My luggage wheeled behind me. The squeaky wheel echoed into the morning with my heel strikes. I wish I could’ve worn my leggings and a sweater for the trip, but I had little idea about when and where the interview would take place. Ms. Boyd just said there’d be a driver waiting for me in Denver.
Warmth flowed over me as I stepped inside. I continued to the waiting room I was instructed to take a seat in, but as soon as I stepped off the entry carpet, my heel slid out from under me.
I squeezed my eyes shut, but a “Fuck!” escaped because wouldn’t that be my luck? I was going to tumble across the private jet lounge in a skirt and heels, getting nice and gritty.
My landing never happened. Strong arms latched around me and centered me back on my feet. “There you go.”
My rescuer’s scent wrapped around me like a warm blanket. That deep rumble of his could fuel a gal’s wicked dreams. And I’d just shouted a curse word that I’m sure the whole building heard.
Turning around, I attempted to straighten my coat and tug my skirt back down. “Oh, thank you, I’m sorry about swearing—” My gaze landed on my rescuer. It was him. King Oil’s CEO and the dad of the man I was supposed to get an interview with. “Mr. King.”
He gave me that half-smile he always had in the pictures and looked me over. “You didn’t hurt yourself, did you?” His brow furrowed as he looked at my skirt. It was maroon and knee-length. My heels were from boots that nearly reached my knees. I wasn’t going to wander around in the middle of winter in completely bare legs.
I used the moment to study him. He was real. Not a picture on a screen. The threads of silver at his temples did nothing to detract from his vitality. It was like he only allowed gray hairs where they enhanced his handsome, chiseled face.
“No. I’m fine.” And apparently breathless. “Thank you again.”
His gaze lifted to my face, and he looked like he’d sucked a lemon wedge out of his iced tea. “You’re not with the flight crew, are you.”
It wasn’t a question. Was that a bad thing? I stuck my hand out. “Kendall Brinkley.”
He studied me. Slowly, he clasped my hand, hot, roughened skin sliding over mine.
My body wanted to melt into the strength and heat coming off him. He was a hundred times more potent than anything Darren put out.
He abruptly released my hand and stuffed it into his pants pockets, his mouth turned down like he was pained. He wore a charcoal suit. He wore the hell out of the suit, and I’m sure it was a Tom Ford or something along those lines. I doubted we shopped in the same atmospheric layer. Hell, I doubted he did any of his own shopping.
“Have a seat, Ms. Brinkley. I’ll check with the flight crew about when we can board.” He disappeared into a side room that he must’ve popped out of in time to save me.
The sense of dismissal left a wake of hurt. Ridiculous. I needed a job, not a boyfriend. I needed a job more than I needed hot, sweaty sex—and I liked hot, sweaty sex a lot. I bet that’s how it was with Mr. King.
I gripped my battered and frayed black suitcase and went into the empty lounge, choosing a seat in the corner where I could lick my wounds. As if I’d ever be in the league of Gentry King. Or any of his four shockingly gorgeous and stupidly rich sons.
I’d read all the tabloids, and it wasn’t just local media that hunted Mr. King. He’d been featured all over the world, and not just for his successful business. He was at openings of restaurants in Paris, at a play on Broadway, and standing under the bright sun in Qatar. Always with a woman on his arm.
There wasn’t much about him from before his wife died, but there was a lot after. Seeing him in person didn’t diminish my attraction. It was the dichotomy. Compared to my ex-husband, Gentry was another species. Compared to me, he was another species.
But a play on Broadway? That’d be fun.
I sighed and crossed my legs, staring out the large picture window where a jet was parked. I guess there were worse things than working for a King.
Mr. King emerged from the room with a young woman dressed in a pilot’s uniform. She wore a wedding ring—not that I checked—and was talking in a brusque tone.
“I can get you to Douglas, Mr. King. But going on to Denver may be a problem.”
Mr. King’s brows dropped, and he looked toward me. I was about to hastily look away, to not be caught staring, but his eyes were like tracking beacons. A dark brown that caught the lights and pierced deep into my soul. Only, his jaw clenched like I was the last person he wanted to drag onto the plane.
He dragged his gaze back to the pilot. “The meeting in Douglas is paramount. If you think we can beat the weather, let’s do it. We’ll figure Denver out later.”
Dread shot through me. I might get stranded in Wyoming? If I could get per diem and room and board off Ms. Boyd for a few extra days, I wasn’t turning it down. But if I could get to Denver and secure a job with this family, I’d rather do that. How many applicants were vying for the position while we were detouring to Wyoming?
The pilot disappeared. Mr. King, hands in pockets, strolled to the window and stared out of it. He didn’t look at me when he spoke. “Would getting stranded in Wyoming be a problem for you?”
Yes. “No, Mr. King.”
That got him to turn his head, a dark brow lifted. “Would you miss work? A family?”
“No, on both accounts.” I wasn’t about to tell a guy that worked for one of the wealthiest oil companies in the country, who had ranched sweeping acres while he ran that company, and raised four boys by himself that I was unemployed and single and had no major accomplishments to my name at twenty-eight years old.
“Did you quit your job when you interviewed with Emilia?”
“No. I’m between jobs.”
The eyebrow kicked back up.
Nerves made me chatter. I didn’t want to ramble around Mr. King, but I wasn’t born to play it as cool as him. “I was let go. Downsizing. I only have a four-year degree, not a masters, so I was the first to go.”
He did a half-turn away from the window. “What’d you do for work?”
“I was in marketing.”
“Weren’t you good at your job?”
What the hell? I clutched the handle of my suitcase. “Yes. I was really good. And I made the company a lot of money. But he felt that someone who is more educated has the potential to make more money.”
He slowly shook his head. “Then your boss is a schmuck.” He turned back to the window. The conversation was done, but I was left fighting a small smile.
Mr. Golding was a schmuck, and his bottom-line would prove it.
Mr. King lifted his chin like he was signaling someone. I peered out the window. The plane’s door was open, and a woman was flagging us down.
He stepped toward me and beckoned toward my suitcase. “May I?”
My mind froze. He was close, and his fresh soapy smell and woodsy cologne surrounded me. “May you what?” I rose.
That earned the hint of a smile. “Take your suitcase.” He was a good five inches taller than me. Without my heels, he’d be more like seven inches taller. I’d fit perfectly tucked into his side.
“I-I can get it.”
He bent and wrapped his big hand around the handle. “Allow me.”
“Okay.” Did I need an advanced degree to talk to Mr. King? I had to quit letting him affect me. I wasn’t one to live in fantasy worlds.
He opened the door and ushered me out. The entire walk to the plane, he was right next to me, his hand held out behind me like he was ready to play catch with my falling ass. But he didn’t touch me.
I scurried up the steps and into the chill of the jet. It was hard not to stop at the entry and stare. I stumbled toward the plush seats, looking around. Varnished wood trim. Leather seats. And a room with a door open that looked like a bedroom.
I was on a plane with a bedroom with the King Oil CEO. I…didn’t hate being in this situation.
The flight attendant closed the door, blocking the chill,
and took my luggage from Mr. King. His had probably been loaded before he’d caught me in his strong arms. How early had he gotten to the airport? He probably did more before five a.m. than I did all day.
I selected a chair toward the middle. Mr. King conversed quietly with the crew and chose a seat up front. Disappointment snaked through me. Why did I think he would be bothered to sit by me? I was supposed to impress his son, not him.
The flight attendant approached, wearing a genuine smile. “Hi, Ms. Brinkley. I’m Shirley, and I’m happy to be flying with you to Douglas.”
I returned her friendly smile. “How long will the flight be?”
“About an hour and a half. Then I understand that if the weather allows, you’ll continue with us to Denver. Would you like a blanket or pillow? Water? Soda? I’ll bring out the snacks after we’re in the air.”
“A blanket, please.” If the weather allows. As long as I wasn’t stranded in Middle of Nowhere, Wyoming, I was fine. I needed that job, and this trip was wasting a lot of quality job-hunting time.
The flight was smooth and quiet. When the plane bumped down for a landing, I peered outside, dismayed to see snow steadily falling. Gusts of wind picked up piles, swirling flakes in the air.
Once Shirley gave us the go-ahead to unbuckle, she murmured to Mr. King. His expression darkened, and he glanced at the cockpit, then nodded.
The pilot emerged, her face grim. They spoke in low tones, and I eased my way forward. Shirley retrieved my ragged suitcase from a storage bin I hadn’t seen before.
“There’s no helping it.” Mr. King spoke to Shirley. “Do you have a place to stay?”
Shirley spoke. “My aunt lives in Converse County, not far away from Douglas. She’s on her way to get both of us.”
“Good. I’ll find a hotel for Ms. Brinkley and I after the meeting. Have a safe trip, and let me know when you settle.” He exhaled and seemed reluctant to turn toward me, when he did his gaze was direct and his expression heavy, like he was delivering bad news. “It looks like we’re snowed in at Douglas after all.”
Chapter 4
Gentry
The driver had a red SUV—an all-wheel drive, thank God—all warmed up, the windows defrosted, and he was parked as close to the plane as he was allowed. I waved the flight crew off my carry-on as I hit the bottom of the steps out of the plane. Snow whipped around us, the wind howling around buildings and over jets. I turned and took the suitcase from Ms. Brinkley. She blinked in surprise but was too distracted picking her way across the snow-covered stairs to argue.
She gingerly stepped on the pavement. Those boots of hers were going to be little more than cold ice skates. No matter how long and curvy they made her legs look, they were useless. I’d offer my arm, but my hands were full. Instead, I ushered her to the waiting car. The driver helped load our items.
Ms. Brinkley slipped into the warm car. The wind was likely heading straight up that skirt.
I usually sat in the back. I was able to chat with the driver but could take a call without talking right into his ear. But I’d started avoiding Ms. Brinkley as soon as her solid weight landed in my arms. That was bad enough, but when she turned those luminous teal eyes my way, I knew I had to keep my distance. Too many inconvenient questions came to mind when I looked at her.
Was she single? Was she going to interview with Beckett to seduce him? Was she into older men?
It was ridiculous. The female company I usually kept was closer to my own age, maybe dipping as low as their early thirties. Still older than my kids. Older than all my kids. I doubted Kendall Brinkley was older than Aiden.
I climbed into the front seat. Ethan gave me a smile, already chatting with Ms. Brinkley. He insisted I use his first name long ago, saying Mr. Keplin was his dad.
“Where are you parked, Ethan?” I asked.
He started the car, the tires crunching in the rapidly piling snow. “In the employee lot.”
“How about we drive around there.” I adjusted my suit coat. My heavier jacket was rolled into my carry-on bag, and I wish I had the insulated boots I wore on the ranch.
“Sir?”
“You’re going home. I’m still paying you, but I want you to settle in before this gets too bad.”
“Oh, no, sir—”
I cut him off with a look. He wanted to do his job. But the guy had a wife and three little girls. There was no way I was tying him up in this weather. He did as I asked, thanking me profusely. I rushed around to the driver’s side of the SUV and got in. Adjusting the rearview mirror, I could see Ms. Brinkley peering up into the front and then out the window.
“Looks like I’m your driver today.” I pulled out of the airport and onto the roads where traffic was going at a snail’s pace. I already knew what would happen when I reached the meeting place. Our time would be cut as short as possible. But I was the last to arrive, and we had reports to discuss that had to be done in person. All the players were in town for this meeting, and I had to fire the people doctoring the site inspection reports.
The rest of the drive took my concentration as I focused on where the road should be. A white blanket covered the expanse of pavement. The wind wasn’t strong enough to blow it all off. I followed barely visible tracks that had been left by vehicles that hopefully had the good sense to get off the road.
As I pulled up to our Douglas headquarters, I did what I’d been trying to avoid and looked at Ms. Brinkley. It was the middle of the day, but the thick clouds and heavy snow made it feel like evening. She was squinting out the window at the square two-story building, her elegant profile making it hard to put my eyes back on the road.
Parking as close to the door as possible, I glared at the building. I’d been against purchasing this well-drilling company. I’m all for helping the little guy, but these guys never seemed to want to help themselves, and I had suspected safety wasn’t a priority. Emilia had forced the issue. I couldn’t wait for the day she retired, but I was starting to suspect that I’d be retiring earlier.
“You might as well come inside, Ms. Brinkley.” I gathered my case and looked over my shoulder. Her soft scent filled the space. It was too pleasing. Not quite flowery, but just shy of perfumey. “The way this snow is building and how sticky it is, I don’t want it building up around the muffler and suffocating you.”
That would take hours and a ton of snow. I just didn’t want her sitting out here alone.
She cocked a brow full of attitude, but smoothed it over so quickly I thought I was imagining it. “Okay.”
“What?”
“Hmm?” Her brow puckered in such a dainty way I wanted to smooth it over. Strands of her hair stuck out from the tight roll in the back of her head. She looked slightly disheveled, and it was cute as hell.
“You didn’t like my suggestion.”
“No, it’s fine. I’m okay going inside.”
“But?” I wasn’t leaving until I learned what I said wrong. Most people who weren’t family acted a certain way around me. She hadn’t been around me enough to school her reaction, and I enjoyed seeing more than professional acquiescence. I enjoyed seeing real emotion caused by me on her face even if it was irritation.
“Well, I mean, I was born and raised in Montana. I think I know what to do in a vehicle in a snow storm.”
She struck me into silence for a couple of heartbeats. A chuckle bubbled out of me. “All right then. What would you like to do?”
She sucked the corner of her bottom lip in, her shoulders hunched like she was sheepish. “I’d like to come in.”
My laughter grew stronger. “So, you’re not irritated because I ordered you around but because I unintentionally questioned your intelligence?”
“I’m a peon. I’m used to being ordered around.”
My humor faded as my mind went south and I pictured her on her knees, looking up at me with those expressive eyes. I’m used to being ordered around. I turned around and got out, letting the cold wind slap some sense into me. Before I could
open her door, she was out. I left the car running but locked the doors.
She was tucked into the brown parka that looked like it could be mistaken for a mud bog and stuffed her hands in her pockets. More strands of her hair buffeted around her head. I held my elbow out for two reasons. One, those boots of hers. Two, because I’d been raised with manners—not because I wanted to feel her against me again. She eyed my arm like it was a rattler shaking its tail, but she tucked her hand into the crook of my elbow. Her grip was sturdy and practical, like the rest of her.
On the way to the door, I said, “You might wish you stayed in the vehicle, Ms. Brinkley.”
The meeting was as tense and dramatic as I thought it’d be. The board that ran the drilling company “had no idea” what I was talking about, as if Aiden and I hadn’t hired expert field techs to tell us exactly what was going on. The managers wouldn’t listen to the supervisors about what was failing at the local wells, and someone was going to get hurt or killed.
Well, they had to listen to me, which meant it was too late.
Ms. Brinkley damn near ran from the meeting once I dismissed it, and I wasn’t far behind. My reason for rushing was the weather. Hers was likely to escape the massive awkwardness. I should’ve had her wait outside, but the way she affected me was…concerning. I let the others assume she was an assistant and thought that seeing me mass fire employees would sour my image in her eyes—if she was the type to go after older men.
As soon as she was settled in the front seat, I pulled away from the headquarters and plowed through the growing drifts into the parking lot and onto the road. The wind was stronger, and the snow was lighter, lowering visibility in town. Outside of city limits, the roads were probably impossible to navigate.
A blue and white sign for a hotel chain came into view. I pulled in under the canopy.
“Want to come inside this time?”
Her wide eyes slid toward me, then back to the dash. “No, thank you.”
King's Crown (Oil Kings Book 1) Page 3
