Her Crown Jewel (Hygge Royal Romance Series, Book 1)

The Pencil

Present day...

She once again opened her pencil case and took everything out of it. She made sure to put each item back one by one, but at this stage she had no hope left. Clearly, the Pencil wasn't here. Kajsa groaned, and after a few minutes of internal struggle she pulled her mobile out of her cardigan pocket.

Berg picked up right away. "Ms. Larsson?" he grumbled her alias.

"Berg, good morning! I'm terribly sorry, I know it's your day off, but I need to go back to the publishing house. I've left an important item in John Holyoake's office."

The driver was silent on the other end of the line.

"So, I was wondering," she continued innocently, "if I could possibly take a cab and–"

"You can't," he cut her off. She was hardly surprised by his reaction. "I will contact the embassy chauffeur service," he said.

"Oh please, don't," Kajsa begged. "They wear ridiculous black suits, sunglasses, and earpieces, and they won't let me walk even one block. They might even insist on accompanying me inside. Everyone in the publishing house will know I'm not a normal person!"

"You are not a normal person," Berg deadpanned. Kajsa grumbled in their native language. "Am I ringing the embassy up?" Berg asked with an exasperated sigh.

"No, it's OK," Kajsa answered grudgingly. "It can wait till tomorrow. I gave you a day off, and I'm not taking it away - but neither am I letting those brutes in cheap suits ruin my meticulously maintained alter ego. I'll see you tomorrow at nine."

"Have a good day, Ms. Larsson."

"You too, Berg."

She hung up and dropped her head on the back of her swivel chair. She surely could work without it, she told herself, she was no capricious, entitled diva. She simply needed to ensure the safety of the Pencil and wait till tomorrow. She sighed and dialled Linda.

After polite greetings and a long apology - her upbringing made her prone to excessive 'pardon me's' and 'I'm sorry's' that impressed even the British - she explained her problem.

"It's just an ordinary pencil," she said in a pained voice. "It has blue and silver stripes. But it was given to me by John Howe, a famous artist. And I know it sounds ridiculous–"

"No, no, not at all!" Linda interrupted her. "You can't work without it, am I right? I understand how such things can be crucial for an artist. Don't worry about anything! John's in a meeting right now, but as soon as he's done, I'll go and look for it. It's probably on the conference table with other pencils and pens. If it rolled down onto the floor yesterday, I'm sure the cleaning staff just picked it up and put it with the rest of them."

Kajsa felt sharp nausea rise at the mental image of her Pencil falling on the floor with a mournful clack. She clearly envisioned the graphite snapping in five places on impact, and she squeezed her eyes shut.

"Thank you so very much, Linda," she said in a cheery voice. "And once again, I apologise for making all this fuss."

After reassuring her once again, the secretary hung up. Kajsa pulled her knees to her chest and buried her nose in them, intently watching her phone. She had been obviously wrong when she'd told Berg it could wait till tomorrow. The longer she waited, the more intense her discomfort was growing - and the more graphic and terrifying the fate of her Pencil her mind painted. Once her overzealous imagination supplied her with a vision of it being shredded in a mulcher, she jumped to her feet and stomped to the kitchen to make herself a nice strong cup of coffee.

She'd left her phone on the sofa to force herself to stop glaring at it - and when it rang, she was, of course, taking the first sip. She jolted, spilled her drink, burning her chin and her tongue, and rushed back to the sitting room.