by May Sage
"Gorgeous, but we didn't really have any time for the touristy bit. Although every evening was amazing..."
She found herself describing the festival, and the balls they'd attended. Jade hung on her every word, before getting up.
Lexi laughed and rolled her eyes when her friend came back with her laptop.
"Go on, lady. You know you want to."
And Lexi did.
She opened the laptop, and fired up her favorite writing program. By the time she was done, she'd added two chapters to the manuscript she'd been working on for the last decade. Her mage princess was suddenly going on a long journey, and discovering the colorful ancient architecture of a city built on water and magic.
This was why she didn't bother with overtime, why she didn't try to get up the corporate ladder. Her boss might have grown to become her best friend, but her day job was quite simply soul-sucking to a creative, imaginative, unorthodox person like her. Her solace was spells, mages, kingdoms, and dragons.
Hiding her passion from her roommates would have been , given the fact that she did little else at home, but otherwise, she kept it quiet. She didn’t think anyone would get it - not really.
Tori’s friend, Cassie Franklin, was a successful novelist, but she wrote steamy romance - the sort of stuff everyone wanted to get their grubby paws on. Her book wasn’t a money-maker. Just her favorite way of wasting her time.
She just didn’t need to hear anyone else tell her how stupid it was. When she’d told Jon, he’d grimaced and said, “You write what?”
And after a year of taking his snide comments every time she’d started typing, she’d stopped writing in front of him. And then, for a time, she’d stopped writing at all.
After moving to New York, the very first thing she’d done was hammer out page after page of epic, magic fights. She’d also killed off her main character’s first love interest, effectively destroying Jon.
Nothing had ever been quite so satisfying.
She’d written “end of part one” and started a new chapter.
Two Kings
He'd barely crossed the threshold of his brother's apartment when Desmond stormed to the door, holding his finger up to his lips in a shushing motion.
"Quiet. She's sleeping."
Maverick looked around, as though to ensure he was in the right apartment, with the right Desmond, not some strange cross-dimensional version of him.
Des never whispered. Never looked like this - dishevelled, like he'd missed a few nights of sleep. And, more importantly, Des never had a she in his apartment. Ever. Even his cleaner was a guy.
"What the hell."
"Come on in."
He followed his brother to his balcony and Des closed the sliding doors behind them. Only then did he consent to explain the mess.
"You were right. Or Nate was, I guess. While you were extending your trip, we looked into it. The money trail ends at a man's account. Andrew Kennedy. A fake name, obviously, but the bank employees were able to confirm that the guy who opened the account and who came to transfer the funds was in his sixties."
"So, Wallace," Mav guessed.
Des inclined his head.
"Are we sure the girl isn't part of it?"
His brother shook his head and sighed. "She rents a room for $25 a night, next to crack addicts and whores. She doesn't have a penny to her name. Her work clothes are at Wallace's. He has her completely under his thumb. I don't know what he has on her, but it's big. She's fucking terrified."
Fuck.
"How did you get her to come here?"
Desmond laughed. Actually laughed.
Yeah, they were going to kill someone.
"I went to speak to Wallace last night. Said she was a pretty thing, and he, a lucky man. So, he gave her to me. Lent her for the night. He didn't even ask her if she was willing."
It wasn't unheard of in BDSM, but, considering the rest of the information they had on the subject, Mav suddenly got why Desmond had made use of his evil laugh. Yeah, they were going to destroy Wallace and they were also going to enjoy it.
"I just got her to settle in the spare bedroom and told her we'd talk tomorrow. She crashed almost right away. That woman is a hundred percent broken." Desmond's blue eyes might be the same color and the same shape as Callum's, Mav's, and their father’s, but they'd always seemed colder. Now more than ever. There was a reason for that. Freud would have agreed.
At five, Desmond was kidnapped for ransom. Mav had been a newborn at the time, and Cal, too young to remember, but their father had told them once that Des had come back in a terrible state. Hurt. He'd protested too much, cried too much, tried to run, and the mafia holding him had made him pay for it.
So, after that, he'd stopped crying. Stopped showing emotions. Stopped...feeling.
No one understood broken like Des. And there was no doubt in Mav's mind that his brother was going to make whoever had hurt the girl pay for it. If not because of the stranger asleep in his spare bedroom, he'd do it for the cold, beaten, scared little boy of five that still haunted his steps.
"We have everything we need to make a move," Des said. "But right now, with the proof we have, we'd also have to prosecute Kathryn. I'd rather avoid that. Tomorrow, I'll talk her into helping. If she's willing, we can get her out of this mess unscathed."
Maverick wanted to just nod his agreement, because it was the right thing to do, but at the same time, he really had to say, "Are you sure? It's a huge risk. If we're wrong, and she's been working with him all along, she may just run to Wallace and tell him we're on to him. He'd disappear in a second. He has the funds and resources to do it."
Des' gaze was set past Central Park, to the sunset. Mav knew what he was asking his brother. Something that went against what it meant to be a King. Against everything their father had taught them. The way of life they'd had for so long now.
Mav was asking him whether he trusted a stranger. The answer should have been no.
"She's twenty-eight. She has literally no one to help her. Hell, she has a dependent, her sister. We're not trampling over her."
That was that. Whatever the reason, his answer had been yes. He chose to trust the woman.
Mav considered it his younger-brother duty to smirk, and to tease the fuck out of Des. "You fancy her."
"I fancy everyone with tits. And some cocks, too."
Good point. Still.
"Well, you fancy her more, or she wouldn't be in your apartment." Then, he started chanting, "Desmond and Kathryn, sitting in a..."
"I will fucking end you."
He shut his mouth but had a hard time wiping the grin off his face.
The tension in his brother’s shoulders had eased a little, though. To get both of their minds off the real pile of shit they were on, or maybe because he just felt like sharing with one of the only two people he could really talk to, Maverick found himself saying, "You know the Parker assistant?"
Desmond inclined his head. Like Mav and Cal, he never forgot a face and rarely forgot a name. "Alexia Taunton. You can't take your eyes off her. Tapped it?"
"Yep. Then, she was so good as to inform me she, and I quote, ‘wouldn't get clingy.’"
This time, Des' laugh had nothing dark and ominous.
"Oh, man. I take it she doesn't know you very well. No one likes clingy as much as you."
"Fuck you. Very much. Anyway, I was pretty miffed for a spell, you know. Figured it was her way of saying she was done. Which would suck, because I'm not."
"And then you remembered you had balls."
"No. I remembered I was a King."
Unexpected
Didn’t I tell you I needed photocopies of the proposal by ten? And we should have had our coffee half an hour ago.”
Lexi knew better than to point out to Jana Vanderbilt, the most senior account manager, who hated women, and may or may not have a spiked broomstick stuck in her butt, that it was nine thirty and that everyone had gotten their coffee half an hour ago.
That was the appropriate answer to absolutely everything. And Lexi was able to say it without wincing too much, given the fact that she happened to have a particularly nasty and pungent sort of demon called Janarbilt in her story. She just made sure to kill off one or two of those from time to time. It was good for the soul. How everyone else at the office put up with it, she had no idea.
"Do your job well, Miss Taunton. Pretty faces like you, able to file and brew a half decent cup of coffee, are a dime a dozen."
"Excuse me."
Lexi froze. Ever so slowly, her gaze went up, and up, and up again. She half expected her mind to play tricks - it couldn't really be Maverick's voice, right? - but there he was, right in front of her. Holding a bouquet. A big one. With orange roses.
She rationalized the situation. Okay, so he was obviously here to see Bryant or Tori, and he'd stopped by the admin desk on his way to... ask if she'd packed his socks by mistake? Or demand she return his t-shirt immediately.
Which would blow, because it was all soft and smelled lovely. She might have slept with it the previous night. Might.
"I may be mistaken, but would you happen to be Walter Vanderbilt's wife? Jana, right? I'm Maverick King." His smile dazzled the poor harpy, who shook his hand, and stared at him, a little dazed. "I never forget a face. We've often contributed to your husband's fundraisers. He's a great senator."
Jana flushed; flattery always worked on her.
"Why, thank you. And of course, I knew your father." They both saw something flash in Maverick's expression and Jana was quick to backtrack. "I mean, I know him."
"Yes, he's still quite alive, although the world has mostly forgotten about him. Anyway, I wouldn't want to keep you, I'm certain you're busy. I just stopped to deliver these to Lexi."
Oh, he'd gone there. Really.
In front of Jana's astonished eyes, he walked around her little desk, bent down to kiss the side of her cheek and placed the roses in the middle of her desk.
Fuck.
She laughed tightly. "Arh-arh-arh. Great. These are...lovely."
Fuck. She was seriously screwed.
Plastering her debutante smile on with great difficulty, she turned her attention to Jana and said, “I’ll make sure to have those photocopies done for you within the next fifteen minutes. And I’ll bring you a coffee. Latte, one sugar?” And a bit of spit, too.
“Thank you, Lexi,” Jana replied tightly.
She never said thank you. Ever. Lexi gave herself a second to enjoy it, before glaring at Mav.
“You know you've basically thrown me to the wolves, right?"
Maverick pointed at his own chest, disconcerted, as if to say, "me?"
"She's always been a bitch, but she can't actually say much against me because I keep my head down, do my job, and don't have any office drama. Now, you've branded me as the secretary who tried to screw the rich partner. The moment they get that I'm not gonna be Mrs. King, they'll pounce on me."
She'd seen it happen a million times. Most of the time, none of the women had done anything wrong, beyond standing next to the wrong person or smiling the wrong way. The work environment was harsh as fuck for women.
"I see your problem. Sounds like you'll have to do your best to become Mrs. King."
She groaned out loud, holding her head in both of her hands. Why oh, why, had she ever complained about Mr. Disapproval? She'd take his grumpy highness over this light and flirtatious version of him.
"Do you have a multiple personality disorder?"
"Potentially. Most of those personalities did agree on my coming here, however."
She rolled her eyes. "And what are you doing here?"
I have an appointment with Tori. The flowers were for her, but I figured I'd help you out with Bitch Boss. That's the answer she expected him to give.
"Seeing you. I realized I didn't have your number and I want it. I figured you would be more likely to consider my request if it was accompanied by two dozen roses."
And then he smiled in that completely maddening way, the corner of his lips lifting one after the next.
"My number," she repeated. "I'm pretty certain it's in my information at..." she cleared her throat and looked around. Switching gears, she said, "Your brother has it."
"Sure. I just prefer asking you for it. Besides, there's something else."
"Oh?"
"It has come to my attention that I may have been rather mercurial with you. I can't say I like it much. I figured we could start over."
She gulped. "Start over?"
Maverick was still so very close. One of his hands moved, resting on her shoulder, and his strong thumb started tracing circles around her neck.
Ohhhhh.
"Yes. We could have dinner. Go to the movies, maybe. Meet up at our club."
Her eyes snapped to his and found them staring straight back, intense, focused.
She crossed her legs and her core heated up. She could feel her nipples stand up, ready to play. Thankfully, there was a padded bra and a silk blouse hiding their salute.
“Yeah, I mean, sure. I mean, why not.”
“Am I making you uncomfortable, Miss Taunton?”
The ass knew he was.
Smiling all the way, she wrote down her phone number on a Post-It and handed it to him.
“Now go away. Some of us have to work for a living. Making coffee, photocopying shit, and all that.”
“None of us could do what we do without people photocopying shit for us. And mostly, making coffee. Don’t let anyone talk down to you, Alexia.”
Right. Because apparently hot, incredibly intense, successful, sexy men could also respect her position.
She was so screwed.
Lexi glanced at the clock on her computer, and fired up the printer. She had five minutes. More than enough time to get those ten pages printed and pick them up from the room right opposite the open plan admin office.
"Maverick," she called him back before he'd left.
She was probably prying, but if he wanted to play friends, they might as well do it the right way.
"What did you mean about your father? Is he unwell?"
He lifted a brow, surprised. "He has Alzheimer's."
Oh, shit. Look at her and her big mouth. "Must be pretty hard - on him, and you guys. I mean, you and your bothers. My grandma had Alzheimer's, too. Let me know if I can help."
And the verbal diarrhea was back. Great. Awesome.
Someone shoot her now.
"Anyway, copies to pick up. And coffee to make. Catch you later."
She practically ran to the copy room, and swore she wasn't ever speaking in his presence again unless she'd rehearsed the complete, coherent sentence in her mind first. Twice.
In Pieces
He’d been kidding, but if Lexi was, in fact, trying to become the next Mrs. King, she was definitely going about it the right way.
Asking about his father? Wondering how she could help? Yeah, that was seriously messing with him. Who even did that?
He’d known his fair share of gold diggers, and while they were generally versed in the art of feigning interest, none, so far, had ever offered their assistance with the care of a sick, old man. Fuck. Nice was apparently hot. Who knew?
"Stop smiling like that, it's fucking creeping me out."
Bash kept on sending him worried glances, like he expected him to keel over any minute now.
"I'm afraid there's no way to cure my brother now, Sebastian," Desmond told him. "He got his pricker wet recently. Happiness is one of the side effects."
Maverick gave Des the middle finger.
This waiting was getting tedious as fuck. They'd spent four hours locked in an empty conference room at Knight Security, staring at one guy who was listening to the conversation happening at King Construction. Kathryn had agreed to help. Des hadn't shared too many details, still uncharacteristically protective of the assistant. She'd gone to work wearing a bug on her
jacket.
So far, there was nothing interesting, at least according to Tommy, the Knight Security employee, who was waiting for something relevant to start sharing what was happening.
Bash announced, "I'm gonna get us another round of coffee."
He'd just left the room when Tommy went, “That’s it. Recording. I’m also turning on the camera on her scarf. We’ve officially moved into criminal activity now.”
Mav tensed as the man did his thing, connecting the audio and visual surveillance equipment so they could see what was going on.
Wallace was standing right in front of the camera, grinning like the fat pig he was.
“Come on, you little slut. Tell me you enjoyed fucking that entitled prick this weekend.”
“I did,” Kathryn replied without missing a beat. “He certainly was better than another entitled prick I know.”
Whatever had happened to her, the girl still had some spirit. Good on her.
“You’re a fucking whore, nothing else. You love all cocks I make you take. Mine more than the rest.”
“If you must, keep on telling yourself that. Now, did you want me in here for any particular reason? Should I lick or suck you, perhaps?”
Wallace grabbed the heavy-duty stapler on his desk, the first adequate object his hand fell on, and flung his hand right at her, hitting her shoulder, presumably. They couldn’t see where the blow had landed. He was versed in the art of abuse, obviously.
“You’ll learn to fucking keep your tongue in your mouth, eventually.”
“Why? You won’t use what you have on me. You know that the moment you do, I’ll walk away. And let’s face it, it’s not like you can get a pretty fucking whore like me without resorting to blackmail, now, can you?”
The girl was good. If he corroborated her words now, they had him. He could practically feel the tension in the room.
“You know what? Remove your clothes. On the desk, now. Legs apart. I’m gonna fucking show you who owns you.”
“Shit, we’ll lose the visual,” Tommy said, but he was underestimating Kathryn. She somehow managed to drop her clothes in a way that didn’t stop the view from the camera, or the microphone on her jacket. Damn, the girl was good.
