Royally Bad (Royally Wrong Book 1)

to blow her off?” I step close to him. One more step and my boobs would brush his chest. Charm him.
He shrugs.
“You’re not even interested in finding out why she wants to meet you?”
He dips his head, nuzzles my shoulder. “There are other things I’m interested in.” His lips brush my skin and set my body buzzing.
“So uptight,” he murmurs. “You need a good orgasm. I can help with that.”
“Maybe later,” I say in a voice as brisk as I can make it, ignoring the fact that my libido has gone from zero to one hundred in three seconds.
“I’ll hold you to that,” Theo says, and the promise makes me shiver.
I clear my throat and press on. “Your uncle is sick. He might die, and that leaves you in the line for the throne. You’ll be crown prince.”
“I don’t want to be a prince,” he murmurs. His hot breath licks up my skin. “I’m already a god.”
“You’re not a god.” I squeeze my arm between us, and push my glasses up my nose so I can give him a proper Mrs. Mavery glare. “You’re a male Paris Hilton.”
“Thank you,” he smirks.
“Cut it out,” I push at his chest. His rock hard, water slick chest that couldn’t be more perfect if it was carved by Michelangelo. “This playboy act has to get old. Even I can tell you’re smarter than this.”
He straightens, studying me with eyes the color of espresso. “So what do you want me to do?” He sounds serious.
“We issue a statement condemning the sex tape as an invasion of privacy. Direct the press attention to your success and achievements.”
“I don’t have any of those.”
“Your platform, then. You’re the son of an immigrant who worked his way into the Forbes top 100 richest people in the world. You have a good chance of becoming the heir to the throne in Sweden.” I try not to say it like I don’t believe it, but it seems crazy. This tall, dark-haired, tattooed stud standing inappropriately in my space is a prince. “You’re going to be in the news for a long time, Theo. It’s time to craft your message.”
He blows out a breath. “All right.”
“All right?”
“I’ll do it. The interviews. The statement. Whatever.”
“Really? You’re sure?”
“Yeah, I’m sure. You convinced me. Does that surprise you?” He angles his head. Mine tilts opposite of his automatically. My chin goes up, raising my lips to his. “You are,” his hot breath caresses my face, “very convincing.” I close my eyes as a thrill goes through me.
“Theo!” One of the blondes calls, holding a margarita shaker. Somehow, she manages to simultaneously simper at Theo while giving me stink eye. “I have something for you.” She opens the shaker and pours the icy, sticky liquid down her chest. Her nipples pop like fighter pilot buttons.
“Gotta go,” Theo says, a wicked glint in his eye. He swaggers off, leaving me swaying.
I gotta go too, and craft a statement that will save my client’s image. The conversation we had is a huge win. But as I listen to the happy squeals of blondie getting tequila licked off her skin by Theo’s ready and willing tongue, I have to admit, it doesn’t feel like one.
“What the hell are you doing?” Evans looks me up and down as I enter the mansion. I’m still in bikini and heels; I’d grabbed my dress but didn’t have time to put it back on.
“My job,” I answer, shrugging on my dress on and tying it up. “I’ve already crafted Theo’s statement to the press. I just have to hit ‘send.’ My media contacts will take care of the rest.
Evans scowls. He’s old school, hired by Theo’s dad. He probably doesn’t approve of media consultations done by the pool.
“You hired me to do a job,” I defend myself. “I’m doing it. Theo—Mr. Kensington agreed to my course of action.”
Evans blinks. “Really?”
“He’s ready to clean up his image. I’m setting up a few interviews for him now. He promised he’d do them.” Right before he stuck his tongue in a woman’s cleavage.
“Is that so?” He touches the ear piece in his ears, listens for a moment, and then strides to the door.
“Where are you going?” I call after him.
“Mr. Kensington just left with his entire posse. Last time he did this, they almost burned down the Hampton residence.”
“Shit,” I breathe, and scramble to follow.

4
A hair-raising drive later, the orange Maserati pulls up to a curb, parking illegally. Evans motors up behind it.
I unpeel my fingers from the dash and seat. Theo drives like he’s doing time trials for the Indie 500, and Evans stayed on his tail the whole way. The head of security must have tons of practice. And a judge in his pocket to pay off Theo’s speeding tickets.
“Where are we?” The city block has nothing I recognize, besides a few rundown shops and a few ugly buildings amid a concrete jungle. We’re north of Manhattan, a few streets over from the upper crust area, bleeding into a slightly seedy neighborhood.
“Skate park. Mr. Kensington bought the empty lot and had it put in, a month after he received his inheritance.”
“Of course he did,” I mutter, watching the tall, tanned figure leave the Maserati, skateboard under his arm. “Because he’s twelve.”
“I thought you broke through to him,” Evans frowns at me.
“I thought I did too,” I say, and head in. Theo drops his board to talk with a few guy friends who pulled up in a jeep. Soon they’re all doing tricks, rolling up and down the concrete ramps.
To the right, a catering company has set up a long row of tables, covered in white tablecloths and mounds of food. Canapés and other finger food, plus a whole dessert table, with a tower of cupcakes. The women sit by and watch, careful to keep their sundresses from touching the gang tags on the concrete.
Theo flips his skateboard under his feet a few times before zooming up and down the ramps. He