by Megyn Ward
Maybe I’m not a kindergartener being abandoned on the school steps on his first day of school, but this feels pretty close. I should know. A sixth-grade girl took pity on me just before the tears started to flow. She showed me my classroom with all the markers and paints and a dozen other kids just my size. I loved it from the first moment.
Somehow, I don’t think a beautiful older woman is going to show me the ropes today. And I really doubt I’ll fit in as well as I did back then.
The heels of my Italian loafers clack on the marble floor, competing with the splash and gurgle of the impressive fountain that would have fit in perfectly in a Roman piazza. Beautiful but not quite a match for how I think of the Cayman Islands. Of course, what I think of the Caymans tends toward flip flops, sand and cocktails.
I approach the lobby receptionist with her latte-colored skin and high cheekbones. I’m sure I’ve seen her on billboards or Abercrombie ads—or someone similar. She checks me in and gave me the go-ahead to enter the elevator that would take me to God, or in my circumstances, Jonas Knightly.
The elevator doors open onto a sweeping lobby, carpeted in a deep cream plush that mimics walking on clouds. So appropriate since the floor to ceiling windows create the illusion that we are, indeed, floating in mid-air.
The receptionist, another gorgeous anorexic so closely resembling the one downstairs both in attitude and appearance they could be interchangeable, ushers me through a hall lined with windowed offices, some of which had blinds drawn for privacy. We wind our way through this expensive mouse maze to a wooden slab of a door that could repel an invading army. With all the glass and windows, JK Investments was really saving on art.
With as few words as possible, as if JK Investments counted syllables, I was directed to enter.
Jonas Knightly rises from a massive cherry wood desk. I guess if you’re the top guy, you don’t have to sit on glass. In fact, his office feels more like Wall Street, with paneling covering some of the walls, lined with art that looked like it should be hanging in a museum. Probably all original and expensive but I know nothing about art, having dropped that class because it was one I’d signed up for with Lexi.
Unlike Niles, who only smiles at people with obscene amounts of money, beautiful women, and Mom, Jonas Knightly flashes me a dazzling smile, as if I were the Sheik of Abu Dhabi.
“Zachary Lowery,” he bellows out with enthusiasm while working his way around his desk like a halfback rushing through a defensive line. “Good to meet you.”
He might have been a halfback in his youth. Though he isn’t tall, he has broad shoulders. He has that air of solid athleticism and the teammate kind of friendliness, as if we were hanging out in the locker room after a big win.
Something about him puts me off.
“Zach,” I correct. Zachary sounds like a three-year-old to me.
Whether he’s a card-carrying member of Men’s Hair Club or just fortunate, he has a thick stand of black hair he combs back from his tanned forehead. “I said to Niles that you’d be just the man for this job.” He grabs my hand and shakes, barely leaving the bones intact. “I had to do some talking, I’ll be honest with you. He thought you should go back to school. But what’s a few semesters off? And in a place like this?”
“It won’t hurt my feelings to hang around Cayman for a while.” I give him an easy smile. “Thanks for the excuse.”
He bounces over to a wet bar built into the rich-paneled wall. A cut-glass mirror reflects warm light behind a rack of stemware and shelves of the proper glasses for any imaginable cocktail.
“Let’s see, what time is it?” He cranes his head to his desk. “It’s after noon. How about a G&T? A little bump to brighten the afternoon, eh?”
It can’t be more than five minutes past noon but, whatever. Any other day, I’d be blind drunk by now. “Sounds great.”
Jonas hands me a glass of crystal-clear booze with a slice of lime and motioned for me to sit on the soft leather sofa. He perches on a chair, facing me. “Did Niles fill you in on the special assignment I’ve got for you?”
I sip my gin, loving the cold tang on my tongue. “No sir. He said you’d explain.”
Jonas gulps his drink and sucks in an ice cube. He rolls it around and spits it back in the glass. “That’s fair. You’re gonna love it. I swear, if I were twenty years younger I wouldn’t dream of handing this off.”
If by twenty years younger he meant my age, he might have to add another decade.
He knocks back the rest of his drink. I’ve only sipped my way through half of mine.
“So, here’s the deal. I need you to play nice with Liesa Temple.” He smiles at me like he’s the goose who just shit the golden egg. “Not bad duty, eh?”
My mind tumbles round the name and finally lands on the tabloid princess. Liesa Temple, raging bad girl and reality TV celebrity. The spoiled brat we all love to hate. The princess who throws screaming fits and fights outrageously with her mother, the Mommy Dearest of them all.
Liesa Temple has money. Not the measly few millions in my social shelf, but billions, in piles so large it’d take an MIT graduate to calculate what universe it would reach if her dollars were stretched end to end.
I set my drink down. “I’m not following.”
“Liesa’s Life? You’ve watched it?”
“Not regularly but I’ve seen a couple of episodes.” Alicia is addicted to her show. “She’s a real mess.”
Jonas jumps up, like he can’t stay still for too long. “She and her mother are my biggest clients, not to mention close personal friends.” He paces back and forth behind the chair he just vacated. “Liesa is coming to the island for a week. Her mother and I told her it’s so she can rest up for next season.”
“I don’t understand, Mr. Knightly.” Trying to follow this guy is making me wish I’d asked for a double.
He waves his glass at me and frowns. “Jonas, please. Mr. Knightly was my stuff-shirt old man.”
Old man. There’s something a little off about a middle-aged man, older than my father, who acts like a frat boy, but whatever I’ll play along. “Okay, Jonas.” I set my glass down. “I’m still not getting what you’re asking me to do.”
“What I need,” he flips the folder open and glances at it. “What I want is a good-looking guy who knows how to have a good time, if you catch my drift.”
I feel heat rise to my face.
He laughs as if he just told a joke. “Niles thinks you’re having a little too good a time these days but I told him that’s perfect.”
I don’t know how I’m supposed to react to this.
“So, I said to Niles, I can put that boy to work and teach him how to set a goal and be a winner. Niles wasn’t completely sold at first...” Jonas broke off and laughed. “But Darlene, such a lovely woman, was at the end of her rope and putting some pressure on Niles to do something about your behavior.”
I pushed Mom too far this time. “She’s worried about me.”
Jonas chucks me on the arm. “We’ve got to keep our mothers happy, no matter what. Statistically, they’re who hold our fortunes in their wrinkled hands. Like my father, Niles will probably die first. Take it from me, making your mother think you’re devoted will keep you in the green.”
I sip my gin and try not to be disgusted.
He grimaces. “At least Darlene is pleasant and pretty. Not a dried-up witch like my mother.”
“I still don’t understand what the job is.” Trying to keep this guy on track is like wrangling cats. Coked-up cats.
“Right—so, here’s what I need you to do. It’s not rough duty, believe me.” He dashes across his office and fixes another drink. “I need you to meet Liesa, get to know her. Show her a good time. Then, when she trusts you, you’ll set up a romantic rendezvous and seduce the hell out of her.”
It takes me a full five seconds to process what he just said. “Okay, let me understand this…” I sit back and watch him, trying to figure it out. “You want me to hang
out with Liesa Temple and get her into bed?”
Jonas throws his hands out in an expansive gesture. “Right? Not bad.”
I watch him for a second, waiting for the other shoe to drop. When all Jonas does is grin at me I give up waiting. “Why?”
“Her ratings are slipping and the network is threatening to cancel.” Jonas finally drops into his chair. “We need something big to happen next season or the money train chugs out of LiesaVille.”
“And getting banged in Grand Cayman is considered big?” This guy is basically hiring me for my dick. I’m through being delicate.
He doesn’t seem to even notice. “We’ve always made a big deal out of Liesa being a virgin. Big is getting her cherry popped on live TV.”
Wait. What?
“Yeah, no.” I set my glass down on his polishes desk and stand. “I don’t want any part of tricking a girl into thinking I’m into her to get laid.”
Jonas looks amused. “You’ve never bought a girl a drink and told her she’s pretty just to get into her pants?”
His comment tightens the back of my neck because I’m pretty sure I did that last night.
He rocks back, still grinning, oblivious to the fact that, rich friend of my father’s or not, he’s dangerously close to getting himself knocked out. “Believe me, Liesa knows how this reality TV game is played. I guarantee she’s not really a virgin and she’s savvy enough to know it’s a setup.”
“Sure. Whatever, but I’m not your guy.” I start for the door.
“Niles negotiated hard, but I held my own in this deal.” It’s like I didn’t say a word.
My fingers close on the doorknob. “Guess you didn’t hear me say no.”
Jonas clears his throat. “Your compensation for this delightful tour of duty will be a points match. For every rating increase, you’ll earn another percentage of profits.” He let loose another bellowing laugh. “Of course, I have to cap it at $5 million. Invested with JK, that money will grow so you’ll never have to work a day if you don’t want to.”
Holy shit.
With $5 million, I could give my mom a kiss on the cheek, flip Niles the bird and disappear forever.
Yeah, but at what cost?
Jonas tilts forward in his chair. “I’d say that’s pretty amazing earning potential for a few months’ work. And mighty fine work, at that.”
$5 or $5 million, It still smacks of sleaze and I don’t want anything to do with it. “Thanks, but no thanks.”
“This is where the incentive part comes in.” Seriously, is this guy deaf? “If you fail, you earn nothing. That means no inheritance, no trust fund, no college. Zip, zero, nada.”
He can’t literally mean what he said. “What do you mean no inheritance or trust fund?”
“Exactly what I said.” His smile sharpened. “You screw this up, your father will cut you out completely.”
“So, let me get this straight…” I swipe a hand over my jaw to try and loosen it. “If I don’t fuck Liesa Temple, on camera—”
“You’re finished. No money. No cars. No penthouse in the Caymans…” Jonas pushes back from the desk. “It’ll be minimum wage and peanut butter for the rest of your life.”
I don’t know what it is. Maybe it’s the smug look on his face. Maybe it’s the fact that he seems to think he’s won. I don’t know, but whatever it is tighten my grip on the doorknob. “I like peanut butter.”
“Son, you don’t seem to have a firm grasp on what’s happening here.” Jonas picks up a stack of papers and waves it in the air. “Contract’s already been signed and witnessed. You work for me now.”
Chapter 11
Kylie
DNA.
That was the thought that woke me up this morning. If I want to confront Jonas Knightly I’ll need proof.
Proof that he’s my father.
DNA.
Getting it is the goal.
Problem is I have no real plan in how to get it other than storm the castle and hope I don’t get tossed in jail for my effort.
My black pumps pinch my toes and the two-inch heels feel like stilts. I haven’t dressed this formally since Mom’s funeral and I feel nearly as awful now as I felt then.
The bus is crowded and late, something I hadn’t expected for the middle of the day. Reggae music blares from a boom box in the back and jangles my nerves even further.
After kissing me yesterday, Blake hadn’t come home until late. Diana was still working at The Frog and I hid in our bedroom with the light off, hoping the whole incident would fade away and we could ignore it.
Now without an income except my part-time job at The Frog, I need to get on with the real business that brought me to Grand Cayman. The first leg of my plan involved earning money enough to get myself into the posh circles Jonas runs in. Stupid and vague, but I figure it would take me some time to build up my funds. Now my plan is even more obscure, as in, I have no plan. I’m desperate enough to just show up and see what happened.
I wound my hair into a bun and applied office appropriate eyeliner and mascara, even some lipstick. In my house, fresh from my shower, I looked professional and put-together. After this hot ride into town, I probably look more like a four-year-old playing dress up. I’ll hit the public restroom in the lobby to clean up before I speak with anyone.
The bus spits me out along with a cleaning woman and two local teenagers probably heading to their jobs in bars or restaurants and continues on in a puff of exhaust. I smooth the gray pencil skirt over my hips and fluff my silky blouse to draw some air across my damp skin. Squaring my shoulders, I set a determined pace toward JK Investments. With one deep breath and a last glance at the palm trees waving their branches in the island breeze, I wrench the glass door open and step inside.
The lobby gapes in front of me. Wall to ceiling windows block the space from the heat and ocean wind and some artificial perfume sweetened the air. The traffic noise of the street disappears to leave an unobtrusive classical track playing just below noticeable volume. Tropical plants sit in the cavernous space in artistic ceramic containers the size of hot tubs and an overly ornate fountain splatters occasional drops on the marble floor. What must be a bank of elevators occupies the center of the lobby. If there’s a restroom on the lobby level, it’ll be next to them. I head in that direction, my heels sounding like Clydesdale hooves on the marble floor.
“Excuse me.” An airy voice floats to me from behind one of the palms. Shit. They have a guard of some kind.
Of course, they did.
I set my face in annoyance to try to give the impression I belong here and don’t want to be delayed and turn toward the voice. “Yes?”
A slight island lilt flavors a throaty woman’s voice. “You need to check in before going up, ma’am.”
Right. Check-in. Caught by the first gatekeeper. In a version of Marco-Polo, I head toward the voice. Around a sculpture of an iguana that looks like a kid threw up bubble gum ice cream all over it, I spot a tall woman, stick thin, with skin the kind of soft, milky brown even a straight girl would want to touch. Tall on her own, she’s wearing spiked heels and a low cowl-necked sleeveless blouse.
Here’s how this is all going to go down. She’ll look me over from bun to pumps, turn her nose up and ask me, in a detached tone, what my business is. Not having any real business and not wanting to say, I’ve come to confront the man responsible for my mother’s death, I’ll give her the excuse I just made up, which is that I want to apply for a job.
Then she’ll scowl at me. Probably lift a phone to her face, speak in a disdainful tone, put the phone down and tell me they aren’t hiring. Or, if she’s feeling really generous, direct me to human resources. In that case, I might be able to have access to the whole building.
Either way, it’s worth a shot.
I approach the desk and the closer I get, the wider her eyes opened. “Hello. Welcome to JK Investments!”
I hadn’t expected this kind of warmth. “Good afternoon.”
Now what? Go for broke, Kylie.
Squaring my shoulders, I take my own advice. “I’m here to see Jonas Knightly.”
She doesn’t move for a second, just smiles like the sun is actually rising out if my ass. Then she jumps like someone goosed her under the desk. “It’s so good to see you. I’ll take you right up. He’s expecting you.”
“He is?” I blurt out, then catch myself. “Sure. Right.”
Her gaze shifts slightly and I realize she hasn’t been looking directly at me, but slightly above my shoulder. Now she makes eye contact with me and her dazzling smile zaps from her face. “I’m sorry. Who are you?”
The click of heels sound behind me and I turn to see a girl about my age, an impatient frown marring her flawless face. She’s wearing white linen slacks and gold sandals, a high-necked chiffon blouse spilling over her thin frame, leaving her pale arms exposed. Several gold bangles encircle her wrist and a handbag the size of a wedding invitation dangles from a gold chain on her shoulder. She lifts her chin and with a long blink, like ruffled royalty, said, “She’s my assistant.”
Okay, well. I somehow keep my jaw from dropping. I’m pretty sure the reception is working equally as hard.
She licks her lips and offers a nervous smile. “Of course. I’ll just, well, I’ll escort you up.”
I’d planned to sneak into the organization quietly, get to know the landscape and then formulate a plan. Not waltz in like the Queen of Sheba. “You know, I think I left that, that thing back at the… at the other place.” I take a step to the side, ready to button-hook around her and bolt for the door. “I ought to go back and get it.”
The regal girl, obviously someone important, cocks an eyebrow and a hint of sparkle touches her eyes. “Don’t be silly.” She pats her purse. “I’ve got it with me.”
She takes hold of my arm and lifts her chin to make it appear as though she’s looking down on the receptionist. “I’m sure we can navigate the elevator on our own.”
Before I can protest further, she has me by the elbow and whisks me toward the elevators. A half dozen people in dark, conservative suits wait in the open space between two rows of elevators, four on each side. They must have entered the building from the back with employee keys.
