroom alone. His so-called romantic advances had been clumsy and more than unwelcome, but ever since, Lala had been out for blood. I'd known she'd never be satisfied until she got me fired, and I was right. Of course, being right about that didn't exactly feel good. I would have been fine with being wrong for once.
"Anna, please," Bain said with a weak smile. "I don't have a choice."
I snorted. "Whatever. Have yourself a Merry freaking Christmas, Mr. Bain." And with that I stormed out of Mr. Bain's office and down the hall toward the art room. Six months. Six whole months at Portland Prep. I'd been so lucky to get the job. Teaching art to kids had been my dream since I was a kid myself, and to score a position at the prestigious prep school had been a dream come true. And now here I was again, jobless. I wasn't sure whether to be angry, humiliated, or scared.
I strode to the art closet and pulled out a paper grocery bag. They made such great drop cloths and could be used for a variety of interesting projects. This time they'd carry my belongings home with me.
Stomping over to my desk, I swept my few personal items into the sack. With a last look around, I heaved a sigh and slipped on my coat. Then I purposefully strode out the door, down the hall, and out into the weak winter sunshine. At least it wasn't raining.
I climbed into my car, a beat-up old Toyota Corolla from the previous decade, suddenly feeling lost. This job was everything I'd ever worked for, and they'd thrown me out because some jealous bitch couldn't deal with her philandering husband. I let out a frustrated scream and punched the steering wheel, which only left me with a bruised knuckle and a scratchy throat, and scared a woman who was walking her dog. I gave her an apologetic smile and wave, but she hurried on like I might hop out of my car and stab her to death.
With a shake of my head, I started the car and headed home. Home. I couldn't wait to get my pajamas on and curl up with a glass of wine. Forget this day ever happened. Tomorrow I would focus on finding a new job, but tonight, I'd wallow.
Halfway to my dinky apartment on the outskirts of the city, I realized home was the last place I wanted to go. I needed to talk this out. Get my frustrations off my chest. A quick glance at the dashboard clock (subtracting two hours and fifteen minutes, since the doohickey that changed the time had snapped off) told me it was just past noon. Good. My boyfriend, Neil, should still be home. He was a chef, and the restaurant he worked at was only open for dinner and special events.
Instead of getting on the freeway leading out of town, I turned toward North Portland. Neil lived in one of the adorable Portland-style homes in a neighborhood that had once been run down but was now getting gentrified. You could still get a house for a decent price, as long as you didn't mind putting some elbow grease into it. Neil had bought his house eight months
