Dirty Wicked Prince (Court Legacy 1)

She didn’t today.

I was right on her heels after that, finishing getting ready and all that. I strapped my bag on. Keys and smoothie in hand, I started for the garage too, but someone called my name down the hall. I assumed it was Ronald our butler, but when I doubled back and caught my dad in his office, my eyes flashed.

My father was behind his desk, working through papers on it. He waved me inside. “Come in, son. Just need two seconds from you.”

This was unusual. Dad was usually at work by now, and Mom had never mentioned him being here. Maybe she hadn’t known. She’d been running late too.

Pocketing my keys, I angled into the room, closing the door. “Yeah, Dad?”

He waved me to come deeper inside, and I took a sip of my smoothie while I waited for him to get off a call. He had his headset on, something I hadn’t noticed when I’d first seen him. Apparently, he was doing a little work from home before going into the office. My dad had many businesses, but I supposed what he and the Prinze name were known for was Prinze Financial. Our family name was tied to ninety percent of the banks in town.

My father paced behind his desk, shooting off commands. I heard the name Cliff a time or two, which let me know he was talking to his personal finance guy.

My finger tapped the pendulum on his desk while he spoke, and that used to piss him off when I’d been a kid. I broke the thing more times than I could count.

“Thank you, Heathcliff,” he said. “I’ll see you at the office.”

My gaze jerked up, as he told me to take a seat. I took my bag off.

He ruffled through some papers. “Just got off the phone with Cliff,” he said, flashing his green eyes at me. “Was just going over the household budgets. Credit card statements too.”

Well, fuck that wasn’t good. I laced my fingers on his desk. “I’m sorry if I’ve been spending too much…”

“You know, I don’t care how much money you spend, Dorian.” He propped his hands on his hips, his pants pleated and crisp. “I work hard so you can spend it.” His eyes narrowed. “Within reason.”

I nodded, relieved a little. But then, he tossed a statement toward me.

He pointed at it. “He’s alerted me to the fact that there’s been a lot of transactions upstate.” His eyes narrowed further, deeper creases in his eyes. My dad was in his forties, but he barely looked thirty. It was only the harsh lines around his eyes that gave him away. Mom had the opposite problem. The lines around her mouth were because she smiled so much. Dad’s were nonexistent. It wasn’t that he didn’t smile. He just didn’t do it often and probably even less than before I came around.

Hence the soft lines.

I took the credit card statement, swallowing as I read it. It didn’t take a scientist to know that the credit card in question was mine.

Or that these transactions were mine.

“Lots of gas stations upstate, son, and fast-food joints. I’m assuming since you stopped at some point to eat.”

I eased my head up. “Uh, yeah. Yes.”

“Yes.” His eyes narrowed harder, a confusion that I didn’t blame. It wasn’t just that I went upstate. It was the towns and cities I was passing through. It was the path.

It was the destination.

All that passed over my father’s green eyes as they stared at me, suddenly wild where they hadn’t been before. Out of all of us lately, he’d been the one keeping his shit together the most, always good for that. My father was an unmovable force.

But something like this would move him.

“Why in God’s name,” he stated, but then his fingers folded over his face. This was an action he often took to calm himself. People who shot off at the cuff disappointed him. Most especially when it came to himself. My dad liked control. He faced me. “What’s the meaning of these trips?”

I had one shot at this. My father could smell a lie a mile way and always had. I didn’t get away with shit as a kid. I wet my lips. “Football.”

“Football?” His eyes flashed. He directed a finger toward the statement. “You’ve been going upstate for football.”

“Yes, sir.” I nodded, hoping it didn’t give me away too much. I opened my hands. “Football. Camps and stuff.”

The lines around his eyes deepened. “I know your schedule, son. I know.” He paused, then lifted his head. “I knew your coach.”

Knew my coach.