Page 1 of Royally Tempted

Chapter 1

Emma

“We need something filthy. Somethingbig.”

Martin, the editorial chief, pumped his fist into his open palm, looking around the small conference room.

“What we need to deliver is a story that people will talk about foryears— something that scandalizes. So, get out there, get hunting, get digging, and bring me all the dirt you can find. We have a job to do people, now let’s get to it.”

He slammed his fist on the table like he tended to do when he ended one of his little speeches, his slightly piggish face bright red and sweaty.

The room nodded as the meeting broke and people started to get up from the table, collecting their things.

“Something big, people! I’m hungry!”

I resisted the urge to snort as I rose from the table. Simone, to my right, did not.

“There’s a headline,” she muttered under her breath. “Fat, sweaty, walking-sexual-harassment editorial chief ishungry. Stop the fucking presses.”

I turned to grin at her, rolling my eyes.

“We couldnotbring him something when he’s hungry. That’d be the real scandal.” I sighed as I gathered my stuff. “I mean isn’t anyone else getting tired of this ‘scandal’ crap? Wasn’t the whole point of this team to find stories that mattered when it came to royalty?”

Simone shrugged. “Yeah, well, people don’t want ‘what matters’ apparently. They’re just interested in who’s fucking whom.”

I shook my head as I shouldered my bag, and we started to head out of the conference room when Martin cleared his throat behind us.

“Emma?”

I made a face before turning and forcing a smile.

“Can you stay behind for a second?”

I glanced back at Simone, who gave me a half-smile, half-sympathetic look.

“I’ll, uh, meet you downstairs?”

She nodded, her eyes saying “good luck” before she headed out of the conference room.

“What’s up, Martin?”

“Just wanted to check in with my favorite team writer,” he smiled, his eyes firmly on my breasts, as usual.

“Anything juicy for me?”

I shrugged, pulling out my phone and bringing my notes up.

“We’re following up on some leads about the rumors of the Countess of Vandim having had a baby in secret somewhere. Apparently the dad might be her husband’s personal trainer.”

Martin grinned. “Nice.”

Yuck.

Crap like this wasnotwhy I’d become a journalist. It’s not what brought me to theRevania Posteither. When word had gotten out that we were starting an internal special investigative team to look into hard-hitting stories around royalty and their families, I was so excited to be picked to be a part of it. I mean,thatwas why I’d gotten into this business — to write the stories that mattered and shed light on the things that people needed to hear about. Secret treaties, trade wars between kingdoms, allegations of corruption —thesewere the things I was excited to dig into and write about.

Instead, our “special investigative team” was basically a gossip column. We werenotwriting about the things that mattered. Instead, every story was about who was sleeping with whom (allegedly), who was wearing what, and who was spotted at some exotic location with someone other than their queen or king.

It was a joke. Instead of hard-hitting stores, I was following up on stories of scandalous affairs and royal celebrity sex tapes.

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