Chapter 7: CHAPTER SEVEN

Mia

"…Then he said, ‘Never ask Mia to do something like this again, or I’ll murder you and your entire family,’" Jules finished with dramatic flair before taking a slow sip of her caramel mocha.

"Shut up."

Stella leaned forward, eyes wide. "No way. He did not say that."

"He didn’t." I shot Jules a pointed look. "Stop exaggerating."

"How would you know? You were in the bathroom," she countered. When my frown deepened, she sighed in exasperation. "Fine. He didn’t say those exact words—at least, not the last part—but the general idea was the same. He definitely warned Owen away from you." Jules casually tore off a piece of her cranberry scone and popped it into her mouth.

"Poor Owen." Guilt twisted in my stomach as I traced absentminded patterns on the table. Our weekly Tuesday coffee catch-up had landed us at The Morning Roast, where Jules had been regaling the others with a wildly exaggerated version of what had gone down at Owen’s house on Saturday. "I hate that he got dragged into this. All those hours of work, gone."

Owen and I worked together at the McCann Gallery, where I’d been a gallery assistant for the past year and a half. My father had never explicitly said he disapproved of my dream to pursue photography, but his stance was clear—he wasn’t going to finance it. Tuition and school-related expenses? Covered. But if I wanted a new lens, a camera, or even a tripod? That was on me.

I tried not to let his quiet disapproval get under my skin. I was fortunate—I’d graduate without a mountain of student loan debt, and I wasn’t afraid of hard work. In fact, buying my own equipment only made me appreciate it more. And I genuinely loved my job at McCann, one of the most prestigious photography galleries in the Northeast.

The only problem? I wasn’t sure if Owen still wanted anything to do with me after what Damien had pulled.

Even now, my skin burned with anger at the memory of his condescending attitude.

I couldn’t believe he’d had the audacity to show up and try to boss me around like that. Threaten my friend. Treat me like I was his servant or employee. Even Josh had never crossed that line.

I stabbed my fork into my yogurt, fuming. "Sounds like I missed all the fun."

Bridget sighed dramatically. "All the interesting stuff happens when I'm not around."

Bridget had been attending an event at Eldorra's New York consulate, a requirement for the Princess of Eldorra.

Yes, you read that right. She was a real-life princess, second in line to the throne of a small but very wealthy European country. And she absolutely looked the part. With her golden hair, piercing blue eyes, and flawless bone structure, she could’ve been Grace Kelly’s doppelgänger.

I hadn’t known who Bridget was when we were assigned to the same suite freshman year. Honestly, I assumed a princess would have a private room, not a dorm.

But that was the beauty of Bridget. Despite her royal background, she was one of the most grounded people I knew. She never flaunted her status and always insisted on living as a normal college student when she could. Thayer was the perfect fit for her in that regard. With its proximity to D.C. and top-tier international politics program, the campus was full of political heirs and foreign royals. Just the other day, I overheard the son of the Speaker of the House and the crown prince of a notoriously controversial oil kingdom arguing over which video game was superior.

You really can’t make that up.

"Trust me, it wasn’t fun," I grumbled. "It was humiliating. I owe Owen at least a nice dinner."

My phone buzzed with a new text. Liam, again.

I swiped away the notification before anyone could notice. I wasn’t in the mood to deal with him or his endless excuses.

"On the contrary, I thought it was hilarious," Jules chimed in, finishing her scone. "You should've seen Damien's face. He was beyond pissed."

"How is that hilarious?" Stella asked, snapping a photo of her latte art before joining in.

Stella, who had a major fashion and lifestyle blog with over 400,000 Instagram followers, was always capturing everything for the 'Gram. It was ironic—despite her massive online presence, she was the most introverted of us all. But she always said the "anonymity" of the internet made it easier for her to be herself.

"Did you hear me? He was pissed." Jules emphasized the last word as if it were supposed to carry some heavy meaning.

Bridget, Stella, and I stared at her, confused.

She let out an exaggerated sigh, clearly frustrated by our lack of understanding. "When was the last time any of us saw Damien Cole pissed? Or happy? Or sad? The guy doesn’t show emotions. It’s like God gave him a double portion of good looks and skipped over the feelings part."

"I think he's a psychopath," Stella chimed in, her face flushing. "No normal person is that controlled all the time."

I was still annoyed with Damien, but something made me want to defend him. "You’ve only met him a few times. He’s not so bad when he’s not..."

"Being bad?" Bridget interrupted with a smirk.

"All I’m saying is, he’s Josh’s best friend, and I trust my brother’s judgment."

Jules snorted. "This is the same brother who wore that awful rat costume to last year’s Halloween party?"

I wrinkled my nose, and Bridget and Stella burst into laughter. "I meant judgment, not taste."

"Sorry, didn’t mean to offend you," Stella said, tilting her head to let her glossy dark curls cascade over her shoulder. We often joked that she was the United Nations of humans because of her mixed heritage—German and Japanese from her mother’s side, Black and Puerto Rican from her father’s. The result? A stunning five-foot-eleven figure with long limbs, deep olive skin, and catlike green eyes. Supermodel material, but she had no interest in modeling. "It was just an observation, but you’re right. I don’t know him well enough to judge. Statement retracted."

"I’m not upset. I’m..." I faltered. What was I doing? Damien didn’t need me to defend him. Not that he’d care if he were here. If there was one person who didn’t give a damn about what others thought, it was Damien Cole.

"Guys, you’re missing the point." Jules waved her hand dismissively. "The real point is, Damien actually showed emotion. Over Mia. We could have some fun with this."

Oh, no. Jules's idea of "fun" was usually a recipe for trouble, and I was almost certain it would lead to some level of embarrassment for me.

"What kind of fun?" Bridget asked, looking intrigued.

"Bridge!" I kicked her under the table. "Don’t encourage her."

"Sorry." The blonde shot me a playful look. "But seriously, all I’ve got going on lately are..." She glanced around to make sure no one was paying attention. Of course, Booth, her bodyguard, was sitting at the table behind us, pretending to read the paper but clearly keeping a close watch on everything. "Diplomatic events and ceremonial stuff. It’s so boring. Meanwhile, my grandfather’s sick, my brother’s acting weird, and I need something to distract myself."

Her grandfather and brother, King Edvard and Crown Prince Nikolai of Eldorra. I had to remind myself they were just people, despite being literal royalty. Even after years of friendship, it was still strange to hear her talk so casually about her family.

"I have a theory." Jules leaned forward, and, much to my dismay, the rest of us leaned in too, drawn in by our own curiosity. I had a bad feeling about what she was about to say.

And I was right.

"Mia somehow gets under Damien’s skin," Jules continued. "We should see how far we can push this. How much can she make him feel?"

I rolled my eyes. "All those long hours at your internship must've scrambled your brain, because none of this makes any sense."

Jules ignored me completely. "I call it..." She paused dramatically. "Operation Emotion." She raised her hand, as though she were about to create an arc in the air with the words themselves.

"Creative," Stella teased.

"Hear me out. We all think Damien is a robot, right? Well, what if she ..." Jules pointed at me. "...can prove he isn't? Don't tell me you guys don't want to see him act like an actual human being for once."

"No." I tossed my empty coffee cup into the nearest trash can and almost beaned a passing student in a Thayer

sweatshirt. I winced and mouthed "sorry" before returning to the ridiculous proposition at hand. "That's the dumbest idea I've ever heard."

"Don't knock it till you've tried it," my so-called best friend sang.

"What would be the point?" I threw my hands in the air.

"How would it even work?"

"Simple." Jules pulled a pen and notepad out of her bag and started scribbling. "We come up with a list of emotions, and you try to make him feel each one. It'll be a test of sorts. Like giving him an annual physical to make sure he's functioning properly."

"Sometimes," Bridget said. "The way your mind works

scares me."

"No," I repeated. "Not happening."

"It does seem kind of...mean." Stella tapped her gold-polished nails on the table. "What emotions did you have in mind?"

"Stel!"

"What?" She cast a guilty look in my direction. "I'm curious."

"Off the top of my head? We've already seen him angry, so happiness, sadness, fear, disgust..." A wicked smile slashed across Jules's face. "Jealousy."

I snorted. "Please. He'd never be jealous of me."

He was a multimillionaire executive with a genius-level IQ; I was a college student who worked two jobs and ate cereal for dinner.

No contest.

"Not jealous of you. Jealous over you."

Bridget perked up. "You think he likes Mia?"

"No." I was tired of saying that word. "He's my brother's best friend, and I'm not his type. He told me so."

"Psshh." Jules waved away my protest like she would a mosquito. "Men don't know what they want. Besides, don't you want to get back at him for what he did to Owen?"

"I don't," I said firmly. "And I'm not going along with this crazy idea."

Forty-five minutes later, we decided Phase One of Operation Emotion would commence in three days.