In A Faraway Land: Billionaires in Disguise: Flicka
Princess Flicka von Hannover spun through the casino, taking orders and delivering drinks.
Bastien the Swiss guy, again. He ordered a Weizenbier, as he alternated those with his top-shelf martinis, and Flicka typed it into her screen.
Just as she was getting ready to wink at him and flounce off to her next ten-second interaction, Bastien glanced over her shoulder. His face stilled, and he didn’t move.
She looked behind herself.
Six men threaded through the crowd toward them. All wore dark suits. All were looking intently in her direction. The closest was on the other side of a blackjack table and rounding it fast.
Her tray crashed to the floor behind her.
People hollered at the spill and noise.
Dieter was at the table ahead of her, and she sprinted toward him.
He looked up and was already sliding off the barstool seat as she got to him. He grabbed her arm as she passed, pushing her ahead of him, and they ran for the kitchen doors at the back as they had planned.
Flicka risked a quick glance back.
All of the black-suited men were chasing them, but they weren’t dodging through the crowd as quickly as she and Dieter were.
They crashed through the swinging door and pounded down a hallway toward a door that led to another back hallway.
When they reached it, Flicka slammed her palms against the crash bar, but it didn’t budge.
She hit it again. Nothing. “It’s locked.”