Page 2 of Out of Office Nights (Royals of Cartana #2)

Six months later

‘Either she goes, or I go!’

The statement was accompanied by the flamboyant snap of a colourful kimono and much jangling of eye-catching jewellery.

Teodor managed to stop himself from rolling his eyes and forced in a deep…deeper breath. To remind himself that melodrama in the high fashion industry was as cheap and abundant as air, and that like a child’s tantrum, sometimes you just needed to let it play out.

So he throttled his impatience, his focus shifting from his overly expressive creative director to his more subdued one, his stomach clenching slightly as he gauged the she in question for her reaction.

And saw, more interestingly, the first sign that her usually impressive composure wasn’t as ironclad as she wanted to portray.

Her eyes widened the smallest fraction, drawing attention—as if any more was needed—to the dark honey irises, currently framed by thick kohl that highlighted her breathtaking beauty.

The face of a goddess. That was one of many accolades thrown at her feet when she’d been acclaimed as the hottest supermodel twelve years ago.

The world had mourned Sabeen El-Maleh’s departure from the runway eight years later, her pivot into fashion design hailed with equal parts enthusiasm and sneering in the cut-throat fashion business.

To her credit, she’d proved her sceptics wrong.

At least for the first two years. Her last two hadn’t been as stellar—save for the brief flash of inspiration for the Queen of Cartana’s wedding that she hadn’t recaptured since—paving the way for the haters to crow with glee.

It was also unfortunate that for part of those last two years, she had been with Teo’s special edition fashion brand, Domene X.

The haute couture brand, House of Domene, was thankfully under his complete control and thriving, without any of this side drama he was currently witnessing.

He tightened his jaw now as Cristobal, the fashion genius he’d poached from his competitor five years ago, continued his tirade.

Having two directors was unusual, and yes, he knew he should’ve cut his losses with Cristobal the second time he’d checked himself into rehab.

But Teo hated admitting failure, and he was also aware it had everything do with the old king.

Especially when he intended to prove a point to his father once and for all before the year was out. Before it was too late!

Teo’s disgruntlement grew when Sabeen remained unruffled, the picture of haughty, sexy regal poise.

Almost as if she was the one with royal blood flowing through her veins, not him.

He shifted in his seat as the very stimulating picture she made stirred his manhood, reminding him once again of that kiss .

There was a reason the Playboy Prince of Cartana, as the media had jeeringly labelled him, didn’t date where he worked, a reason the House of Domene continued to excel despite the studied carelessness with which he treated other areas of his life. He wasn’t about to start messing with it.

Especially not now.

His belly clenched tighter at the reminder that time was running out.

That his father’s health was further declining every day.

That the need to prove himself as worthy as his brothers was slipping through his fingers.

‘Are you not going to defend yourself?’ he asked Sabeen, a little more sharply than he’d intended, betraying that he wasn’t as laid back as he was projecting.

Sabeen’s head swivelled slowly towards him, as if she had all the time in the world to grace him with her interest. By the time their gazes connected, Teo’s belly was fully clenched in anticipation of her full impact.

And what an impact it was.

In his line of business, outward beauty was almost nauseatingly commonplace, a feast he’d often seen men fall into stupid raptures over.

But even a gluttonous fool would recognise and fully accept that Sabeen El-Maleh’s brand of beauty happened only once in a lifetime.

That it went beyond skin-deep. Resided in her very bones with a kind of mesmeric presence that left deep impressions long after she’d left a room or the runway or the pages of a magazine were closed.

Her slim, bare shoulders sheened with some lotion that made them positively glow, lifted in an easy, unaffected shrug. ‘I was merely waiting for him to wear himself out or be done with his exhibition, whichever came first.’

Her delivery was as cool as her burnt-orange halter dress was hot.

Had he not spotted that momentary flash of panic, he would’ve believed she didn’t care a single jot how this meeting went.

Whether he was finally going to make a decision about the temporary status she’d broached, triggering those unforgettably decadent, disastrous minutes on the palace terrace six months ago.

‘You see the way she speaks to me?’ Cristobal ranted, his patched mosaic kimono flashing in the late-afternoon New York sunlight as he continued to pace the loft space Teo used as his one of his studios in the city. ‘Once upon a time, people knew their place in the order of things.’

‘By people you mean women , right?’ Sabeen taunted, again with barely a raised tone. But the edge was there in the tiny flare of her beautiful eyes. The minuscule twitch of her sharp masterpiece-worthy cheek bones, highlighted to perfection with barely there make-up.

Teo, equally intolerant of the sexist remark, tensed.

Cristobal spluttered, his eyes darting to Teo as he tried to gauge whether his blatant sexism had offended. ‘That wasn’t what I meant.’

‘Thank goodness for that,’ she replied. ‘But pray tell, what did you mean?’ she invited in cool challenge.

She uncrossed and recrossed her mile-long legs, angling her body to face Cristobal and, in the process, drawing Teo’s focus like an uncouth schoolboy to the breathtaking outline of her body, starting with the yards of hair currently secured in a neat bun at her nape.

He’d only seen Sabeen with her hair down once.

At the party celebrating her early retirement from modelling.

He hadn’t known until then that besides being a leg man he was a hair guy too.

Or maybe he wasn’t. Because he hadn’t experienced that rampant, control-destroying impulse while fantasizing about anyone else’s hair.

Irritatingly, that preoccupation had only grown over time, despite the painstaking distance he’d placed between them since the incident in Cartana.

Hell, if it hadn’t been for the complete meltdown happening right before his eyes, the start of which had necessitated his visit to New York, he would’ve been back in Milan, his chosen home base.

For now, until he achieved his goal once and for all, he was staying away from San Mirabet, Cartana’s capital city.

A place he was welcome now, but hadn’t always been.

In the past, the palace officials had warned that having the twin bastards of the king under the same palace roof as the crown prince, together with their mothers—unknowingly impregnated by the king during his wild-oats-sowing days—would court too much scandal.

Especially when that assertion was sustained by his mother’s and the former queen’s past and current vitriolic antics and his father’s apathy.

Dios , was it any wonder he stayed clear of the palace?

While a lot had changed since his older brother, the former crown prince and now King Azar of Cartana, had ascended the throne, some things hadn’t.

He suppressed the bereft sensation and anger and instead allowed slivers of fondness to stir through his impatience, lowering the level of his intolerance. He and his brothers would be reunited soon enough.

Being with them mildly eased the knot in his chest. Although these days, with Azar nauseatingly happy in his new role as husband, father and king, and with Teo’s twin even more closed off and sullen than usual, the glaring desolation in his own life was hard to dismiss.

Whatever. Their reunions were an immovable tradition, and with his and Valenti’s joint birthday celebrations coming up, Teo intended to delve neck-deep into the oblivion it promised, even if it killed—

‘Look, can we accept that the experiment has failed? Two creative directors in the same house was never going to work,’ Cristobal griped.

‘I agree,’ Sabeen said calmly.

Cristobal pivoted towards his nemesis, eyes wide. ‘You do?’

She shrugged. ‘My time is better spent taking full control of a collection, rather engaging in a collaboration that’s akin to flogging a dead horse. I can’t remain a stand-in for ever. One of us has to go.’

Teo’s gut clenched at the pointed response, disgruntled by the dread that she might be serious about walking out on him. Or, worse, that she might be playing him.

His days of being overlooked, undervalued until it was time for his mother to use him as a pawn against his father, were far behind him.

The reminder filled him with even more bitterness and regret because now he had finite time with his father, what with the old man battling a debilitating illness that was slowly marching him towards the grave.

Teo despised that while his mother’s inability to handle being a parent to King Alfonse’s spare and other spare had cost them a lot, his father’s ultimate indifference to the toxic atmosphere his twin sons had inhabited had sounded the death knell for any hope of a relationship.

And that he continued to perpetuate that indifference…

‘Are you choosing to be the one to leave, Miss El-Maleh?’ he asked, the silky deadliness in his voice flowing like venom around the room, making his irksome subordinates fidget.

Satisfaction oozed through him as her facade slipped another fraction, granting him a further glimpse of her panic. A second later, the composure was back in place. But it was enough.

Twice she’d shown her hand.