Dirty Rogue: A Bad Boy Billionaire Romance(79)

“Secondly, how do you know I’ve scheduled a meeting with my father?”

“I—,” Phillip is so uptight that I like to f*ck around with him a little whenever possible. Also, I’m exhausted from the transcontinental flight and already irritated about this meeting.

“I have, in fact, not scheduled a meeting with my father. I will be meeting him shortly at my convenience.” I know even as I say the words that Phillip, the moment my back is turned, will alert my father’s staff that I intend to meet with him. Such is the way of royal life. “In the meantime, I need to wash up.” I scan the three charcoal suits he’s carefully arranged on the bed. The only difference between the trio of suits is the accompanying tie color. “The red tie will do.”

Twenty minutes later, clean-shaven and dressed with Phillip left to his own devices in my rooms, I’m standing outside the oversized mahogany door to my father’s council chamber.

And twenty minutes after that, I’m still standing there, getting angrier by the second. I start to pace, exasperated.

He’s making me wait on purpose.

I’m about to turn on my heel and leave when the door swings open and Marcus stands in the doorway, his frame rigid and eyes sternly assessing me, his lips pressed together in a tight line.

“Alexander,” he says coolly, stepping back to let me in. “So nice of you to join us.”

“Shut it, Marcus,” I hiss at him in a low voice once the door is closed.

“Alexander,” my father says from behind his desk, his voice steady and steely. “Take a seat.”

I cross the office in five strides and sit calmly in one of the two chairs poised in front of my father’s desk. Marcus remains standing just to the right of my father, his arms crossed over his chest.

Don’t they make a pretty picture?

My father sighs and slips off his reading glasses. “Alexander,” he says, and looks across the table at me as if he’s weighing his words carefully. “Why don’t you explain to us what…inspired you to take an unscheduled vacation without alerting me or your brother? We’ve had to engage in significant public relations efforts to recast your trip as one sanctioned by the palace.”

I turn my attention to Marcus, shooting him a look of unguarded spite, then turn back to my father. “I should begin by saying that my affairs are none of Marcus’s concern.”

The King of Saintland sighs again, folding his hands together on the top of his desk as if to keep from reaching across the table and slapping me. “Go on.”

I bite back another crack at Marcus—it’s not going to help me make any headway when it comes to Jessica—and take a deep breath. “I took issue with the way the two of you were directing my time and efforts toward maintaining Saintland’s political security. There are many things I’m happy to do when it comes to—.”

“But why, Alexander? You could have discussed it with us in advance.”

Shaking my head, I give my father an incredulous look. “And the two of you would have allowed me free reign over my time in the States?” His long pause answers my question. “That’s what I thought. I went because I needed a break from your ceaseless puppeteering.”

“You ungrateful little bastard,” Marcus spits, coming swiftly around the table to loom over me like some kind of thug from a mafia movie. His perfectly pressed suit and Windsor knot spoil the look, but his face contorts purple with rage. “Your highest duty is to honor our father and King. You should be bending over backward to beg his forgiveness right now, and you sit there like—.”

“Like what, Marcus?” I shout back, standing up and stretching to my full height, thrusting my face so it’s only a couple inches from his. “Like a goddamn grown man who can make my own decisions about where I go and when? I’m only sorry I can’t be more of a groveling kiss-ass like you.” A fleck of my saliva lands on Marcus’s cheek.

“Both of you, silence!” my father booms, bringing both hands down on the surface of his desk like a goddamned tyrant. “Marcus, back away.” My brother obeys instantly, his jaw working furiously, his grimacing face changing from purple to red. “Alexander, the important thing ahead of you now is to find a way to get that girl back to the United States without setting off another incident like the one with Emmaline.”

“And what was the problem with Emmaline? She wanted a second date and then an engagement ring?” I’m sickened by the thought that I had to play a role in this at all.

“Your abrupt departure caused some significant offense on the part of the French.”

“The French don’t need an excuse to be offended.”

“That may be the case,” my father says, a warning tone evident in his voice, “but it is exactly the kind of upset we must avoid if Saintland is to remain a functioning nation. You have a role to play, Alexander, and you cannot continue to shirk it.”

“Shirk it? I’ve been on as many public appearances as the both of you, if not more. It’s not my fault you don’t include me in state meetings.”

“Your talents are needed elsewhere.”

I roll my eyes. “Yes, on the dating scene. I understand.”

My father ignores this comment. “You need to get her back to the United States, and you need to do it quietly. Bringing this woman to Saintland—it was a mistake, and one you need to rectify as soon as possible.”