Null and Void

by Susan Copperfield

  But if Dylan wanted to come back, he needed to do so as who he truly was, not the illusion he had presented himself as so many years ago. No, I’d work hard to ensure no one ended up wearing my shoes. If any children were born as a result of the auction, the baby wouldn’t be an accident or a mistake, not if I could avoid it.

  I stole the ideas I liked from the New York auction, including the gift bags and the door prizes while discarding the rest, which was most of the auction. There’d be a questionnaire, but instead of a pervert’s guide to pleasing a stranger, it’d be family oriented.

  I had no doubts people would find a way to include their sexual interests and desires; I had no illusions that the elite attended the auctions for anything more than a fling for the sake of charity. After wading through a mire of memories, most of them annoying or unpleasant, I took a break to watch the news reports featuring His Royal Majesty of Montana.

  The clip Jessica had described as lewd was downright filthy, and my face flushed. The editing made it sound like he meant to take me against the nearest wall the instant he got his hands on me.

  In full context, the implication remained, but it was more subtle, toeing the line rather than diving over it.

  I spent a shameful amount of time listening to the clip and indulging in a heated mental argument with myself over the potential of his voice alone. The recording confirmed my suspicions about his mask, however.

  If he fell into even the average category, his voice alone would make him a target of any woman with functioning ovaries. However much I resented admitting it, I counted, and I wouldn’t trust myself alone in the same room with him, especially if I closed my eyes and just listened to him talk.

  I was beginning to believe everyone was right. If I didn’t get a date soon, one that ended with a healthy romp between the sheets, I’d go mad. I’d gone for years without desiring sex, and one stupid king with a sexy voice had unraveled my serenity.

  My dreams of Dylan definitely weren’t helping, and neither was having an empty condominium waiting for someone to visit. If I wanted that to happen, I’d have to concoct a plan to ditch Geoff for a while. Instead of working, I considered my options.

  Mireya was abroad.

  She wanted siblings.

  I had a myriad of itches I needed scratched.

  I had birth control, and I had birth control I could easily verify wasn’t flawed. A single lab test would confirm it was a sound batch.

  Narrowing my eyes, I replayed the entire clip again. The video showed a taller man with dark hair sticking out around a plain white mask, which covered his face. Black gauze covered his eyes, and while there was a gap in his mask allowing view of his mouth, the camera never panned on his face quite right for me to get a look at his lips.

  As in the other pictures I’d seen of him, what I could see of his skin looked tanned, even his neck, which supported my belief he went out in public without people being aware he was among them.

  With my curiosity successfully captured, I searched for his ten-minute rant about my achievements.

  I feared listening to a speech dedicated to my praises would either give me an ego, a crush, or both. Bracing for the worst, I pressed the play button.

  My phone rang, and cursing over the interruption, I hit pause and grabbed my phone from the cradle. “Mackenzie Little speaking.”

  “Ah, you’re in the office today. Excellent,” a sickening familiar and sexily purring voice murmured in my ear.

  I was so doomed. He sounded even better on the phone. “How may I help you, Your Majesty?”

  “I’m flattered you recognize my voice.”

  “I was just catching up on the news. What can I do for you?”

  “I’m curious. How are you planning to arrange the auction, ensuring introductions to women possibly qualified to be my queen and mother of my heirs?”

  Since I wasn’t about to inform him all he needed to do was start talking to find women for the mother of the heirs part of his question, I focused on the queen element of his issue. “With all due respect, Your Majesty? You’re not going to find a woman capable of being your queen at an auction. Now, if you’re just looking for an heir, that’s easily accomplished, but finding a queen will be difficult at best. What are your requirements for a queen? What are you looking for in a partner? That’s a good place to start. Of course, you’re going to have plenty of ambitious women interested in you.”

  And once those women listened to his voice for more than a few minutes, they really would hunt him in packs.

  “Go on,” he invited. “Tell me more.”

  While there was nothing explicit about his words, the way he murmured them sounded even filthier than his public use of intimate. After I got him off the phone, I needed to make certain I limited my discussions with him. “I think it would be prudent to have a formal contract in place detailing the terms of your relationship with women you meet at the auction. In short, without a vote from the government of Texas and Montana, she’ll have no claim on your wealth or power. Texas’s inclusion in this will help protect your fortune and power on the global stage. After a probationary period, this can be overturned. For the sake of discussion, let’s say this period is ten years. Most women will find the terms disagreeable, giving you the security of knowing potential partners are serious about making a relationship with you work. The contract would also clearly state you’d have primary custody of any children born, which will encourage most mothers to treat the agreement seriously. Then there’s the issue of the kind of woman you want.”

  “What if I want to give my future wife equal power and access to my wealth?”

  “Then I recommend you get a strong support for her in Montana and Texas when the probationary period ends, sir. By requiring both governments to put the vote through their congresses, this should limit any potential influencing on her part. It’s possible to sway a single congress, but swaying both would take a great deal of effort and manipulation. If she can win over both congresses, then you have proof she’s the type of woman capable of handling the responsibilities of being a queen.”

  “And if I want to confirm her as my queen sooner than the conclusion of the probationary period?”

  “You better hope your congress and the Texan congress likes her a lot. Call it a seventy-five percent vote from both congresses. Simple majority if the probationary period has concluded.”

  “Interesting. It seems fair on the surface. Tell me why.”

  The authority in his voice did unfair things to me. He demanded an answer, he expected me to answer, and I had an unreasonable urge to do what he wanted just to make him talk some more. If he wanted to boss me around, he’d have to earn it. “Why do you think, Your Majesty?”

  He laughed, and the little dignity I had left leaped out the nearest window. I bit on my knuckle and chewed so I wouldn’t be reduced to sucking in a breath and holding it so I could listen better.

  “You’re so interesting.”

  I had birth control. According to Jessica, he was a fan with a crush. I could invite him over, couldn’t I? He thought I was interesting.

  I could show him interesting. Closing my eyes, I slumped over my desk and breathed in an effort to control my serious case of raging hormones. “It’s because of women like Princess Ambrose, Your Majesty. Entitled women will seek to take advantage of these unusual circumstances. While you’ve blocked her participation in your auction, she’s only an example of the issue.”

  “Perceptive. What type of woman do you think I should marry?”

  He would be the first person I tested Mireya’s questionnaire on, and I’d be paying close attention to his health exam. I’d also add a question of my own to the end, one forcing him to describe what he thought were his best physical features and why. “With all due respect, as I mentioned before, I don’t think you’re going to find her at an auction.”

  “Oh?”

  “Don’t you think you should marry someone you love and respect?”

&
nbsp; He laughed again, long and loud, and his chuckles had the faintest hint of a rumble, making it seem like he purred. “It seems the hard part is getting a woman to love and respect me back. I’ve been told kidnapping is against the law even for me.”

  He could kidnap me if he wanted, as long as he talked and laughed the entire time. He wouldn’t even have to resort to kidnapping. He could lure me into a vehicle with the power of his voice alone. “I recommend you use the auction as a way to meet women. If you have personality deficiencies, you might consider this a chance to correct them. Then you can use your newfound skills to convince the woman you love and respect to reciprocate.”

  “You’re not going to give me a single inch on any of this, are you?”

  “Would you like me to arrange a few sessions with a relationship coach? I’m certain one can help you address your flaws.” I grinned and decided to put the man to the test. “If you’d like some advice from a ten-year-old, I have a questionnaire you can answer that might be of use.”

  “Do you always use the input of young children when you work?”

  “When they’re smarter and better educated than I am, yes, I do.”

  “I find this difficult to believe.”

  “Then you should have no issues answering her questionnaire, Your Majesty. It might provide insights on the type of woman we should invite to your auction. Would you please give me your email address?”

  “Why am I doing this again?”

  “You want to find a queen and mother of your heirs, Your Majesty. This was your idea. I’m sure the questionnaire will be very helpful.”

  “I can’t believe I’m doing this. Very well. Send me this questionnaire.”

  His Royal Majesty of Montana gave me his email address, and I wished him a good afternoon before hanging up on him so he couldn’t continue torturing me with his voice.

  I hated my office phone, and I wished I could get away with flinging it across the room. His Royal Majesty of Montana kept calling me with questions about the questionnaire.

  He hadn’t gotten to the medical exam portion, and I feared what he’d ask. Worse, I feared how he’d ask his questions. Tolerant amusement was enough to bother me. If he used his filthy sex voice, I’d have to keep a close watch on my mouth. My mouth would betray me and invite him over for a personal test of his virility.

  The phone rang, and I tensed, glancing at the display.

  I sucked in a breath as I recognized the number as coming from Huntington Academy.

  “Fuck!” I’d forgotten all about Mireya’s former school, and I couldn’t even remember if I’d taken care of her withdrawal papers—or if someone had taken care of them for me.

  My boss stuck his head into my office. “Mackenzie?”

  I shoved away from my desk and pointed at my phone. “Huntington Academy.”

  Sighing, he strode to my desk, reached over, and picked up my phone. “Mackenzie Little’s office, Douglass Smithson speaking. How may I help you? Ah, Principal Madden. It’s been a while. How are you? I’m sorry. Mackenzie can’t come to the phone right now. She’s very busy with the charity auction. Did you receive the withdrawal papers? Good.” My boss sat on the edge of my desk, picked up one of my pens, and twirled it between his fingers. “No, Mackenzie hasn’t mentioned any such reconsideration to me. May I inquire as to why you would think she would reconsider withdrawing Mireya from the academy?”

  My boss’s eyebrows rose. “I’ll pass the message. Have a good day.”

  He slammed the phone down so hard the cradle cracked under the force of the blow. I yelped. “Douglass!”

  “Shit. Sorry. That asshole just tried to convince me Mireya had lied about telling the school she was going with the RPS the day you were hospitalized. I find this very offensive. I find this so offensive I’m going to call Jessica, and I’m going to tell her about it, and then she’s going to tell her lawyers. If the school calls you, don’t answer.”

  “His Royal Majesty from Montana is going to be upset if he can’t call and ask me questions.”

  “He’s already bothering you?”

  Yes, he was, and not in the way my boss meant. “He’s has questions about a questionnaire.”

  My boss narrowed his eyes. “What questionnaire?”

  “The one my daughter wrote up for potential suitors. I inflicted that disaster on him to keep him busy while I tried to put together a proposal. I’m hoping it offends him so much he leaves me alone.”

  “Do I want to know?”

  “Probably not.”

  My boss sighed, unplugged my phone, and carried it out of my office. “I’ll ask Louisa if we have any spares in the building. If not, I’ll order you a new one. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have lost my temper with your phone.”

  “I can’t talk, Douglass. I have a hole in my bedroom wall.”

  “You should get that fixed.”

  He was right. I needed to. I shrugged. “It’s on the to-do list after feeling for myself and drinking my bottle of emergency wine. I’ll get there.”

  “I recommend you hold off on the emergency bottle of wine until tomorrow night. Tomorrow’s going to be busy. There’s a public session, and you’ve been invited.”

  “I’ve never gone to a public session drunk before.”

  “No, Mackenzie.”

  “All right. I’ll wait for the weekend, but I am not working on Saturday. There’s a pity party for one at my condo, and not even Geoff is invited.”

  “You’re not working on Sunday, either.”

  I picked up my stapler and held it up. “Go get me a new phone, Douglass.”

  He laughed and strode out, taking my broken phone with him.

  When Huntington Academy couldn’t get a hold of me by phone, they tried my emails, work and personal, and the principal reiterated what my boss had already told me.

  He was standing by his claim Mireya had lied, and he was demanding she return to school immediately.

  While tempted to reply, I forwarded the emails to my boss and otherwise ignored the attempts to communicate with me. Then I worked, and when I wasn’t working, I waited for word from Mireya.

  Her first email had three lines, but I read them hundreds of times, losing at least an hour staring at the single picture she’d sent me. Her school was a castle, the kind I thought only existed in fairy tales. I replied, informing her I’d bullied a king on the phone. I also lamented that Geoff refused to let me walk to work, which turned my nice morning stroll into a traffic-filled nightmare. I closed telling her she might have to live with her disappointment, as His Royal Majesty of Montana probably had some form of personality deficiency.

  I closed asking for her opinion on his proposed method of kidnapping a potential bride. Did his status as royalty turn the creepy into the alluring?

  My serious case of raging hormones certainty thought so.

  To tweak her nose, I also asked if I should invest in pepper spray.

  My boss had a new phone for me by the end of the day, but the single tentative email from His Royal Majesty of Montana inquiring on why I was avoiding his calls sealed his fate. If ignoring his calls drove him crazy, I’d go out of my way to do it.

  I wouldn’t let him know I was doing it yet, however. I’d give him another chance to talk to me, then I’d start toying with him to see what he’d do. It filled the time between working on the contract for the auction, missing my daughter, and dodging sleep so I wouldn’t have to confess to Dylan I was poking a king with a stick to see what he’d do.

  I thought it was fair play. He tortured me with his voice.

  I’d just torture him.

  Dylan wasn’t real, however much I hated to admit it.

  Despite my boss’s advice, I did crack open the emergency bottle of wine and had a glass before bed. As I expected, it made everything worse. I ended my day in tears, and I started Tuesday the same way, missing Mireya and her grumpy mornings when she plied me with coffee so I’d be able to function.

  She had a whol
e new world to explore, and I couldn’t blame her for forgetting I existed for a while. When I thought about it, that was part of my job as a mother. I guided her, I helped her grow her wings, and at the first chance, I kicked her out of the nest so she could fly.

  Soon enough, she’d come limping back, discovering the world wasn’t as bright and joyful as children often believed. When she fell, I’d catch her, and no matter how many tears I cried or bottles of wine I opened, I’d kick her from the nest again until she stopped falling.

  The public congressional hearing went about as well as I expected. They wanted a sweeping auction destined to end in multiple betrothals of royalty. I reminded them the issue was a serious matter and our responsibility, as a whole, to mitigate potential damage that could result from the auction.

  I pitched the base contract and enjoyed the stunned silence. Judging from the shell-shocked expressions, I expected the vote to fail.

  I didn’t expect goats, which was what I got. Every last ballot included at least one drawing of a goat, and the King’s Herald began a new column in his recordings, Mackenzie’s Sacrificial Goat Dowry.

  Since murder was illegal, I broke the gavel smashing it against the block. I blinked, lifted up the handle, which no longer possessed a head, and furrowed my brows. “I could have sworn this thing was indestructible.”

  Instead of a gavel, I held a stake, and I regretted that vampires weren’t real and murder was illegal.

  I escaped the session the not-so-proud owner of two hundred and three imaginary goats set aside as a part of an equally imaginary dowry.

  Following the session, Geoff drove me back to the office, and I resisted the urge to hide under my desk. I checked my email to discover His Royal Majesty had replied to one of my emails. I checked the subject, and it reduced me to tears.

  I howled my laughter, which summoned my boss, and while I writhed on my desk, he gaped at me. “Mackenzie?”