by Nina Levine
I’m stunned we are having this conversation. Bradford bought the building? Gino all but bankrupted himself. “This is my private business.”
“Well, technically, it’s now my business.”
Oh, he did not just say that! “I can raise the money to pay Roemer off, and then I—”
“No, you can’t, sweetheart. Not within forty-eight hours. You are not putting your mother’s legacy that she left you in jeopardy. And you will have nothing to do with Roemer. He got close to you once; it won’t happen again. May I remind you that Gino had to pay his lawyer a hefty sum to modify your mother's will? You were never getting the building handed over to you. He’s a leech. He sucks off other people’s lives.”
“I refuse this deal you have struck with Loren—Gino. This is not happening. Not today or any day,” I growl, drowning in fear for what my stepfather has done to me but wanting to row the boat to shore myself for my father’s sake. I have failed my father.
I know I’m acting unreasonable, but I’m angry and scared. Too much has happened in too little time.
I am a fish out of water for the first time after losing my mother. I thought I had my life worked out, but I am far from okay. “I am my father’s daughter, and the bloodline fills my veins—not Gino’s and not yours to do as you please with my life, Mr. King. And who are all these big men?!” I whisper-shout in frustration because I am starting to lose it.
“Apologies, Queenie. Please let me introduce Xander Black, a construction company owner and my friend.” The guy with the man bun inclines his head. “And his five crew: the blond guy is Dolf, Blaze has reddish-brown hair over by the bar, Rocky is the chestnut with bulging biceps. Roffe with the dark hair is over by the booth, and Quil has the rainbow mohawk. Nash, who you have already had pointed out by Hemsworth, is Xander’s lawyer, he thought to bring along for today’s confrontation. Xander’s men will be working here, and you will have a guard on you when you leave here or when I’m not around.”
“These men are working here and guarding me? What for?”
“Roemer is still a threat, so I am staying here to make sure you are safe and to oversee construction.”
Sale of my family’s business? Construction? Guards?
“This is my home. Not yours or theirs. There will be no construction, guards, or anything else you think you have the right to dictate to me.”
“As the owner of this historical building and all its contents, I say who stays and who goes, and lucky for you, you get to stay. If you would like Nash to go over the legalities of what has transpired, I am sure you will find it all on the up and up. I saved your bacon and your greasy stepfather’s ass, although that remains to get seen how long he lasts. A little gratitude would be in order. Make no mistake: Roemer is the type of man to seek retribution. You have had a taste of that already. Queenie, your home is not much good to you if you are dead. Lucky for you, we met, and I am in a place to dig you both out of this hole and acquire an asset I can renovate and make a profit over time. I am your knight in shining armor.” I want to thank Bradford for being there for me, but this is all too raw. “I’m also throwing in twenty-four-hour security for free. I will take a meeting with Xander and his construction crew next; we have much to discuss. If you plan on leaving the building, let me know, and I will escort you or find somebody to do it. Now be a good girl and go do what you would normally do on a Sunday afternoon, but first, are you packing Gino off to jail, or—?”
“Jail. Gino’s fate can lie in the hands of the prison system. He offered me up to get sold, he used my mother for his financial gain, and he left me to the wolves to get assaulted.”
“Nash…”
“I’ll call it in, Bradford. I spoke with my father before I arrived, and the Chicago Police Department has a thick open file on Roemer. The video confession will assist significantly in getting him picked up.”
I’ve had enough. I need some space. “I’m going to Kingdom of Wigs, your highness. It would seem I need a wig.” How did my life get so topsy-turvy?
“Xander, can I borrow one of your men?” Bradford asks.
Xander has been sitting back with his feet up on a table, his ankles crossed, looking like a bucket of popcorn is missing from the picture while Bradford and I went at each other’s throats. “Dolf, escort Queenie. Rocky, could you keep Carrollo company and make sure he stays unconscious. I’ve had enough of listening to him.”
“On it.” They both say in unison.
Dolf winks at me. “I’ve got my motorcycle; you can jump on the back.”
“I’ve got my own bike. I hope you can keep up?” I need air, and riding my bike will ensure I can be by myself and try to absorb everything that’s happened without a room filled with testosterone.
Dolf grins. “I like you.”
“Dolf, this is a job,” Bradford grumbles. “Queenie, no side trips until I have Roemer paid in full.”
“Put a shirt on, and pull your pants up,” I snap out. I can’t concentrate on my anger while he’s half-naked. I’m furious I’ve lost control of my life.
“How remiss of me.” He bends over, scooping up the shirt lying close by on the floor where he would have tossed it. “I will get Hemsworth to bring over some more clothing items. I didn’t want the only clean shirt I had with me to get blood on it while I taught your stepfather some manners. Now, the sooner you go, the sooner you will be back here, safe and sound.”
“You won’t need a wardrobe of clothes. You will be gone by the time I get back.”
“I beg to differ. I’ve already told you I bought the building. And be a good girl and do as you are told.”
“Don’t order me around. You don’t own me.”
“Time will tell.”
“I mean it.”
“Never say never.”
Xander stands up. “Excuse me—”
“What?” we both shout.
“Can either of you show me where I can find some popcorn?”
8
King
I take a seat in an unoccupied booth, resting my head against the back of the booth, closing my eyes. I haven’t slept for nearly two days, and I’m hungry.
Queenie’s stormed off with Dolf on her heels. Good luck with that, buddy, and Gino’s been lead away handcuffed.
What the fuck am I doing?
Yesterday I was all about the corporate world. Today: I’m digging a damsel in distress out of a financial hole, saving her from the dragon and simultaneously stealing her castle.
I don’t need this building.
I don’t need this woman in my life complicating it.
Hemsworth’s friend is a savvy computer hacker. I obtained information and financial files on Kingdom of Wigs, Queenie’s Tavern, and learned pretty much Queenie’s personal life history and her family’s. Her father and mother were good people—albeit her mother’s poor choice in a second husband. Queenie is a good person. She works hard, saves well for a rainy day—not enough to cover Gino’s debts in forty-eight hours, but she’s a sensible businesswoman. She cares about those in need.
I can sympathize with losing both parents.
I could have offered Queenie a payment plan for the next fifty years.
Kingdom of Wigs makes a good profit, even with Queenie’s generosity of handing out wigs to those who can’t afford them.
“Sir, did you have to treat Queenie like that in front of a room of men? I thought you liked her.” Opening my eyes, I see Hemsworth has slid a plate with two cheese and ham sandwiches on it in front of me.
“Yeah, well, it just happened.”
Hemsworth watches me while I grumpily make quick work of the first sandwich.
“Humiliation is not usually your style when you like a female. I’m sure the poor girl is thoroughly confused with your behavior.” And here comes the lecture.
“Who says I like Queenie?”
“Sir, is this where I roll my eyes?”
I rub my stubby jawline, pondering my next words while che
wing my way through the last sandwich.
And I’ve got nothing by the time I swallow the last mouthful.
I need a change of topic.
9
Queenie
I’ve spent the past four hours working from the warehouse behind the showroom going through online orders and pulling the stock together for each order.
When we first arrived, I tried on some wigs, with Dolf letting me know his favorites. I might even model some for my website.
I’m wearing a long, lilac synthetic wig, which looks like real human hair. I’ve got it up in a high ponytail while I work. It makes me feel pretty and gives me some of my confidence back.
We didn’t discuss what happened inside the tavern, which I am grateful for because I’m trying to block out all the crazy I learned this afternoon. Kingdom of Wigs is the only space now that is truly mine. And it is untouchable by any man.
Dolf is humming a tune beside me while assisting with packaging up the orders to get mailed out tomorrow.
Filling the orders puts me in my happy place, knowing women and men worldwide feel good about themselves when they wear one of my uniquely styled wigs, whether it is for medical reasons or style.
I’m working on a particular order which has to go out tonight. “Dolf, I need to visit with a friend on the way home. You can leave me to it if you like.”
He looks up from the order he is packaging up. “Nope. No can do. Bradford said no stops on the way home.”
“Last time I looked, I’m an adult, and I don’t answer to anybody. No offense Dolf, you’ve been a great help this afternoon, but we are not at ‘BFF status’ where I take your advice. You are a frenemy.”
“Wow. You just used the term frenemy in the year 2040. You’re going old school on my ass.” His cheeky grin is infectious, and I can’t help grinning back. “While we are frenemies, I’ll compromise by letting Bradford know and go with you—”
There’s a loud double bang on the warehouse's back door, making my heart pound five times faster.
“Are you expecting somebody?” Dolf pulls a handgun from the back of his pants.
“Jesus, Dolf.” I stand up. My hands are shaking. “I’m not expecting anybody.”
“Shit, babe. No reason to be scared.” Dolf grabs hold of me in a hug, making sure to face the rear door.“Your safe with me, but I want you to stay here while I go check it out.”
I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I can’t seem to stop shaking.
There’s a double bang again on the door, followed by a message alert on Dolf’s phone.
“Bradford wants to be let in.” He lifts my feet off the ground and walks with me, still clinging to his body down to the rear door. “I need the code, babe.”
“It’s eye activation.”
He spins us, so I’m facing the panel, and tilts me forward. I scan my eye, wait for the green light, and then he turns us so he can open the door while keeping a hold of me.
Cool, fresh air hits my back.
“What the hell, Dolf?” Bradford’s grumpy voice brings me back to my senses.
“I’m good now, thank you, Dolf,” I whisper, and he releases me.
Without looking at Bradford, I walk back to my workstation.
I hear Dolf and Bradford murmuring together. Their voices too low-pitched to make out what they are talking about, but I gather Dolf is explaining Bradford’s banging on the door scared the hell out of me. I’m a little shocked at the way my body reacted when Dolf pulled a gun out. Last night has shaken me up more than I care to admit.
I welcome the cool fresh air mixing with the staler air in the warehouse. The door must still be open.
They continue talking, not that I’m focusing on the two of them, but I begin to wonder if surely the day can’t get any worse. I’ve filled my quota on that already.
Kingdom of Wigs is my happy place, and nothing is going to change that. It remains the way I left it the day before, and it’s where I control everything. No man needed. And now it’s about to get invaded by a billionaire with no moths in his bulky wallet.
I busy myself putting Cindy, a.k.a, Cinderella’s gift together, a long ice-blue wig with silver highlights, and I’ve bought her a Cinderella costume ballgown and a princess tiara. I place a piece of silver tissue paper over the gifts and put the lid on the metallic pink box. Then I tie a silver bow around it.
She’s my one stop on the way home that I can’t pass up because Bradford says so.
“Hey.” Bradford’s hand lands gently on my shoulder, still making me jump. “I called your name twice, but you are so focused on what you’re doing you didn’t hear me. I’m sorry if I upset you by banging on the door. I wasn’t thinking. I should have called or messaged to let you know I was coming over. Dolf said I gave you quite a fright.”
I let out a heavy sigh. I’m tired and hangry—another old school word—not having eaten in nearly twenty-four hours, and I’m sore. My body has bruises all over it, and my wrists have felt sorer since working here this afternoon. Getting thrown in a dumpster will do that to a girl. But, this is my happy place, and I was determined to get a chunk of orders packaged up and to visit with Cindy.
I made sure to cover all my skin up so Cindy doesn’t ask any questions. My sweater's sleeves are long and come with a thumb hole to keep them in place. She won’t see my wrists. I can put my split lip down to being clumsy, and me wearing a wig will be something I have done before when I’ve visited her.
“Queenie, are you in there?” My chair spins around, and I’m facing Bradford, who has crouched down in front of me, resting one hand on the arm of my chair, watching me. “Truce?” Bradford waits for me to acknowledge him.
“Fine. Truce.” He’s dressed casually: a black-knit sweater, I’m sure, costs more than I make in a week, teamed with denim designer jeans and retro black sneakers.
He looks nice, not that I am going to compliment him.
“So, I hear on the grapevine, you’ve had a pretty rough twenty-four hours. I came to see if I could help you with anything and then take you to dinner to talk about today in more detail.” He’s trying for the light approach after the words we had earlier.
“I’m not hungry, but thank you for the offer,” I say, sugary-sweet. “I’m about to visit with a friend before I go back to my apartment. Oh, wait, it’s not mine anymore. I shall reword it: your latest takeover.” Call me petty, but I need time to adjust.
I think I just blew the truce.
I know I should be thanking Bradford for saving me, handling this whole mess, when in hindsight, I’m not sure what would have gone down if I was discovered in the dumpster by Gino. Would he have made sure I was okay and taken care of me? No. He wouldn’t have. I have a lot to be grateful to Bradford for, but I can’t find the words to tell him today.
I need to stay mad at him.
“Where’s Dolf?” He didn’t say ‘goodbye’ to me.
“I called it a day for him. He’s collecting Quil, the guy with the mohawk, to ride your motorcycle back so I can take you to where you need to go. Dolf mentioned you are determined to see a friend. Xander and his men will be packing up in about an hour, so we have some time to wile away.”
I fold my arms. “I don’t need an escort, and I have not agreed to one of the wild guys riding my bike.”
“Not negotiable. Roemer is a threat until he’s behind bars.” My stomach chooses this moment to growl loudly, announcing I’m starving. “That sounds serious. When was the last time you ate?”
“Okay, I’m starving, but food will have to wait until I have visited my friend—which for the record—isn’t wasting time.” I stand up, walking around Bradford, putting some distance between us. “I will ride my bike in through the rear door and leave it here tonight. You can call off Quil and Dolf.” Bradford’s now standing. “And before you attempt a counteroffer, you, Mr. King, have no jurisdiction under the roof of my kingdom. Here, I am the ruling queen.” As if I am going to give the keys to my bike to a stranger
. The motorcycle was an early eighteenth birthday gift from my mother presented to me before she passed away, and I won’t risk having the keys taken away from me. “I will compromise by accepting your offer to drive me to see Cinderella.”
“Look at you, the negotiator.” He sounds impressed.
“Nothing to negotiate. Here, I call the shots, not you. And you would do well to remember that.”
“Touché, Miss Queenie. Now, who is Cinderella?”
“The bravest eleven-year-old I’ve ever met.”
10
King
I’ve realized two things since meeting Queenie: A) I need to give Hemsworth more time off, and B) I’ve become a bit of a ‘git’ as Hemsworth would say, not driving myself around more often. Like now.
Hemsworth has just assisted both Queenie and me with our doors and is driving us toward the address Queenie gave him in Old Town.
“So this is your idea of driving me somewhere? Can you even drive?” Queenie is practically laughing in my face, sitting as far away from me as she can in the backseat of the town car with her elbow resting against the window. Her gift for her friend separating us.
“Of course, I can drive. I own ten vintage cars.” Defensive. Much?
“And when do you drive this fleet of vintage cars?” Her pretty green eyes are now laughing at me.
Practically never. “All the time.”
Hemsworth starts wheezing, or is he laughing?
“Old man, stop eavesdropping.” He looks at me through the rearview mirror; his eyes crinkle with amusement.
“Sorry, sir. I was thinking of a funny joke.”
I roll my eyes.
“You’re missing out on not owning a motorcycle. I love the freedom. Do you have one among your dust collection?”
