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And once again, he saw paparazzi six deep, milling around outside Skyros Media’s flagship building.
After a brief consultation with his bodyguards, he let them lead him around to the back, down an alley where he slipped in a heavy door that was marked Exit Only.
He jogged up the stairs to the third floor, where he’d been told Calista’s office was, thinking he would drop in on his lovely fiancée for a little chat she wouldn’t have had time to prepare for. He was imagining her reaction to that, sharp and exhilarating, when he stepped into the hallway. And then stopped, because he heard raised voices from around the corner.
“This is not a request, Calista. Have you looked out in the street lately? It’s a zoo!”
Orion knew that voice. Aristotle, sounding more vicious and bombastic than usual.
“Papa. Please.” Her voice was strained. “I can’t abandon my work!”
“Vice presidents grow on trees like olives, girl. You’re going to marry the king. That is far more important.”
He could have revealed himself, then. He could have marched around the corner and let them know he was there, eavesdropping.
But Orion stayed where he was. Which was how he knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that he was not as upright and honorable as he’d always like to imagine he was. Because if he was, he would never stand there and listen as they discussed him and his upcoming marriage. If he was truly a man of honor he would let them know that he could hear their conversation.
He and his bodyguards exchanged a long glance, but none of them moved.
Orion was as surprised as anyone that it turned out he was human, after all.
“That’s not a career, is it?” Calista snapped. “That’s a vanity project.Yourvanity project, not mine.”
And the sound of the slap Skyros delivered was still resounding in the air as Orion moved. Without meaning to.
But he had to see it with his own eyes. That red handprint on Calista’s cheek and her wide eyes.
Both father and daughter looked stunned to see him as he rounded the corner, but he couldn’t take any particular pleasure in that.
Not when he was too busy trying to keep his hands from bunching into fists.
“You do know, Skyros,” he managed to say, with what he felt was admirable calm, “that there are penalties for striking a member of the royal family? It’s an ancient law, handed down across centuries. But whether or not the nation still likes a hanging, it is illegal to put your hands on any one of us. Treasonous, in point of fact.”
So was blackmailing kings, of course, which hadn’t given Skyros a moment’s pause.
“Where the hell did you come from?” Aristotle barked.
But Calista, Orion noted as he bore down on them, only held a palm to her bright red cheek, and glared.
At him, not her father.
“Do not put your hands on my fiancée,” Orion growled at Skyros. “Or I swear to you, I will see you in chains.”
“You wouldn’t like the consequences,” Aristotle sneered at him. “Mark my words.”
“Shall we try it and see?” Orion retorted.
Aristotle only sneered again, then curled his lip at Calista. “My decision stands, girl. You’re fired and that’s final.”
And even though she made a strangled kind of sound at that, as if he’d truly hurt her, Aristotle ignored her. He stormed away, heading toward what Orion assumed was the rest of the Skyros Media offices.
“Did he hurt you?” Orion asked, aware only then that his heart was kicking at him, as if he’d been sprinting for time.
“He slapped me,” Calista said brusquely. She dropped her hands from her face—her pretty, lovely face—one red, angry cheek with Aristotle’s handprint all too visible. Orion felt something roll over in him, like a fault line about to blow. “He’s never shy to dole out a slap or two, if that’s what you’re asking. I’m just out of practice. I’ve managed to avoid getting smacked for a long while now. And you turning up here like this doesn’t help anything.”
“Calista.” There were so many things he wanted to say. Too many things, and he could see her stiffening, as if she knew what they might be. So he looked down his nose at her instead. “You forget yourself. I am your sovereign. I go where I like.”
“The balls, the dresses, all that king and queen malarkey—” She shook her head, a hectic kind of light in the gaze she trained on him. “None of that has any place here. This is a corporation. Peopleworkhere.”
