by Gow, Kailin
“Night, Mr. Kingsley. And I hope everything is okay.”
“Thanks, Rosa. I’m sure it will be.”
Turning my attention back to my emails, I open one marked “urgent” from Patrick. As I expected, he’s already handling the situation for me and Kings.
The attorneys were immediately brought on board to help with the crisis Simon caused. Minimizing financial and legal fallout with our investors seems to be the ruling theme in the back-and-forth email thread between Patrick and Ken MacDonald, our head counsel at Kings Capital.
Ken believes we are safe from anything major exploding in our faces, but he’s paid too much to assume. I draft a quick email telling him such. I want him assessing every angle, any remote possibility of something coming to bite us in the ass. Or his ass will be on the line. I don’t come right out and tell him this, but the tone and words I use imply the ugly result of an oversight on his part.
Being prepared and anticipating what might lie ahead is the hallmark of my company’s success. Now it’s time to test what we’ve practiced during the last nine years.
Next up in my inbox is an email from our corporate communications officer, Meg Daniels. She is taking care of any public damage control. Her office has already sent out press releases detailing our stance on the Simon events of the day.
The media will likely put together the earlier announcement of his dismissal and the assault against Tom. One will lead to the other. But Meg never addresses this fact. She treats them as two separate occurrences. Smart move on her part.
Anything implied and not factual isn’t a matter for Kings to discuss. The facts are stated and to the point. The only words portraying emotion are at the conclusion where Meg mentions the hope of Simon’s quick capture by the authorities.
The press releases were sent to all the major media outlets, and as always I’m blind copied on them. Communications of this magnitude always include me in the email. As the company CEO, I need to know the talking points we are using with the media. A united front makes a company appear strong in times of uncertainty. God knows that’s what we’re going through now. Uncertain and unsure: two words rarely used in my vocabulary.
After replying to a few emails from Peters, I pocket my phone and glance around the room. Kathryn has countless photos displayed on the tables and shelves. Everywhere I turn, they’re decorating the furniture and bookshelves.
Curiosity gets the better of me, and I reach for the closest picture frame. It’s a photo of Kathryn and her brother, John. Likely from about ten years ago, she looks young and her brother looks like he’s in his teens.
The building in the background catches my eye. No one can mistake the iconic landmark of the Eiffel Tower standing tall behind them. A clear blue sky surrounds them all. Obviously this photo was taken when she was studying in Paris. I find myself smiling back at the photo in my hands. What draws me to this picture is the complete joy on her face. Kathryn radiates pure happiness.
Everything else in the photo remains in the shadow of her beauty. Even her brother gets lost in her brilliance.
Looking at them standing arm in arm under the Eiffel Tower, I see there is no way to mistake the closeness between them. It’s clearly evident. The same tenderness for each other was apparent on their faces when I watched them from a distance at the bar last night. It’s easy to understand how I misinterpreted their relationship.
I can’t believe Kathryn and I met only twenty-four hours ago. The unexpected happenings of the last two days have disturbed my normally planned and concisely controlled existence. My life’s busy schedule allows me very little flexibility. Overseeing a company the size and scope of Kings Capital affords me little time for spontaneity.
Leaving, or more accurately, abandoning work like I did today to basically stalk Kathryn is unheard of for me. It’s been one hell of a day. One minute I’m trying to control my desires for this woman and behave in a gentlemanly manner. Totally uncharted waters for me. Then I’m faced with a friend and business partner who wants to put a bullet in my head. I’m fatigued from all the highs and lows. But it’s unlikely I’ll be able to sleep much tonight. My mind will not be turning off anytime soon.
Sighing, I replace the frame on the table. A large shelf lines the far wall and I stroll past the pictures there.
The white enameled wood of the shelves adjoins the wall of windows where I stop and look at all the snapshots. Mostly childhood photos of Kathryn and her brother, but a couple of pictures of Kathryn and her father stand out.
As lovely a woman as Kathryn's mother Ava is, Kathryn inherited her distinct pale coloring and raven hair from her father, Richard. He had the appearance of an old world aristocrat. But his eyes had a kindness to them, which softened the edges to his face.
In one picture, Richard holds Kathryn on his lap while he reads to her from a storybook. The moment caught by the camera is intimate. Caring. The love Richard has for her as he looks up for the camera’s shot exemplifies a completely devoted father.
Though Richard passed away too young, Kathryn’s fortunate to have cherished memories of her time with him. Something special to hold on to.
I wasn’t as lucky in this regard, never knowing my father as a child. Actually using the term, father, is a gross overstatement. I believe the words “sperm donor” would be closer to the truth.
I sure as fuck don’t want to take another trip down memory lane thinking of my father, so I continue viewing the photographs along the shelves. A few of them are when Kathryn was a young woman, perhaps during her college days. Kathryn with friends on vacations. Boating on a yacht. A recently taken one of Kathryn and her mother, Ava.
But I stop on one picture in particular. I have my fingers wrapped around the frame before I even stop to think. It’s a wedding photo of Kathryn and her late husband, Jean-Paul, I believe was his name. He was tall with a surprisingly dark complexion. The picture only shows his side profile, but he has the appearance of being an attractive man, and one who was head-over-heels in love.
Together, they are a stunning couple. Simply breathtaking. I can’t deny it. They shine together. Kathryn’s creamy ivory, strapless dress cascades around her. The tops of her breasts on parade. Very tempting. Jean-Paul is sharply clothed in a traditional formal black tuxedo. His presence is commanding and domineering. A man with purpose as he claims this beautiful woman for his own.
But the most striking part of this photo is the love and commitment I can see between the two of them. Their bodies are facing one another, with their arms gently wrapped around each other’s waists. It’s an intimate moment but of a different kind, not in a sexual way at all. Their faces appear to be caught in a laugh. One filled with pure joy.
The love between the two of them seems so foreign to me. Having such an intense connection with a lover is something I can’t even fathom. I never loved any woman like this. Hell, other than my mother, I’ve never loved a woman at all.
Plain and simple. Their love reflects back at me and leaves me lacking.
The realization punches me in the gut. Maurice’s words come back to my mind. Perhaps he was right. I’m not good enough for someone like Kathryn. Especially knowing the type of love she once had. Why would she want me? Sobering thoughts for me once again, and I can’t help but feel as though I’ve been bombarded with them tonight.
Chapter 11
Holding Kathryn’s wedding picture in my undeserving hands seems wrong to me. I am an uninvited guest on her memories. I slowly return the picture frame to its rightful place. However, my eyes don’t want to let it go. They stubbornly stay focused on the picture of pure wedded bliss until I finally manage to turn my head.
Sitting close to the picture is a magazine-sized shadow box that catches my attention. I hadn’t seen it before, but there is no overlooking it now. A shiny silver Olympic medal is displayed inside the wooden encasing. It lies proudly on a backdrop of black velvet.
Jean-Paul’s medal. A piece from her past and housed prominent
ly.
Feeling haunted by this ghost from Kathryn’s late husband, I retreat from where I’m standing. Distance is needed. I can’t help but wonder: Has she moved on? Or does she still grieve his loss?
In the short time we’ve been together, I’ve never noticed any sorrowfulness in the way she acts. In fact, exactly the opposite. The best way to describe her disposition would be serene, assured, and confident.
Sadness doesn’t seem to be part of her make-up. Which gives me hope she’s moved on from this man she obviously loved deeply. Besides, Kathryn had mentioned being in an off-and-on-again relationship with Frenchie, the man we met at the Nectar Café.
Knowing her relationship with Frenchie is currently in the off position gives me reason to hope I might have a chance with her.
I feel like an awkward schoolboy, an unusual place to find myself in. Especially since I’ve stopped counting how many women I’ve fucked over the years. But tonight, when I can’t seem to remember another woman’s face but Kathryn’s beautiful one, my previous behavior is nothing to be proud of.
I’ve never needed or wanted a woman to like me in the conventional sense. I never encouraged those kinds of relationships. Ever since I was a teenager, women were drawn to me with no effort on my part. The only requirement from me was showing up. Nothing more, ever.
But Kathryn’s appeal to me is much different. She’s more than a sexual conquest or a pretty face on my arm for the night. The one thing unknown to me: Does she want me?
All I have to go on are her actions so far tonight. She didn’t turn me away at the sidewalk when she came out of her apartment building. There’s no denying she looked shocked to see me leaning against my Escalade. Maybe a touch annoyed I was stalking her, but she still let me into her private world. Which is more than I could’ve asked for considering she’d been warned against me. And those warnings were all sadly based on the truth, too. The rumor excuse doesn’t work tonight. I’ve pretty much confessed to being a roguish bastard intent on my own pleasure.
Even knowing my carnal nature, she allowed me to hold her hand as we walked the streets. She chose to stay with me after Frenchie tried to persuade her to dump my player ass. We enjoyed a dinner together at a restaurant where the owners are like her family and hated the sight of me. A place she’s never taken another man before tonight.
But the most meaningful concession was when she allowed me to kiss her passionately in Maurice’s office, and then again in the elevator. Each time she returned my kiss with as much passion as I put into it, but pulled away too quickly for things to escalate.
Maybe it’s my number-centered brain, but I can’t help adding up all these positive points in my favor and believe they’re a good sign for me. Here I am, a thirty-two-year-old man who’s never really pursued a woman outside of sex once in my life. The attraction between us is like nothing I’ve felt before. She even admitted to it after our first kiss, but chose to call it lust. All I’ve ever known when it comes to women and sex is lust. But the chemistry Kathryn and I have is more than pure lust. Now I just need to convince her of this fact. How quickly the tables have turned.
Glancing at my watch, I realize Kathryn’s session with pretty boy Eric will soon be over. Just a few more minutes left until he walks out of her harem-looking office and leaves the apartment. He better not have a smug, I just fucked your woman look on his face or things might get ugly.
Walking back over to the coffee table, I see the other two books she gave me to read lying there. One book is called, Tantric Sex, Spiritual Sex. The title almost makes me laugh, even if I’m a bit curious about the outlandish comparison. Grabbing the book and flipping through the pages, I discover this book contains more photos than the first one I read. Since reading didn’t work to well the first time, the pictures might be a better option.
I know Kathryn told me not to just look at the pictures, but I want to know what might possibly be going on down the hall. Nothing I’m seeing on the pages appears out of the norm. A couple of charts display wheels of some kind running along a woman’s body. The caption for the picture doesn’t make a bit of sense to me, though. The different-colored wheels are Chakra points, or centers of energy.
Confused, I keep turning the pages until one photo catches my eye. It’s of a couple, both are scantily clad but not nude, the man’s legs are crossed in front of him while he is seated on a mat. The woman sits on his lap facing him, her legs tightly wrapped around his hips. In a way it looks like they’re dry-humping, cock to pussy while moving against each other with their clothes on.
Was this what Kathryn and Eric were doing down the hall? The possibility of Eric’s erect cock pressing into Kathryn’s crotch is a disturbing visual for me.
Before my rational thinking kicks in, I’m walking toward the hallway leading to her office. I swore I’d be good, and standing outside of the room isn’t too bad. Just being curious. But even I know that’s a lie.
Approaching her office, faint music floats through the air. The music has an erotic feel to it, the sound of sex. Music to fuck by, I’ve called it before.
I want to hear more, and I do what I promised Kathryn I wouldn’t—I totally misbehave and place my ear against the hardwood door in an attempt to make out any sounds coming from Kathryn and her pupil.
The only sound emitting from the room is music. So I push my ear harder against the wood in hopes of hearing more, but the door moves with me in its casing. The result is a loud and noticeable rattle that I’m sure Kathryn heard.
Completely busted.
I fly back to the living room and dive into her overstuffed chair. My heart’s racing as adrenaline pumps through my veins. My palms are even sweating. Damn this woman and her ways of making me edgy.
I grab the books from the table again, needing to look like I’ve been engrossed in them when she walks out of her session. Maybe I should find a pencil and start taking notes.
But before I even get that far, I hear her coming down the hallway with Eric. Their conversation is indistinguishable, and I keep my head down, buried in the book. I check to make sure it’s not upside down, and thankfully it’s right side up.
When they enter the living room area, I wait a few seconds before glancing up, hoping to look surprised they’re standing there finished. When I do raise my head, Kathryn appraises me. There’s no denying she knows what I was up to outside her door; she’s shaking her head subtly. Without saying a word, I shrug. There’s no pulling the wool over her eyes at this point. No reason to even try.
The disapproving scowl isn’t the only thing I notice about Kathryn. She has changed into sheer, tight workout clothes bordering on obscene. I want to take my sports coat and throw it over her shoulders. Her black sports bra and clingy yoga pants leave little to the imagination.
Which in turn makes mine run wild. Her perfect ass, gorgeously round tits, and slender waist are on full display for me, not to mention Eric. I knew she had a body, but this unrestricted look at her curves brings everything together in a mix that awakens my dormant cock. Especially when I think about her long legs wrapped around my waist like the dry-humpers in the Tantric book. I hope like hell she and this Eric guy weren’t doing the bump and grind in her harem tent.
Eric stands by her side in typical guy jogging attire, the bag that he had earlier is slung over his shoulders. He changed from the business casual look he wore here tonight. Thankfully, his clothes aren’t edgy. His blonde hair remains in place, just as it was earlier. His composure isn’t amiss either. A warm and kind smile graces his face. Nothing about his appearance says, “I just got off with her.” A slight conciliation I grab onto, which gives me a little relief.
“I see you’ve been reading?” Kathryn asks, arching a brow at me. At least she has acknowledged me.
“I was getting ready to start taking notes.” I answer enthusiastically and she gives me a little huff in return. Yes, there’s no fooling her.
Rising out from the chair, I make my way toward them.
“Thanks for everything, Kathryn. You know I’m going to ask Melanie to marry me. I have you to thank for helping me get my head on straight.” Eric pulls Kathryn into a big hug similar to the one when he greeted her. “And you will definitely be invited to the wedding. Assuming she says yes.”
“Of course she’ll say yes.” Kathryn replies with a smile. “I’ve seen the two of you together. You are meant to be.”
Eric turns my way, all happy and boyish smiles, and holds out his hand to me. “Mr. Kingsley,” our hands connect firmly, “you have quite the woman here.”
He’s smiling, and I’m left speechless. Well how the hell to do I respond to this? I agree with him totally; Kathryn’s quite the woman.
Going with the flow, I say, “Thanks. I couldn’t agree with you more.” Why disrupt his happy mood with my uncertainties. I choose to generalize what he said. This approach might be more palatable for Kathryn. “Any man would be lucky to have her at his side.”
There I said it.
“Such flattery from both of you.” Kathryn laughs. “Two charmers under my roof at one time.”
“Well, this charmer needs to get back to his girlfriend before it gets too late. Might need to show her a thing or two.” Eric winks and I tense up. Again for the millionth time wondering what she taught him that he now has to share.
“Thanks again, Kathryn.” Eric begins heading to the front door with Kathryn right behind him. “We’ll see you next week. Same time.”
“Looking forward to it. Please give my best to Melanie, too.” Kathryn gives him a brief hug. Their bodies aren’t as close this time, which suits me fine.
“Nice to meet you again, Mr. Kingsley,” Eric adds while he’s turning the door knob. “You two have a good evening.”
