Iron Born (Iron Palace Book 1)

by Lisa Ferrari

  “What?” Denise asks.

  “I haven’t regretted it a day since. It’s not the $500,000 Aventador Superveloce”—I love the way Kellan says Superveloce, like real Italian—“but come on, look at it.”

  Everyone looks at the green machine sitting outside in the sun. It is truly awesome.

  “If I were in the market for a BMW,” Kellan says, “a real head turner, I’d get this one. It’s the X-6M, isn’t it, Mark?”

  “It sure is. Special ordered it myself. Black with a red interior. This thing is loaded. It’s got everything. I ordered it four months ago and it just arrived last night. It’s been in the showroom about three hours.”

  Denise opens the door and climbs in. “Does this say power bitch or what? Holy crap.”

  “Holy crap is right,” I say. Denise beams at me, but I’m looking at the window sticker. I show it to Kellan. $118,799.66.

  Kellan looks at it and nods.

  “I don’t think I’ve made that much money in my whole life,” I say so only Kellan can hear me, “and she’s going to spend it in one day. Wouldn’t she be better off investing in a rental property like you did?”

  “Probably.”

  “How much is her monthly payment going to be?”

  “Depends on how much she puts down, how many months she finances it, and what her APR is, but probably about two grand a month.”

  “That’s more than double my rent.”

  Denise pokes her head out the driver’s-side window. “What do you think, Clarice?”

  “It’s a lot of money. But it’s gorgeous.”

  “It is, isn’t it,” says Denise, and I don’t know what she’s referring to, the fact that it’s a lot of money or that it’s gorgeous. “I’m going to buy it,” she declares.

  That answers that.

  I keep my mouth shut. I don’t want to ruin Denise’s day.

  But inwardly I’m conflicted.

  I’m happy for Denise.

  But I’m also envious.

  I can’t even conceive of buying a brand new car, let alone a car that costs 118 grand!

  I start feeling down.

  I start feeling like a loser because I’m not on the same level as Kellan and Denise and Mark.

  I drive a shitty little used Corolla with old, frosted, yellowed headlights and a squeaky engine.

  The front left speaker doesn’t work.

  The right rear window doesn’t work.

  But it beats walking or taking the bus!

  My books don’t make any money online and I don’t know why, so I keep working my lowly catering job which, truthfully, isn’t that lowly but it only pays the bills and allows for a tiny bit of spending money.

  I probably should’ve gone to law school with Denise. Then I’d be making partner and blowing 118 grand on a brand new Bimmer.

  Mark holds the door open for Denise and even holds her hand to help her out of the vehicle.

  They smile at one another.

  Probably because his penis was just in her vagina.

  They go into his office to start the paperwork.

  One of the younger, clearly less-seasoned salesmen approaches Kellan. “When are we going to get you into a new BMW, sir?”

  Kellan holds up the black key fob for the Huracan. It has the signature gold-and-black Lamborghini bull on it. “I’m good.”

  “That’s Italian trash,” says the sales guy. “What you really should be driving is a BMW. German engineering. BMW is where it’s at.”

  “Actually,” says Kellan, “Lamborghini was acquired by Audi. Audi is owned by Volkswagen. Volkswagen is German. So the new Lambos are actually Italian styling with German engineering. So they look as good as they ever did, but now they’re also very reliable. I’ve never gone out to the garage and had that thing not start.”

  “Fair enough.” The sales kid smiles and walks away, polite, contrite, but schooled. He should’ve known everything Kellan just said.

  WHILE WE’RE WAITING for Denise and Mark to conclude the transaction, Kellan and I wander through the showroom and into the lounge where he prepares a fresh cup of coffee for each of us from their nifty espresso machine.

  We sit down and sip our drinks.

  “Hey,” says Kellan, “there’s a show down in L.A. this weekend and they invited me to come and guest pose. I wasn’t going to go but now with all this B.S. with my brother and everything, I feel like maybe it’s a good idea to get out of town for a few days.”

  Crap. “Oh, okay. So, we won’t train together for a few days?”

  “No, of course we’ll train. I’m saying you should come with me.”

  Holy mackerel. “To L.A.?”

  “Yeah! It’ll be great. They’ll fly us down first class and put us up in a swanky hotel and comp our meals and then Saturday night we can go to a club or out to dinner. Something fun. Are you working this weekend?”

  “Tomorrow we have a small event. Forty people. Cookies and lemonade. I’m off Friday and Saturday but we have a huge Filipino wedding Sunday night. Three hundred people. Served. Which means there will be 30 rounds of 10, so I’ll be carrying 30 trays of salads, 30 trays of dinners, and 30 trays of wedding cake.”

  “That’s 90 trays. So you’re going to make 90 trips from the kitchen to the dining room?”

  “A hundred-and-eighty, actually. Because every time I carry a tray out, I have to take an empty one back to the kitchen and grab the next one.”

  “How long does that take?”

  “It’ll probably take 45 minutes to serve everyone.”

  “Wow. That’s some serious cardio. So, do you want to come?”

  I smile at his loaded question. Yes to both.

  “Sure.”

  A huge smile lights up his whole face. “Cool. We’ll fly home first thing Sunday morning so you can be back at work on time.”

  I’m quietly wetting myself, metaphorically speaking, but trying to act cool. I’m going out of town on a friggin high-roller trip with Kellan Kearns and we’re going to fly first class and stay in a fancy hotel and get free food?

  Holy crap!

  This will rival any of Denise’s stories for SURE!

  I immediately wonder if I should follow Denise’s advice from yesterday and have sex with Kellan. Even if it’s only once and I never hear from him again.

  Kellan says Mark and Denise have been in the office an awfully long time.

  “They’re probably having sex again,” I say.

  I realize what I’ve said only after I’ve said it. Uh-oh.

  “They had sex?” Kellan asks, down low so only I can hear him.

  I nod. “She told me they did it during the test drive.”

  Kellan’s eyebrows go up. High. “She does stuff like that?”

  Just then, Denise emerges from the office, sparing me from having to give any further incriminating information about my friend.

  “Claire bear, let’s go to the ladies’ room.”

  Bound by female code of conduct to always travel in pairs or groups to the ladies’ room, I follow Denise to the bathroom.

  “Be right back,” I say to Kellan over my shoulder.

  Denise and I quickly pee and wash our hands. She can see that I have news.

  “Kellan has a guest posing down in L.A. this weekend and he invited me along. We’re going to fly first class and stay in a ritzy hotel and all our expenses are being paid for.”

  “How fun! You’re definitely getting laid this weekend.”

  She actually hugs me and says good luck.

  We can’t decide who we’re happiest for, her and her new car or me and my trip to L.A.

  “Me,” Denise says on our way out of the bathroom, “Mark’s going to give me the X6 at cost.”

  Chapter 6

  I WORK THE event Thursday, Kellan and I train at Iron Palace that night (shoulders and arms; holy moly he has big arms!), and we both have to go home and pack and get ready for the trip so we call it a night.

  Kellan picks me up at my
apartment Friday morning.

  I am downstairs waiting for him with my little carry-on suitcase and my backpack with my laptop. I’m sitting on the bottom step (waiting like a lovesick schoolgirl!) when he drives up in his black Corvette Stingray with the top down.

  He gets out and comes over and gives me a fierce hug. He’s wearing jeans and a black V-neck tee shirt, and shiny black shoes.

  Jeans and a tee shirt.

  Yet somehow he looks like he has money. And class. Like he belongs in first class.

  Ever since yesterday, I’ve been pretty much dreading flying in the first class cabin. I have no idea how to act, what to say or do, how to behave. I’m afraid a flight attendant will say something to me and I’ll start speaking with a British accent.

  But as Kellan holds me in his arms, I am aware only of him.

  He smells incredible.

  With each passing day, I get wetter and wetter each time I see him. My body hath begun to betray me.

  It doesn’t help that Denise texted me last night to wish me luck and advising that I take a 12-pack of condoms. She also said she and Mark had just had sex on the kitchen floor. Good ol’ Denise.

  Kellan says he was hoping to see my place.

  I tell him he can see it when we get back. Compared to his house, my apartment is a dump. I’m in no hurry to let him see it.

  “How’re your shoulders and arms?” he asks.

  “Sore.”

  “Good.”

  Kellan opens the passenger door for me and I get in. He stows my bags in the back with his and we’re off to the airport.

  “HOW’S DENISE ENJOYING her new toy?” he asks.

  “You mean the SUV or Mark?”

  Kellan laughs. “The SUV.”

  “Fine, I guess. She didn’t say much about it. Just that Mark came over for dinner last night and they did it on the kitchen floor.”

  Kellan nods appreciatively but doesn’t say anything.

  As if on cue, my phone pings.

  Denise has sent me a video on WhatsApp. It’s her in the X6 doing doughnuts in a parking lot.

  “Who filmed that?” Kellan asks.

  “Mark, I guess.”

  “Interesting.”

  “Very.”

  We get to the airport and Kellan parks the Vette and puts the top up.

  Check-in is a breeze with no waiting. I survey the long, twisting lines of people waiting to check in at the regular travelers’ desk.

  A lot of them are looking at us.

  Looking at Kellan, really.

  He’s huge, he’s wearing expensive jeans that hug his perfect ass, well, perfectly, and a black tee shirt. Yet he looks like a million bucks.

  I, however, look like a complete ragamuffin. As always. I’m wearing my best jeans, black pumps, and a white blouse that fits my waist nicely. I looked okay in my closet mirror before I went downstairs. But standing next to Kellan in the First/Business Class Priority Check-in line, I feel self-conscious.

  But then, when don’t I?

  We go through security, which surprisingly is rather quick. About 15 minutes and we’re through.

  We swing by the First Class Lounge for a few minutes because Kellan says this is my first time flying First class so I must see the lounge. I don’t feel much like lounging. I feel an urgent need to get to our gate and board the plane so they don’t take off without us.

  “Don’t worry,” he says, “they won’t take off without us. They’ll page us a million times before they take off without us. They’ll send someone here to accompany us to the plane before they take off without us.”

  The First Class Lounge is like a luxury resort. There is a complimentary buffet that makes our buffets at work look paltry at best.

  There’s beer and wine and champagne and cognac and bourbon and anything else I could ever want.

  A variety of complimentary newspapers and magazines is available.

  Kellan grabs two bottles of water, one for each of us.

  We take a peek at the salon and spa, where there are showers and full-service massage facilities, along with manis and pedis.

  This is what first class travelers do while the rest of us are sitting on the floor with our phone plugged into the only available outlet.

  I really should’ve gone to law school with Denise.

  Sure, I’d be working 80 hours a week. But I’d be able to afford a brand new X6.

  We depart the lounge and head for our gate.

  On the way, we stop into a little gift, novelty, and snack store. I’m wondering what caught Kellan’s eye, considering anything and everything you could ever want was available for free in the lounge.

  “This.” He holds up the first Harry Potter book. There is one copy of each book on the shelf. Kellan buys the first book. “You spoke so highly of it the other night in the parking lot, you made me want to read it. What’s the name of the kid that gets the pig tail again?”

  “Dudley.”

  “Dudley. Right. I want to read that part.”

  Kellan pays for the book and we go to our gate.

  I’m touched. He actually listened to my recommendation and wants to read the book. Wow.

  ONCE WE’RE ONBOARD, we are directed to our seats.

  They’re huge. They’re like the best, most plush and comfortable movie theater seats I’ve ever been in. Probably even better. There is enough room even for Kellan, who is much broader and far taller than the average human being.

  A flight attendant brings us a tray of beverage selections: champagne, orange juice, or mimosas.

  Kellan grabs two mimosas. “It’s your first time flying first class. A toast is in order.”

  “First time in first class?” asks the flight attendant. She’s a slightly older woman with kind green eyes.

  “Yes,” I say, feeling simultaneously stupid, blessed, and terrified.

  “Don’t worry about a thing, sweetie. Just sit back and relax and I’ll take good care of you. My name is Joyce. There’s nothing to be afraid of. Sitting up here is just like sitting back there.” She pitches her voice down to a whisper, “Except better.” She holds her finger to her lips: Shh! She resumes passing the champagne.

  Kellan holds up his glass. “A toast. To Claire. To commemorate her first time flying first class. May it be the first of many. Cheers.”

  We clink glasses and drink.

  OMG; the mimosa is quite possibly the most delicious, most refreshing beverage that has ever crossed my lips. We offer mimosas at work every Mother’s Day but they don’t taste like this.

  “This airline uses pineapple juice instead of orange juice in these things and they are addictive,” Kellan warns, “so go easy on them.” He slams the rest of his mimosa and Joyce appears with two more. Kellan takes one for each of us.

  Joyce winks at me as she moves through the cabin.

  I’m a complete lightweight and the champagne is working its way into my brain already. I begin to feel warm and fuzzy and giggly.

  And very, very happy.

  I’m not the least bit concerned that Kellan hasn’t kissed me yet.

  Or that I don’t have a single form of birth control with me.

  Hopefully Kellan has taken care of that.

  But then again, I have to admit that he could do anything he wants to me.

  And I would love if it he did.

  And that includes doing you-know-what you-know-where.

  This has already been the best week of my life. I really don’t want to think about the future; I want to enjoy the present, which is something I always have difficulty doing.

  “So, listen, Claire bear,” says Kellan. He fixes me with a funny look and I can tell he’s feeling the champagne a bit himself. “I wanted to talk to you about something.”

  Oh God, what’s he going to say?

  “The trip accommodations,” he says. “We can get you your own room if you want.”

  I’m suddenly crushed.

  Of course I should have my own room.


  Why would Kellan want to share a room with me?

  So we could get naked together and make love all weekend in lots of crazy positions and on all the different pieces of furniture?

  So we could sneak up to the roof and make love up there while looking out at the city lights, hoping we wouldn’t be caught?

  Fat chance.

  Fat chance for the fat girl.

  I begin to wonder what the heck I’m even doing here.

  Kellan goes on, “I mean, if you want. I mean, we could get one room. Um… Or two, if that would make you more comfortable. Or one room with two beds. That way, we could, you know, be together and hang out and talk and stuff.”

  Stuff?

  “What if they don’t have any rooms with two beds?” I ask. “What if they only have rooms with one bed?”

  I also want to ask, where will I sleep? The floor? But I resist.

  “It’s a pretty ritzy place. I’m sure they’ll have rooms with two beds.”

  Maybe it’s the champagne, maybe it’s the altitude, maybe it’s an accumulation of my imagination over the past week of thinking Kellan might actually be interested in me. But, whatever it is, I am emboldened and something makes me say, “What if we only need one bed?”

  I take a slow sip of my second mimosa, sticking out my tongue and lightly tracing the rim of the champagne glass, making a show of it.

  Kellan’s eyes home-in on my tongue.

  “Well, I don’t know…” he replies. “I mean, we just met a few days ago and everything. I, uh, I didn’t want to presume anything. You know? I mean, we can totally get one room and we can totally share a bed and whatever happens, or doesn’t happen, is totally fine. I just don’t want you to think that I’m this weird creepy bodybuilder rapist guy luring you away for the weekend so I can wine you and dine you and take you back to a swanky fancy-pants champagne and strawberries Pretty Woman penthouse hotel suite to sixty-nine you all night and then come home and never speak to you again.”

  My heart is pounding out of my chest.

  Kellan is so hot, so gorgeous, so beautiful, and he seems so sweet and kind and funny and smart and accomplished.