Diem giggles, and I hate the fact that my sister seems to know more about Margo than I do. I don’t like thinking about Margo because it either pisses me off or makes me horny as hell every time I do.
I need a subject change.
My lips twist. “I don’t think I like you and Jack talking so much.”
“Why?” she fires back.
“Because, Diem, he’s my best friend, and it’s . . . I . . . it’s just asking for trouble.” I grab the glass of water in front of me and take a big gulp, unsure of why I’m allowing myself to get all tongue tied.
“We’re just friends, Alexander. It is possible for a man and a woman to just hang out from time to time without anything else going on.”
“No, it’s not.”
“You’re taking Margo to Vegas so doesn’t that make her your friend?”
“No, it doesn’t. She hates me. We definitely are not friends,” I tell her.
Diem frowns. “You should do something about that if you want this business arrangement to work out with her. You know Dad always taught us that you catch more bees with honey.”
Diem’s right. Father always said that, and he was known around this city for being a fair and honest man. Unfortunately, I couldn’t use his methods when I took over. I was far too young at twenty to be taken seriously at running a billion-dollar company, which is why I had to be tough—flex my muscle—and show people that I wouldn’t be fucked with.
I lean back in my chair and loosen my tie a bit. Maybe my sister has a point. Being a total dick to Margo doesn’t seem to be making any headway. “What do you suppose I do? Concede and let her win—let her think I’m a pushover? I can’t do that, Diem. It’s not in me to allow someone to get the best of me.”
She shakes her head. “I’m not saying to instantly become a pussy. I’m just saying to lighten up a bit. I know how you get when you think someone is your enemy. You become set on destroying them. Margo might not be as bad as you have her made out to be in your head.”
“Or she could be much worse,” I answer instantly.
“I doubt that. No one is a bigger badass than you.” Diem winks and then laughs. “I think you should just try to be a little nicer. Break through her walls a little and show her that you pay attention. It’ll make this business deal a lot more pleasant for both of you. This should be stress-free because you already have Yamada in the bag. Nothing Margo Buchanan can do will change that so you might as well learn to get along with her.”
My fingers run across my bearded jawline and I sigh. “When did you get so smart?”
She grins. “Turning twenty-four will do that to you. Speaking of that, let’s see what you got me.” Her fingers work nimbly to tear open the Tiffany’s box to reveal the diamond charm bracelet I bought for her. Her fingers slide over the engraving as she reads it aloud. “Love you, Squirt.”
She wrinkles her nose.
I laugh, loving that she still hates the nickname I gave her when we were just kids but won’t throw it back at me because of all the sparkly diamonds surrounding the name.
I pick up my drink. “Happy birthday, Squirt.”
Margo
RIGHT ON TIME, THE BLACK Town Car pulls up to take me to King’s private jet. Riding in private planes is nothing new to me, seeing as how my father’s company specializes in building aircrafts. It is, however, the first time I’ve ever taken a cross-country flight accompanying a man who I absolutely loath.
My cell rings and I dig through my handbag to find it. I smile when I see Mother’s name flash across the screen. “Hello, Mother.”
“Gah,” she sighs into the phone. “How many times have I asked you to call me Lily? You know I don’t like people thinking that I’m old enough to be your mother.”
I laugh. “I hate to be the one to break it to you, but I think the tabloids exposed that secret when you were pregnant with me twenty-five years ago. I’m sure it was the story of the year . ‘Most Beautiful Woman on the Planet Gives Birth.’”
“Stop your teasing,” she scolds. “Stretch marks are nothing to joke about.”
I roll my eyes at my crazy, beautiful mother. To the world, she is Lily Doyle, who some might say at one time was the most beautiful woman in the world seeing as how she was Miss America and then later crowned Miss Universe. People loved the story of how she came from the wrong side of the tracks, so-to-speak, and worked hard to earn a philanthropy degree because she wanted to help the less fortunate. She became America’s Sweetheart.
“Good news, Jean Paul is in Paris this week filming some new ridiculous bit for his television show, which means I’m free all week. Let’s go shopping! I’m in need of some new shoes.” The excitement in my mother’s voice is infectious. Jean Paul is husband number five, and from what I can tell, a very nice man, but he’s always working. That seems to be okay with my mother, of course. She doesn’t mind spending his money while he’s away, and as much as I would love to drown in the world of Manolo, Jimmy Choo and, my personal weakness, Christian Louboutin, with her, there will be no time this weekend for that.
I sigh. “Rain check, Mother. I’m getting ready to board a flight to Vegas with Alexander King for work.”
“Honey, I love you, but I absolutely don’t understand you. Why on Earth do you waste that beautiful face and body that you’ve been blessed with on the completely dull world of business? You could’ve been the next big thing if you’d gotten into modeling. Out of all the things you could take from your father . . . the need to be mixed in all those suit-wearing meetings is the worst thing ever. It totally interferes with our girl time.”
“I know, but I promise when I get back, we’ll do something.”
“Promise?” she asks. “It’s been far too long, and I miss my baby girl like crazy. Your father has all your time occupied lately with this silly nonsense of invading the King Corporation.”
“It’s not silly, Mother. Alexander King has my future legacy in the palm of his hand. I have to find a way to stop him from taking away what will be mine someday. Staying close to him is my only option until I can figure out a way to get Buchanan Industries a deal that can save it. But I promise that as soon as I get back, we’ll shop until you drop.”
“Okay.” She sounds satisfied with that answer. “Try to at least have a little fun while you’re in Vegas. Please, don’t be a stick-in-the-mud and stay in your room the entire time.”
“I won’t—”
“Margo, I know you. Promise me that you’ll loosen up.”
“Fine, but I’m sorry to say there won’t be any wild stories to report when I get back.”
“You are completely no fun, Margo. You have to loosen up. At least try to pretend you’re twenty-five and not fifty-one like me because we both know that even I act younger than you.”
I laugh. “I will try to not be a complete fun buster.”
“That’s my girl. Drink one for me.
“Okay. Goodbye, Mother.” I laugh and hang up the phone just as the car pulls up next to King’s private jet.
The driver opens my door and I take a deep breath, willing myself to put on my best bitch face and give Alexander a taste of what it’s like when a woman is in charge and knows exactly what she wants.
Inside the cabin of the plane, the lone flight attendant on board greets me. Her blond hair is pulled back into a French twist on the back of her head while her bright red lipstick is a stark contrast to her porcelain skin. She has a very Gwen Stefani kind of style.
The attendant smiles at me, and I instantly relax because she appears friendly. “Good morning, Ms. Buchanan. I’m Abigail, and I’ll be with you through the duration of this flight. If you need anything at all, don’t hesitate to ask. Mr. King has requested that we stock the cabin with your favorite things so there’s a good chance that we’ll have anything that you might need.”
“Um, okay. Thanks.” I stumble through my answer completely dumbfounded.
This surprises me. How would Alexander King know the fir
st thing about what I like? He doesn’t really know me in the slightest and yet, somehow, he thinks he knows what my favorite things are.
I bet there’s not one thing on this plane that’s actually special for me. I don’t know what kind of game he’s playing, but I will not allow him to butter me up.
Alexander’s gaze lands on me as I stride down the aisle and take the seat directly facing him instead of taking a different seat somewhere else on the private jet. He smirks at my boldness to meet him head-on and I raise my eyebrow as we stare each other down.
It’s funny how we’ve grown accustomed to trying to one-up one another in the last week since I’ve begun working for him. As much as I hate to admit it, we are a lot alike. Both of us are headstrong, determined, and have this innate need to always win.
The cabin is silent for more than half the flight, and it’s almost as if we’re playing some weird quiet game—neither of us willing to say a word for fear that we may lose the standoff going on between us. Occasionally, he’ll glance up, and I’ll direct my gaze in any other direction other than at him. I mean, I’ll admit, I’ve been checking him out. He’s gorgeous, and I can’t help but appreciate the view. Any woman stuck on this flight like me would do exactly the same thing. She’s a liar if she tells you any different.
“Excuse me, Mr. King. Would you care for another scotch?” Abigail asks him shortly after he swallows down the last drop of amber liquid.
“Yes. That’ll be fine, Abigail,” he replies coolly and then gives her a polite smile which causes her to blush.
“Right away, sir.” The attendant turns to me. “Are you sure I can’t get you anything, Ms. Buchanan? I have Fiji water and strawberry yogurt.”
I tuck a loose strand of hair behind my ear. “Wow . . . um . . .”
I hesitate. Is it simply a coincidence that Fiji just happens to be my favorite brand of water along with having my preferred flavor of yogurt?
“If you don’t want those, we also have Diet Coke and Payday bars,” Abigail counters.
Diet Coke I can see, but Payday bars? That’s a pretty random item to keep on a plane. Especially since, judging by the looks of how fit Alexander is, he wouldn’t eat such an unhealthy snack. But I guess it is possible. The man seems to drink like a fucking fish so maybe he’s not all that healthy and his absurdly toned physique is just genetic.
Gah! If it is, that just gives me something else to hate him for.
I smile at Abigail as she waits patiently for me to make a selection. “I’ll have a Diet Coke, please.”
As soon as we’re alone, Alexander’s intoxicating gray eyes bore into me. “Are you not pleased with the items that I have arranged for you?”
My brow furrows. “How did you know what I like? Do you have spies watching me to ensure that I’m not digging into your business a little too much?”
He chuckles. “You act as though you still believe me to be afraid of you, Margo. I thought by now we’ve figured each other out. I don’t seem to rattle you, and you damn sure don’t affect me.”
“So what’s with all my favorite things on this flight?” I fire back.
He shrugs. “I’m observant. There’s not much that I don’t notice about the people around me, and let’s just say that I’ve taken a very big interest in what you’re up to. I like to know what makes people tick. It makes it easier for me to break them.”
I stiffen my shoulders. “I’ve got a newsflash for you, Mr. King. I don’t break.”
“Everyone has their breaking point, and sooner or later, I’m going to find yours, Princess.” He smirks, and I hate it when he does that. It’s a sexy expression, especially on him, and I hate that I find him attractive. He is such a smug bastard. “I see the way you look at me when we argue. I turn you on even though you don’t want to admit it. You and I are very similar creatures. We both love a challenge, and we both like to always be in control.”
I raise my eyebrow, still not believing anything that he says. “I thought you said you didn’t have spies.”
He licks his plump lips slowly, causing my eyes to flick down to his mouth. “What can I say, your reputation precedes you. Everyone knows that the Feisty Princess of Manhattan always demands her way.”
My mouth gapes open. “How dare you call me that? I hate that name.”
Alexander smiles. “You should learn to embrace it. A name like that means people are scared of you.”
I curse the day some dumb jock in high school dubbed me that after I very colorfully turned down his eleventh attempt at asking me very bluntly to blow him. If you ask me, he deserved a punch him in the face. But sadly, the name still follows me around, even now.
I laugh bitterly. “Right. Like how you embrace yours? The Naughty King, really? Doesn’t it bother you that half the women in this city think you’re the biggest manwhore on the East Coast?”
“Not at all,” he replies smoothly. “The women who call me that were fucked over by me in more ways than one, and I promise you, they fucking enjoyed every last minute of it. That’s why they love to keep my name on their lips. As for the other half, they’re just envious of the first.”
“You are a pompous prick.”
His eyes harden. “I may be, but I always do what suits me best. Women complicate the shit out of everything, and I don’t have time to play their silly little games.”
It’s appalling how he views all women as complications. “Is that why you hire prostitutes? Are you really that afraid of being human and showing some compassion that you’d rather pay for sex than deal with the emotional ramifications that typically comes with it?”
“I don’t see how that’s any of your business, but yes. When women see me, they see a meal ticket. Why would I ever want to entertain their silly fantasies that they may be the one to make me change my ways and commit not only myself but also half of my fortune to them? No fucking way that’s ever going to happen.”
I roll my eyes. “Not all women think that way.”
“Are you telling me that you don’t?”
“No,” I answer automatically. “My family is already wealthy. Why would I need to marry for money?”
“For the same reason a lot of women do. Soon, I’ll be taking your father’s company. How long do you think it’ll take before your family’s fortune runs out? Doesn’t that scare you?”
“No,” I repeat. “That’s not going to happen. My father—”
“Yes, it will. Neither of you can stop the inevitable from happening. The contacts we’re meeting in Vegas are long-time business associates of mine, and there’s nothing you’ll be able to do to steal them away from me, which is why it doesn’t bother me to bring you along.”
I open my mouth to fire back in my defense, but he keeps going, cutting me off.
“Honestly, if I were you, Margo, I would probably just quit now and work on finding a wealthy schmuck to marry. You’ve got a nice ass and decent sized tits, so I’m sure you won’t have a problem securing a cushy future as long as you don’t mind fucking some old, ugly motherfucker.”
I grip the armrest of my seat and dig my nails into the cream-colored leather. It takes everything in me to not jump up and smack the ever-living shit out of this man.
I take a deep breath and count to five in my head before I blow the air out slowly through my nose. This helps me refocus and not fall into the little game he’s playing with me.
I swallow hard. “I’ll keep that in mind, but I would much rather spend my time figuring out ways to take you down.”
“Suit yourself. But I’m warning you, Ms. Buchanan, I don’t play fair.” There’s a wicked gleam in his eye, and there’s no telling what he’s planning to do to torture me, but I have to be ready for any move he tries to make.
My father is counting on me to figure out a way to save his company and my family’s future.
Alexander
NO MATTER THE TIME OF day, the lights in Las Vegas are always putting on a show. The limo pulls up to the Hard Rock Casi
no, and I glance over at Margo as the driver stops the car.
She hasn’t said much to me since our heated little discussion. Every time we talk, I seem to piss her off, which is exactly what I want to do. I want to become the itch festering under her skin that she’s dying to scratch. The more she hates me—the more she’ll think about me and how much she can’t wait to be rid of me.
So why do I feel like a bastard and have this urge to apologize?
I shake my head to purge myself of the crazy thought. I need her out of my fucking hair. Her presence distracts me, and that’s not good. I need a clear head for business. This weekend is going to be pure torture.
The minute the driver opens the door, I step out and then turn with my hand out to assist Margo. My eyes dart down to her sexy long legs, and I wonder if she knows how much she turns me on with those damn skirts she flits around in all the time. I wonder if she does it intentionally to drive me out of my fucking mind. The whole naughty businesswoman look she has going on works well for her. Even when she wears those little black-rimmed glasses, she’s still hot as hell.
We’re immediately greeted by a short, pudgy man wearing a black suit with his black hair slicked back like he’s a 1940s mobster. “Good afternoon, Mr. King. My name is Coleman, and I’ll be your personal concierge during your stay. Allow me to escort you to your room.” After a quick snap of his fingers, two bellhops rush to the back of the car to retrieve our luggage before following us into the hotel.
The elevator doors ding before opening, and I stop myself from placing my hand on the small of Margo’s back. I cannot allow myself to touch her because whenever I do, strange things happen to me. The last time we touched was in my office when she grabbed my cock and told me that I was the one who was fucked. She rattled me. I hadn’t expected her to do that so it threw me off for a brief moment. But now that I know what she’s capable of, I won’t allow her to ever gain the upper hand again. I have to be careful and keep her at a distance.
The Naughty King Page 4
