Page 4 of Rogue Royal
“Because this assignment has gone on long enough, and you know it.”
“If you want to work for this company, Maverick, you’ll do as I say. You’re finished there when I say you’re finished. Now, get back to work.”
The silence from the other end of the phone indicated Bert had hung up, and Mav clenched his hand around it and breathed deeply until the urge to throw the offending object had passed. Instead, he rested it on the table next to the tablet and dropped onto the sofa, staring at the chandelier—a small one, but a chandelier, nonetheless.
He shook his head at the extravagance, but he could hardly complain when he was currently in a historic castle. Closing his eyes, he sighed, wishing there was a way out of this job, except for him to quit, which he refused to do because, despite the inconveniences and long hours, he enjoyed what he did, and he refused to mess up his dad’s job. Was it too much to ask for Douglas to calm the fuck down? Mav could do with a holiday.
Dragging himself to the bathroom once he’d finished with his nightly pity party, he switched on the shower and undressed, wanting nothing more than to fall into bed but knowing he had several hours of work ahead of him.
As the water pounded his muscles, leeching the tension from them, he pressed his hands against the cold tiles and lowered his head. A headache pinched at the base of his skull. The king had made his job ten times harder with the punishment he’d given Douglas. By stopping him from socialising anywhere but the club, he’d inadvertently set Douglas on a collision course with defiance once again.
The way Douglas pushed back sometimes came out of the blue, but mostly, Mav could intervene early enough for it not to cause more problems. Luckily for Mav, being at the club meant Douglas was confined to certain areas, and after working for the sovereigns as long as he had, Mav knew the trouble he could get into.
The extra workload Mav would take on until the king lifted the punishment was enough to keep him busy and away from the wrong men he always seemed to pick. Earlier that night, he’d been on a date with a guy when he’d received the call to return to Windsor. In some ways, Mav was ecstatic to have escaped from the painfully dull date. He could’ve done with the release, though.
After washing and drying, he padded into the room, grabbing a set of spare clothes he kept there for this reason. Once he was comfortable in joggers and a T-shirt, he sat at the table, booting up his laptop and pulling the tablet closer.
Caught with His Pants Down!
Prince Douglas, the second in line to the throne, was letting off steam in an alley tonight. His unnamed companion was unable to give a statement, as he was otherwise occupied. Who wouldn’t be with Prince Douglas standing half-naked in front of them?
Mav snorted at the article that had started the whole debacle. There were many more now, and it was his job to spin the story and come up with something beneficial to the throne. Unfortunately, the phrase “pictures are worth a thousand words” was apt in this case. Douglas had his back to the camera, but there was no denying his trousers were loose around his waist, and his shirt had ridden high enough to show the skin of his lower back and the start of his ass.
He tore his gaze away from the dimples on either side of Douglas’s spine and focused on the article again. The guy didn’t think about anyone but himself. At thirty-six, he was two years younger than Mav but acted like he was in his early twenties without a care in the world.
He spent the next three hours trying to play up Douglas’s charity work, showing the world what he had achieved through tenacity and determination. Although the royal family supported many charities, Douglas’s focus was on different charities that he believed were important. Mav couldn’t help being impressed by his perseverance.
At five-thirty, he dropped onto the bed, unable to keep his eyes open any longer.
At eight o’clock, the call Mav had been expecting interrupted his deep sleep. The children’s charity had postponed Douglas’s appointment. Douglas would be pissed, but it could be the push he needed to think before he acted.
Mav snorted. Not a chance in hell.
He sighed and rubbed his face, trying to wake himself further. When it didn’t work, he jumped into the shower again. Short of using matchsticks to keep his eyes open, he would spend the day filling up on caffeine and subduing his headache with paracetamol.
The first coffee of the day had already gone, and he made another in his travel cup before retracing his steps from earlier that morning and knocking on Douglas’s door.
“Come in!”
Mav swallowed hard, entering with his head held high and his heart pounding. “Good morning. We have some changes to your schedule today.” He stood several steps inside the door with it firmly closed behind him. No need to advertise what had happened to the rest of the household.
Douglas clenched his jaw, the play of the muscles not as clear under his stubble, but Mav knew and sat on a chair. “The children’s charity.” A statement, not a question.
Mav felt sorry for him for a moment before firming his resolve—it was Douglas’s own fault. “Yes. They would like to reschedule for a month’s time.”
“A month! Jesus.” Douglas dropped his head into his hands and threaded his fingers through his short dark hair, leaving it dishevelled.
“Your father has requested you attend a couple of events this week.” Mav focused on his tablet. “A luncheon meeting with Erica Price regarding the new hospital wing opening in three months, and he wants you in attendance at the opening ceremony for the college in Cambridge.”
“Tell me this…how much time do I have for myself?”
Mav swallowed the retort he wanted to say. “Several hours. At the moment.”
He met Douglas’s gaze. The startlingly blue orbs fixed on him held no humour. “Any ideas how long this will last?”
Mav licked his lips and tore his gaze away. “If past experience is anything to go by, expect at least two weeks of a heavy schedule. As for the media, a similar timeframe.”
Douglas stood, pacing from one side of the room to the other with his hands on his hips. Mav let him walk it off; it was his way of calming down, he’d found. He worked quietly on his tablet, reducing the brightness of the screen until Douglas stopped in front of him.
