Page 4 of Out of Office Nights (Royals of Cartana #2)

Shutting the door behind her, she sagged against the wall and sucked in a deep breath.

She hated that he did this to her. That it was so effortless, the way he affected her.

Like that abandoned kiss, which had triggered such horror in her and a volcanic gleam in his eyes that had only made her… hotter!

Her single saving grace was that her hard-earned composure worked most of the time, and she could only hope that he continued to remain clueless how she suffered in his presence. She hated it enough that the one personal area of her life she’d sworn to overcome, he obliterated so obliviously.

But that was a good thing, she assured herself as she straightened and exhaled. Because she’d discovered, to her emotional cost and annihilation, that men like Teodor Domene—who believed they owned the world and everything within it—only needed to smell weakness to pounce on and devour their prey.

And she was no one’s prey. Not any more.

Not after Nathan Gray.

Even thinking the name shot acid into her throat. Sabeen gritted her teeth and breathed through it. Then ruthlessly forced herself to focus on the problems in front of her.

The truth she’d admitted to herself only recently and still grappled with.

She’d lost her mojo.

She waited until the executive lift door completely shut before she wilted, swallowing hard as the words rolled frantically through her brain once more.

Her creativity had terrifyingly deserted her.

Despite the confidence-boosting support and friendship from Eden Domene, the new Queen of Cartana.

Despite the stunning coronation and wedding trousseau Sabeen had put together under Teodor’s direction.

Despite the multi-page spread she’d earned in Vogue magazine in the aftermath of those achievements.

Hell, even despite the fact that she’d attended the royal wedding with Teodor, and had been the subject of more media scrutiny than she’d wanted.

Because, sadly, those comments had been of a snide nature, weighing her value only by who she knew and not her professional worth. And as always, the stench of her past association with Nathan Gray had followed, reducing every ounce of hard work into one salacious, scandalous, dismissive soundbite.

For heaven’s sake, they’d even stopped using her name for those stomach-hollowing column inches.

Notorious Nathan Gray’s Ex’s New Collection Is a Flop!

Gray’s Ex Faces Axe from Domene X!

But by far the most devastating of them all:

Supermodel to Super Mistress to Super Nothing!

Despite the euphoria of creating the wedding collection and the despair of the negative press, Sabeen attributed her current condition to two things. Grief. And that kiss .

Both had sent her running to the beloved remote house on the hill on the outskirts of Essaouira, Morocco.

The house her grandmother had loved with every fibre of her being and which she’d passed on to Sabeen when she’d died shortly after the wedding.

A refuge where she’d licked her wounds and thought she’d managed to get herself together enough to tackle her next project.

Only to be confronted by failure after failure.

She pressed her tongue to the roof of her mouth and blinked rapidly against the pressure behind her eyes as the lift opened and spat her out.

The steely warning in Teodor’s unique Domene grey eyes had been unequivocal. Another failure and she truly would be a super nothing.

But…as much as she wanted to rail at the heavens for depriving her of vital support in the form of her grandmother, Sabeen knew she had loved and supported her. For the most part.

Yet you disappointed her too…

She pushed that harrowing thought away, leaving her wide open to the naked truth of her other problem.

The kiss she couldn’t forget. The kiss consuming her, possibly to the detriment of her creativity.

And yet…she hadn’t chosen to walk away given the chance. Had instead accepted Teo Domene’s challenge. Because he and the House of Domene were a combined once-in-a-lifetime opportunity she would be insane to walk away from.

Is that the only reason?

Stepping out into the sunshine and electric vibrancy of Manhattan, she plucked her sunglasses from her purse, slotted them into place and breathed out.

Over her dead body would she allow this to carry on much longer.

Jida would be ashamed of her wallowing. Her grandmother would tsk repeatedly at even the faintest hint that a man was behind this knock in her confidence. But she wasn’t totally blinkered enough to recognise that she’d sustained severe emotional scars after Nathan.

He’d—

No. Enough .

She’d wasted enough heartache on him. She flagged a cab, taking the tiniest of wins when it slid to an eager stop before her. She basked in it, ignoring her overly raspy voice which always sounded that way when she was agitated, and gave her Greenwich Village address.

She had six weeks to turn the last six months—or two years if she counted Nathan—of her life from a disaster into something remotely salvageable. No. Not just salvageable .

A raging success.

One that would right every wrong turn she’d taken in her past once and for all.

Better still, it would be six weeks free of Teodor Domene’s electrifying presence. Free from having a million butterflies swarming to life in her belly at the mere sight of him.

Best of all, she wouldn’t have to be constantly on guard about falling under the spell of another devastatingly handsome, emotionally bankrupt playboy who would so carelessly toss her emotions into a wood chipper just to sit back and raise a glass of champagne as he watched her bleed.

History repeating itself through her grandmother with her grandfather, her mother’s turmoil over her father, then her through Nathan was quite enough. Karma could take a flying leap into a boiling volcano.

She would break the El-Maleh curse. Claim every corner of her life back.

All she had to do before that was get through the gala with Teodor Domene.