Page 8 of Out of Office Nights
And if he did nothing else, he would get the old man to eat those words.
Setting his cup down none-too-gently on the pristine marble console, he waved the butler away from the door, ignoring the knots in his belly.
An hour today. A handful tomorrow night.
Then he’d be free to work on the most important project of his life.
Teeth set, he yanked the door open, causing the statuesque beauty’s head to rear up. And just like that, another knot strangled into being.
A part of him wondered abstractedly if Sabeen was a witch. If she’d been sent by the devil himself to torment him. Because surely no one—besides himself of course—had the right to look so effortlessly perfect at this time of the morning, with her hair neatly knotted once more, the barest hint of make-up highlighting every inch of flawless skin. He granted himself the smallest glance at her cream thigh-skimming wraparound jersey dress. ‘You’re late,’ he snapped.
‘I’m not,’ she replied with calm so serene it was like watching a still pond at sunrise. ‘I’m actually a whole minute early.’
He wanted to toss out the trite retort about early meaning being on time but stopped himself. He was projecting. Again. Exposing that she was burrowing deeper under his skin when he knew most of what he was feeling wasn’t even her fault.
Or was it?
Wasn’t she the only one who’d been able to achieve that besides his parents? He would struggle to name any of the parade of beautiful women who’d graced his bed in the last year. Yet, a three-minute indulgence with this creature—albeit an intensely sizzling one—had taken seemingly permanent residence in his consciousness, resisting any effort to remove it.
‘Coffee?’ he tossed over his shoulder as he strode back into the living room. Then felt disgruntled all over again when she shook her head. What the hell was wrong with him?
‘No, thanks. I’ve had my one cup of the day. More and I get the…’ The faintest frown momentarily marred her forehead. ‘I’m fine, thanks.’
He stifled the urge to demand that she elaborate. That it had risen in the first place was irritating in the extreme. He never asked a woman about her thoughts. He’d learned very early in life, much to his cost, that that way lurked landmines ready to annihilate him.
His mother had only needed the slightest prompting to launch into a vicious diatribe, outlining every source of disappointment, disgust and fury that her twin sons by the former king had had the audacity to arrive a few weeks later than the current King of Cartana, thereby depriving her of the coveted position of Queen of Cartana. Decades later, her intense resentment for that slight still burned just as bright.
At times, Teo wished he could be like his twin: aloof, unruffled, insults and overdramatic recriminations bouncing off his wide shoulders as he moved through his quiet, if angst-filled life. At some point Valenti had even offered the excuse that their mother’s behaviour stemmed from her inability to handle her twin sons as a single mother. But Teo had tolerated that opinion for five minutes. His mother was capable of love. Unfortunately that love only encompassed power, recognition and deeply material things.
Never him or his brother.
‘Come,’ he commanded, aware of the un-playboylike gravity of his tone. He barely bit back ‘Let’s get this over with’ before heading down the hallway of his penthouse.
Her heels clicked briskly behind him, his shoulder blades tingling at the sensation of her watchful gaze on his back, perhaps even puzzled by his mood.
You and me both, he mused bitterly.
Throwing open the doors to the room, he strode to the mannequin positioned in the centre of the room, draped with the outfit that had arrived first thing this morning as per his instructions.
For the umpteenth time he sought out flaws, his critical gaze seeking ways to elevate perfection into a masterpiece.
He made no apology for achieving the impossible repeatedly through his career. It was what had earned him endless accolades, a rabid following and more billions than he would be able to spend in six lifetimes.
He exhaled, slow and deep, his roiling senses settled,finally, as the throbbing pulse that fed his first and only love slid into place.
Some people bandied about, tearing their hair out over what their roles in life were, whether they were on the right path or not. He had known from the very first time he’d slid a swathe of silk between his fingers that this was what he was born for. Not even the brief stint in the army with his brothers, when their deep bond had solidified and his twin had been co-opted into special ops, had tempted Teo to change paths.
Disparaging, sneering, downright mockery hadn’t dissuaded him. These days he had the last laugh. His own mother begged him, when she found the grace to drop her perennial animosity, to create signature gowns for her, which she would then boast about—out of his earshot, of course, because heaven forbid a word of approval should fall from her lips.
And depending on his mood, he either sent her away with nothing or tossed something her way. He curbed a jeering smile.
Yes, he was aware that some would deem him a disrespectful son. He had earned many more unfavourable labels than that in his thirty-five years. Hell, these days he collected them like trophies.
‘Are we doing this?’
He tensed, then forced himself to relax, to drag himself into the present. ‘By all means, but you will need to—’
His words dried up when he turned to see her already shrugging out of the wraparound dress she had arrived in.
