He did not know if she was remarking on the fact that he hadn’t merely sent a driver—as he should have—or if she was complaining that the king himself was not on hand to roll out the red carpet. “I am equerry to His Majesty, King Emil. Are you familiar with the role?” He asked because many people weren’t. Americans often thought he was a butler. Not that there was anything wrong with being a butler. It was an honorable way to make a living performing an important service.

“Yes. I’ve seen The Crown.”

God preserve him. His impassive façade almost slipped.

“As far as I can tell,” she went on, “being an equerry is like being an executive assistant. Everyone thinks you’re a secretary, but really, you make the entire ship go.”

“The ship? I beg your pardon?”

“It’s a Star Trek metaphor. The captain can talk a good talk, but the person who actually makes the ship go is the engineer. If he—or she, but let’s face it; on TV it’s usually a he—doesn’t want the ship to go, it’s is not going, no matter what the captain says.”

Hmm. What a curious, and unexpected, analogy.

“But choose your metaphor,” she went on. “The wind beneath your boss’s wings. The man behind the throne.” She cracked a smile, which she held for a beat, clearly trying not to laugh. She lost the battle and let loose a low, throaty, delighted chuckle that seemed at odds with her corporate-goth persona. “Which I guess is not a metaphor in this case, because you literally are that.”

“Well, not literally.”

“What?”

“I don’t literally stand behind the throne.” There wasn’t even a literal throne, at least not in the way she imagined.

She rolled her eyes ever so slightly, which surprised him. He would have expected “Don’t roll one’s eyes at the client” to be a first principle.

Of course, he wasn’t the client. He was the concierge. He tried not to bristle overtly.

“Are you aware,” she said, “that the dictionary recently revised the definition of ‘literally’ to include ‘in effect,’ or ‘virtually’?”

“I am, but that doesn’t mean I approve. A word cannot also mean the opposite of itself simply because enough people agree.” He was aware that he shouldn’t be speaking to her like this. King Emil hadn’t charged him with being a concierge in quite those words, but that’s what his request had amounted to. And concierges didn’t get high in the instep with their guests.

She stared at him for a beat too long before saying, “I see how this is going to be.”

“Do you?” He was still doing it. He couldn’t seem to stop.

“I do.” She was getting impertinent, too.