“I’ve asked for us to meet tonight,” she said, “to celebrate a momentous occasion.”
The flourless chocolate cake he’d been inhaling now seemed to stick in his throat. With a grimace, Kip set his fork beside his plate. Way to ruin a perfectly good chocolate binge, Mother.
Kip’s father smiled wanly, and then they both looked at Kip. Was he supposed to react to his mother’s statement in some way? He cleared his throat, but the chocolate cake wasn’t budging. “Oh, really?” His voice scraped its way out of his mouth.
“I’ve had a victory.” His mother smoothed a hand over her hair. “Well, I’ve had two victories, rather.”
Ah, Victoria, I’m so sorry, honey. He couldn’t prevent the surge of misplaced sympathy. Couldn’t bring himself to think Victoria deserved her own bit of misery. Damn it, she’d worked so hard for this. His mother had, too, but this had been Victoria’s dream.
“I got The Ricchezza account!”
“Congratulations, dear.” His father reached over and patted the back of Mother’s hand.
Something twisted sharply in Kip’s chest. “Oh, really?” he said again.
“But”—his mother smiled, and that was rare enough that his interest was piqued despite himself—“that’s not even the best part. I permanently eliminated a source of—I can say it now since it no longer applies—the most stringent competition I’ve ever encountered in my profession.” She turned to him. “Kipling, you actually met her on Saturday morning.”
“Um . . . ” What? Eliminated? Kip straightened in his seat, and his buzz sloughed off in the span of one second. “Do you mean Victoria?”
His mother waved a dismissive hand. “Yes. Hastings. Anyway.” She leaned toward Kip and his father, and a gleam Kip didn’t like lit her blue eyes. “She had been sleeping with a paid prostitute.”
Everything Kip had eaten roiled in his stomach, and he pressed a fist against his mouth.
“Can you imagine?” His mother straightened. “Of all the things to do when your life is under scrutiny.” She reached for her champagne flute and raised it. “I was obligated, naturally, to let Mr. Davis know since our integrity was such a matter of importance to him.”
“Oh, fuck.”
His mother’s jaw dropped. “Kipling!”
“What happened next?” His voice was alarmingly loud. When his fingers started to ache, he realized he was gripping the table with all his strength.
His mother blinked several times. “What needed to happen. He hired me instead, and I will no longer have to worry about Miss Hastings as a source of competition.”
“You mean . . . ” He tried to catch a breath. “She didn’t say anything? Didn’t try to make excuses?”
Her mother laughed. “Really, Kipling. What excuses would she be able to make?”
He made an odd noise—something between a laugh and a grunt—and both of his parents looked at him as though he’d suddenly stripped naked right in front of them.
Why? Why would Victoria have protected him? One sentence—that’s all it would have taken to turn the tables and secure her biggest goal. Sure, it could have destroyed his chances to have a legitimate business, one he still hadn't managed to choose despite all the good options he had before him, but she’d more than made it clear that she didn’t care about him. Hadn’t she? So why would she do it?
Goddamn it, why?
Because, you fucking idiot, she loves you, too.
The idea hit him like a plank to the face, and in the next second, he was grinning so broadly his cheeks hurt. He’d been wrong. So wrong.
Victoria Hastings was nothing like Georgiana Masterson.
He laughed again.
“Kipling?” His mother tilted her head and flicked a quick glance at his father. “Are you well?”
Kip shook his head. “I really wish you hadn’t done that to Victoria.”
His father’s lips parted, and Mother sat back in her chair. “What are you talking about?” she asked.
“Mother”—Kip placed his palms on the table and pushed to his feet—“I am the prostitute Victoria was sleeping with. Me.”
Her mouth dropped open.
“And things are going to be very awkward in the future because, one, you did something horrible to your future daughter-in-law, and, two, I’ll be amending that horrible thing by telling Mr. Davis the truth about my identity.”
His mother’s mouth moved several times as though she were trying to speak, but no sound came out.
“Wait,” his father said. “You sleep with women for money?” He sounded intrigued by the idea, not appalled.
Kip smiled at him. “Not anymore, I don’t. But, yes, I did. Victoria was a client, but now she’s much more.” I hope.
God, he still couldn’t believe she had put him above her greatest desire.
“Daughter-in-law?” his mother finally managed to say. “Kipling, what in the world—”
“I’ll be unavailable for a time.” He straightened his cuffs and pushed his chair into the table. “I’ll be starting my own business”—probably in advertising, the only thing besides Victoria that seemed to make his heart beat faster despite desperate attempts to resist the pull—“and settling down with the woman I love. When you’re ready to meet her—and apologize, of course—please let me know.”
“Kipling!”
He turned to leave the room, and he’d been planning not to look back, but he caught the sight of a grin on his father’s face. Kip paused, and their gazes connected.
His father winked at him.
When Kip walked out of the dining room, he was smiling, too.
He jogged down the front steps to his car, got in as quickly as he could, and tore down the long driveway.
He pointed his car in the direction of the Strip. Twenty minutes later, he was walking back to his car where it was parked in The Ricchezza parking structure.
“Just a minor setback,” he told himself.
He’d been told that Mr. Davis was not in the office. It probably wasn’t true, but at least Kip had tried. He’d have hated himself if he’d skipped the most obvious way of contacting the man when it could have worked.
He needed to think, but his empty apartment didn’t seem inviting, so he drove to the only place he could think of: Sally’s. God help him, he was seeking solace at the world’s most disgusting diner. There were only two other cars parked in the lot. Neither of them were Victoria’s. Though he hadn’t come here looking for her, he still felt a keen sting.
The dull, throbbing ache of missing her he’d experienced all weekend had become a sudden and insistent roar the moment his mother had dropped her bombshell.
Need her bad. He just wanted to hug her, for God’s sake. Bury his nose in her hair and breathe her in. Watch a movie marathon on the couch together.
The bell over the entrance to Sally’s tinkled as he walked in. He saw a couple in the booth where Victoria and he last sat, so, with another healthy dose of disappointment, Kip turned to find a different seat.
But, then, he turned slowly back toward the couple.
They were kissing so hard he doubted they were breathing. He felt like an absolute creeper staring at them now, but—
Yep, his eyes had not deceived him. That was Mr. Davis, owner of The Ricchezza casino, making out in the corner booth of a seedy diner. And the woman on the other side of that kiss?
Not Mrs. Davis.
Kip wanted to grab a passing server and ask Are you seeing this? but he refrained. This couldn’t be happening. He didn’t have this good of luck.
And yet, after a couple of seconds, a slow smile spread his lips, and he took his time walking over to the booth.
He stopped about a foot away, mostly because the sounds the two were making were ridiculous to the nth degree, and laughing out loud was a real possibility. He waited for them to notice they had an audience, but it soon became apparent that was not going to happen.
Kip cleared his throat.
The kissing s
topped abruptly. The two stared up at him, and Kip caught his first glance of the woman’s face . . .
Just Tiffany.
He felt a pang in his chest for Mrs. Davis, who was a truly lovely woman—one whom he genuinely liked.
Mr. Davis had begun staring at Kip with a scowl, but as soon as Kip’s identity registered, his eyes widened and his kiss-bruised lips parted.
“Nice to see you again, Mr. Davis,” he said with a jaunty little salute. “Hello, not-Mrs.-Davis.”
“Ah, shit,” Tiffany muttered.
Kip pointed to the spot beside her in the circular booth. “Mind if I—?”
Tiffany gave him an Are you serious? look but did end up scooting closer to Mr. Davis and making room for him.
“Thank you. Now, here’s the thing. I’m of the mindset that people’s private lives are none of anyone else’s damn business. But,” Kip smiled at Mr. Davis, “seeing as how that is not an opinion we share . . . ”
Mr. Davis straightened his tie, pulling at it a bit in the process. “What is it you want?”
Kip sobered. “Nothing you can give me, unfortunately. However, I do have some information for you.”
Mr. Davis frowned. This was obviously not going the way he expected it to, being as how he was a massive asshole who liked to manipulate people. “Okay,” he said slowly.
Kip leaned back in the booth. He was going to enjoy this. “Georgiana Masterson is my mother.”
Tiffany had already grown bored and was examining her manicure, but Mr. Davis’s eyebrows popped toward his hairline. “Oh, really?”
“Yes, really.” He leaned forward. “I thought you might want to know that before hiring someone who doesn’t even know what’s going on in her own family.” Kip narrowed his eyes. “And speaking of women not knowing what’s going on in their own families . . . ”
Mr. Davis’s face grew red. It was a good thing he didn’t know that Kip probably couldn’t look Mrs. Davis in the eye and break her heart. “I think I understand,” Mr. Davis grumbled.
“Actually, I don’t think you do.” Kip’s voice cooled. “Mrs. Davis is a wonderful woman. If you understood that, we wouldn’t even be chatting right now.”
Fucking hypocrite. Even though he didn’t say the words out loud, Mr. Davis had understood them nonetheless.
“Welp.” Kip knocked his knuckles on the table. Mr. Davis and Tiffany both jumped. “I think I’m going to take my scandalous, hooker ass home.” He got to his feet and nodded at both of them. “Y’all enjoy your adultery, now.”
He walked out of Sally’s biting back a grin.
Chapter Eighteen
Victoria scraped the bottom of her pint of Chubby Hubby ice cream, then shoved the watery spoonful she’d managed to collect into her mouth, staring listlessly at the part of Gone With the Wind when Melanie died.
Unlike every other time she’d attempted this cure for a bad day, it wasn’t working on the ache in her chest.
An ache associated entirely with losing Kip, not with losing The Ricchezza account. Whenever she thought about her actions in the boardroom of The Ricchezza, she felt . . .
Worthy of the good things that happened to her, even if she hadn’t appreciated them at the time, and she felt she was better than the bad things that marred her past.
Her cell started ringing somewhere in the apartment, the ringtone muffled. Victoria glanced around and didn’t see it. She was getting ready to let it go to voicemail, but maybe it was Kip calling to tell her he loved her and wanted to have her babies.
She launched into motion, digging through the couch cushions and eventually finding it on the last ring, stuffed between a cushion and the arm.
Her hope plummeted as she checked out the caller ID.
Well, it’s already in my hand. Might as well.
She pushed the green button. “Hello, Mr. Kincaid.” Damn, she was not looking forward to this conversation.
“Congratulations, Hastings!” Mr. Kincaid boomed so loudly Victoria had to momentarily pull the phone from her ear.
“Umm.” What?
“Just got off the phone with Mr. Davis a moment ago. Why wouldn’t you call me this morning to tell me you got the contract?”
Victoria frowned. “I . . . got the contract?”
“As if you didn’t know.” Mr. Kincaid chuckled. “I already have them working on the nameplate for your corner office. You can start moving in tomorrow morning.”
Her lips parted. “Are you—are you promoting me?”
“Of course, I am! God, Davis faxed over the contract, and not even I could believe the kind of deal you’re getting. This is going to mean big things for us at Precision Media Services, and we have you to thank for it.”
Victoria was speechless on the outside, but her mind was running at breakneck pace. What had happened?
There was only one thing that could have changed Mr. Davis’s mind: the very secret Victoria had kept from him to protect Kip. Which meant—
She sank down onto the couch, covering her lips with her fingers. Kip had to have . . . No, he would have—
He sacrificed his dream to give me mine.
An unimaginable warmth began in her gut and quickly spread throughout her chest and limbs until Victoria was smiling from it.
“Victoria?” Mr. Kincaid’s chuckle this time was a little awkward. “You still there?”
She nodded, which was ridiculous, so she forced herself to open her mouth. “I quit.”
There was absolute silence on the other line and in her apartment. She waited for the panic, but it didn’t come. Instead, she scooped up another bite of Chubby Hubby. For the first time since cracking open the pint, the ice cream had a delicious flavor: victory.
“I’m sorry,” Mr. Kincaid said, “I thought I heard you say I quit.” Another awkward chuckle.
Victoria straightened. “I did say that.”
“But . . . ”
“Mr. Kincaid, the scrutiny put on my private life these past few weeks has been unacceptable. I’m a human woman; that earns me a modicum of respect. I didn’t receive any. I won’t be working for Mr. Davis, and for your role in supporting his inappropriate monitoring of my private life, I will not be working for you anymore either.”
“Victoria,” Mr. Kincaid spluttered, “this is a massive mistake.”
She paused for a moment to examine what she was feeling. She shook her head. “I don’t think it is, actually.”
“You’ll never work in advertising in this city again.”
Victoria pursed her lips. “Kind of like how businesswomen all across the city would withdraw their accounts from Precision Media if they knew you held them to a different moral code than their male counterparts?”
Technically, it had been Mr. Davis who had held her to a different standard, but the powerful women she worked with daily wouldn’t quibble over the difference. Mr. Kincaid had supported it, and that would lose him business if it got out.
He was smart enough to know that.
“I—” Mr. Kincaid cleared his throat. “Is that a threat?”
“In all fairness, Mr. Kincaid, you did threaten me first. I was trying to keep this amicable.”
“Amicable,” Mr. Kincaid muttered, as though he didn’t know the meaning of the word.
“In that vein, I’ll be taking my accounts with me. For when I open my own firm.”
Holy shit, she was on a roll!
“No, I can’t let you do tha—”
“I wasn’t asking. We both know that my clients work with me, not Precision Media. If I leave, they will leave, too. This way you get to pretend it was intentional.”
“You’re kind of . . . ”
Awesome? She smiled to herself. She was being awesome, though it was highly unlikely that was the adjective Mr. Kincaid was thinking of.
“Cutthroat,” he finished eventually.
“If I were a man, you’d call me something like ambitious, but I’ll take cutthroat, Mr. Kincaid.” Victoria pushed to her feet, sudd
enly anxious to get out of the apartment. “I’ll be by to collect my things tomorrow.”
Without another word, she ended the call. She typed a harried text message into her phone, grabbed her purse, and headed for the door.
She had the start of a magnificent plan. But she needed a business partner, and she knew just who she wanted it to be.
• • •
Kip paced the carpet and glanced at his phone for the hundredth time in about a minute.
Meet me in our room ASAP. <3
There were so many things about this text from Victoria that he could get caught up on, but what he chose to focus on was that little heart.
Because he’d seemed to hang his own on it.
She’d never sent him anything like that before. So, while he could be pissed that she’d sent him what could just be a booty call, that heart gave him hope.
That heart, and, ya know, the fact that she put me above herself at great sacrifice.
There was a clicking on the other side of the door, and like Pavlov’s dog, his body recognized the telltale sounds of Victoria using a key card to get into their room.
He spun to face her, catching her just as she was opening the door. The moment their gazes locked, they both froze. Kip was holding his phone out, in the process of checking the damn message again; Victoria was gripping both the doorframe and her bag so tightly her knuckles were white.
He wanted to run to her. To sweep her up in his arms. He hadn’t seen her in days, and it suddenly felt like he’d battled his way through purgatory to catch just a mere glimpse of her. But he had to make sure. Had to know why she had called him here. Why she had done what she did with Mr. Davis.
“Why did you keep my secret?” he asked.
At the same time, she asked, “Why did Mr. Davis call and offer me the contract?”
They both smiled, and everything tight in Kip’s chest loosened.
Victoria stepped into the room and shut the door behind her, but she still didn’t come to him. Kip fisted his hands at his sides to make sure they behaved.
“I’ll answer first,” she whispered. “Promise not to freak out?”
Kip raised an eyebrow. Well, that’s a promising start. Nevertheless, he nodded.
Hard Work Page 21
