The Captive King

by Susan Copperfield

  Had I been someone else, I could’ve walked through an open door and started something else, something different, something new—something capable of accomplishing my dreams for me.

  But I couldn’t. I wouldn’t.

  Some things I needed to do for myself, and I wouldn’t take advantage of him. He could throw away ten million on a whim without missing a penny of it. He wouldn’t notice losing the amount I needed to complete my doctorate. He probably wouldn’t even remember dropping a hint among his elite friends suggesting I should be passed when it came time to defend my dissertation again.

  I tilted my head to the side and watched him, wondering what sort of game he played with me. “Why? There’s nothing in it for you.”

  “Why does there need to be something in it for me?”

  I didn’t have an answer for him, so I lowered my eyes and stared at the hideous mug while I thought it through. No matter what I said, the bitter truth would be revealed. Men always wanted something from me.

  That was part of the game, and I’d become resigned to it over the years.

  The truth hurt to confess, but I lifted my chin and said, “Men always want something from me. That’s why.”

  Landen sighed. “I figured as much. I guessed when you seemed so happy I’d listen to you. For the record, I do find your work interesting. The past often defines the future, no matter how hard we try to fight it.”

  The future was a bleak place if history was destined to repeat itself. Over the long course of human history, civilizations rose, drew attention to themselves, and fell under the might of another. “Things would be drastically different if the conquistadors hadn’t wiped out so many of the Mexica tribes. Human sacrifice would be the norm. We’ve only found a few temple altars without evidence of ritualistic sacrifice. A temple at Site C has one; there are five temples in all, all of the same size, that we’re currently excavating. When I—” I coughed and cleared my throat to cover my error. “When we uncovered the burial site beneath the non-sacrificial altar, that’s what made me believe the necklace wasn’t a part of a sacrifice.”

  “You uncovered the site with your talent.”

  Damn it, he’d noticed my slip. “Yes.”

  “How much digging do they do? The other members of your team, I mean.”

  The way he’d clarified made me wonder about his colleagues. The instant he realized he hadn’t specified who he meant, he clarified to eliminate any chance of misunderstanding.

  Landen was a mystery I wanted to solve, but he was the last man I should have an interest in. We came from two different words.

  Suits and boots didn’t mix.

  “Very little,” I admitted, waving my hand to dismiss the reality of my situation. “I have the talent. They don’t.”

  “It’s no wonder they’re blocking you from obtaining your doctorate. You must save them a fortune in effort and time, assuming my guess is correct. Elite maneuvering is the same. Why do more work than necessary when the right talent can do the work in half the time for cheaper?” Landen drank the rest of his coffee and set my wretched boot mug on the table. “Take this mug as an example. No one in their right mind wants one of these.”

  “Except me, apparently.”

  “You wanted to have coffee with me. The mug was the tool you used to accomplish your goal.”

  My eyebrows shot up. I’d bought the mugs because I wanted to have coffee with him? When had I missed the memo? “No. I bid so you’d learn a lesson about not buying gaudy mugs and inflicting them on innocents. Coffee was a method of obtaining some just desserts for your consumption.”

  “I don’t think so.” Landen pointed at the empty mug. “I intrigue you, so you tried to find a way to cover your interest. You decided on a little public shaming for my, admittedly, horrible choice in tourist mugs. You were willing to throw away five dollars on a gamble. That’s a symptom of our society. What can you afford to gamble? You wanted to spend a little more time with me under the guise of teaching me a lesson. You won this round. You understand how the game works. Every year your university refuses to issue your doctorate, they win. They know they’ll keep winning because you’re not the kind to quit.”

  If Landen’s goal was to fluster me, he was succeeding spectacularly. “True.”

  “Let’s take this a step further. Why was the idea of having a cup of coffee with me worth gambling on? Your university’s gamble makes sense; once you have your doctorate, they’ll have to pay you closer to what you’re worth. You have value, and they don’t want to fairly compensate you. By failing you, they can increase your value through expanded education at little cost to themselves, and they can package it as beneficial to you when it really isn’t.”

  “And you figured that out from one phone call with Owen and minimal conversation with me?” Clenching my teeth, I shook my head and glared at the horrible little mug that had enticed me into making a fool’s gamble on a man I had no business associating with in the first place. “Without my doctorate, I won’t be able to work a good dig site. The good Mexica tribe sites are reserved for team leads with doctorates. The other sites aren’t as good, and it might be another decade before I see a good site again.”

  “Thus, the cycle continues. It’s an accurate portrayal of how ancient rulers maintained their position. They convinced those beneath them they’re incapable of escaping the cycle. Every civilization and every ruler used a different method, but it boils down to the same thing. Be it through violence or coercion, the rulers taught their people their word was law, and breaking that cycle is very difficult.”

  I hated that he was right. “I bought a coffee and got a rather bitter brew. You’re right, but I’m not exactly qualified for many jobs outside of my field.”

  “If you withdraw prior to defending your dissertation, other schools are an option.” Landen leaned back in his seat and watched me, waiting.

  Challenging me. Judging me.

  I wasn’t sure what I thought about that, but I matched him stare for stare, taking my time looking him over. He likely believed I scrutinized him, but the truth was a nastier beast.

  I enjoyed admiring the scenery and used a negative pretense to do so.

  Aware he waited, I shrugged. “The other schools don’t have the specialization I want. Yes, they have prestige—if I could afford the tuition before attempting to defend my dissertation. In reality, I’d have to secure a scholarship. The unfortunate truth is this: my reputation will dive if I receive a doctorate from a school without my university’s expertise and backing. I could go for general expertise, but it wouldn’t put me in the right field for the dig sites I want. It all depends on if the right scholarship or internship comes around—and if I can find a doctoral opportunity that won’t blacklist me from working at the good sites.”

  “I just invested ten million dollars to support your dig. You could ask me to sponsor your degree. Money opens doors.”

  “No. From the first college class I ever took, I earned my way. I worked at a convenience store on the graveyard shift to pay for what my scholarships didn’t cover. I’ll earn my doctorate. Thank you for offering, but I won’t ask.”

  Pride would be the death of me one day, but I wasn’t ready to sacrifice my dignity—not yet.

  I’d rather return to working a dead-end job than rely on pity or charity.

  “Would you accept if I offered it as a gift?”

  Before I could stop it, a sigh slipped out, and I shook my head. “No, but thank you. This is a battle I must fight alone.”

  “You have a lot of pride.”

  “No. I’m being practical.” I was being prideful, too, but he’d have to work a lot harder to get me to admit it. “If I accept a bought doctorate, within a month, everyone in my field will know it. Everyone will know I wasn’t able to earn my doctorate on my own. I can’t afford to use cheap tricks to win. I will look into other options. Maybe a general expertise can work for me. A doctorate might be enough to serve my purposes.”

&n
bsp; “What are your purposes, anyway?”

  “To lead a dig team, of course—and prove we weren’t the first to discover magic. I believe many ancient empires fell from more than just war, famine, and plague. I believe some fell because their societies were so dependent on magic they couldn’t survive without it. The survivors adapted to a world without magic—or they never relied on magic for their basic needs.”

  “Now that would be one hell of an interesting dissertation.”

  “The trick is defending it.”

  “Surely there are other schools specialized in ancient cultures?”

  No matter how the rest of my night went, I feared Landen’s suggestions would haunt me for a long time. “I’ll look into it. In the meantime, I think you have a dissertation of your own to defend, Bachelor #103.”

  “And what dissertation am I defending?”

  Eager to return to safer waters, I jumped on the chance to change the subject—and put the focus on him instead of on me. “You claimed money can’t buy happiness. Prove it. I’ll happily spend your money on room service while you try.”

  “And what do I win if I defend my dissertation?”

  I had a few ideas if he was game for an intimate party for two. “You’ll find out if you defend your dissertation, sir.”

  “Challenge accepted.”

  Chapter Three

  The menu perplexed me almost as much as the suite, which had two bedrooms as promised, a bathroom I’d kill for, and a kitchenette adjacent to the ridiculous sitting room. I liked the fireplace, but what sort of hotel room needed a grand piano?

  However, I’d dream of owning the television for the rest of my life.

  “I can decipher several dialects of Mayan and Nahuatl, but I can’t translate this,” I muttered, thrusting the menu in his direction. “Please feed me.”

  Landen laughed, hopped to his feet, and took the menu with him, beelining for the phone on the kitchenette counter. “It’s in French.”

  “We’re in Texas. Isn’t BBQ and Spanish sufficient?”

  “Since when is BBQ a language?”

  “Since I found out how damned delicious it is.”

  Once again, his smile melted the years off his face, and I wondered what sort of hell he lived through on a daily basis to make him seem so damned old the rest of the time. I wouldn’t do what so many men had done to me, suggesting I smile so I’d look nicer for their enjoyment.

  I’d keep my concerns to myself and hope when he returned home, life would be kinder to him.

  “I can’t dispute your claim. All right. I’ll ask if we can get some BBQ to go along with our French delicacies.”

  For a night, I would try to keep him smiling, even if I had to sacrifice some of my hard-earned pride and dignity. It didn’t help my ploy skirted dangerously close to the truth. “As I’m a fan of being fair, it’s important to know you can talk me into a lot if you feed me so much I can’t move. You might even convince me to marry you with the right culinary bribes.”

  “I see you’re highly motivated by dinner.” His smile bloomed into a full grin, and he picked up the phone, speaking to someone in what had to be French.

  No wonder they called French the language of love. I had no idea what Landen was saying, but he sounded delicious.

  I blamed my personal drive to uncover ancient secrets for my unhealthy interest in smart, ambitious men, with an emphasis on the smart. Add in Landen’s constant worry he’d offend me, and I’d be in a bind if he couldn’t defend his dissertation. Could I throw the match without him figuring it out?

  If he was as smart as I thought, I’d have a real challenge on my hands—and a serious desire to make good use of the nice suite for a night. I didn’t even care if I got a reputation for being promiscuous.

  Some men were worth it, and they didn’t come around every day. I couldn’t even remember the last time a man had held my attention for more than a few minutes before making it clear he was in it only for the sex.

  “It’ll be up to two hours, maybe a little longer. I told them we’re in no hurry, and that you really wanted some good Texan BBQ. So, where were we?”

  “You were about to defend your dissertation.” I hopped to my feet, and while he returned to the couch, I strolled to the island dividing the kitchenette and the sitting room, trying to ignore trail of mud flaking off me and onto the cream carpet. “Are you ready?”

  With a grin bordering on the maniacal, Landen dropped onto the couch and propped his feet up on the coffee table. His socks didn’t match.

  Neither did mine, but my cargo pants hid them. I’d taken off my boots at the door to mitigate the damage I’d do to the hotel room before I left.

  His use of French to fulfill his dinner obligations intrigued me, but his worn, mismatched socks transformed him from a man worth spending a night with to an unobtainable dream, the sort of man I thought was worth chasing.

  I didn’t even believe in love at first site, but then I’d seen his socks, which had a hole near his big toe.

  “I’m ready. Do your worst, Summer.”

  “You say money can’t buy happiness. For the first part of your defense, prove money can’t buy love.”

  Landen’s eyebrows rose. “Who said love equated happiness? Love is a lot of pain with brief moments of respite. I could spend every penny I had on you, and it wouldn’t earn me your love. You’d be rich and enjoy the trappings for a while, but you’d find money is empty of meaning when you have too much of it to spend. Did my ten million buy me your love?”

  It had done a lot of damage to my pride and put me at a high risk of being ensnared, but there was no way in hell I was going to admit my pettiness to him. “Point,” I conceded. “However, I will point out that money can buy prostitutes, and that sort of love can bring happiness for a while.”

  “That sort of love doesn’t last, so it doesn’t count. But since we’re on the subject of prostitutes anyway, would ten million buy me your love?”

  He waggled his eyebrows in a move so ridiculous I threw back my head and laughed. “No.”

  Love was a fickle mistress, and if I remembered him later in life, I’d thank—and blame—his socks along with his wicked sense of humor. It didn’t hurt he tested dangerous waters with just enough caution to prove he understood I had lines he couldn’t cross without my permission.

  I wanted to discover his lines, and when I found them, I wondered if he’d let me cross them.

  “Happiness is food on the table, which money certainly can buy. Defend that, Mr. Bachelor #103.”

  Chuckling, Landen leaned back and laced his fingers together behind his head. “Basic survival shouldn’t classify as happiness. Happiness is more than having the right to exist. The pleasure of good food is a passing fancy, temporary. Happiness isn’t a temporary state of mind. Are you happy, Summer? Would money fix what makes you unhappy?”

  I saw the trap for what it was. If I said yes, he’d try to solve my problems with his money, which wouldn’t make me happy. If I said no, he’d defend his claim yet again.

  Damn it.

  “No,” I replied. “Point to you.”

  “That’s only because you’re prideful.”

  “I already conned you out of your money once today.”

  I loved his laughter. “You hardly conned me. I saw a problem I could fix, so I fixed it. I also recognize my money can’t make you happy. By participating in the sale of that jade necklace, you violated your beliefs. For the sake of the dig, you sold what you believe belongs to the public. In this, money has made you unhappy.”

  “Point.”

  “Try me again. I like this game. I keep winning.”

  The problem with smart men like Landen was that they recognized their intellect, and when they held the advantage, they liked it when their opponent knew it. I scowled, wondering how best to knock him down a peg or two and get ahead in our game. “The lack of money teaches appreciation for the little things, so when you get money, you understand its worth. When y
ou go from nothing to something through your own hard work, it becomes something special. That becomes happiness—a long-term accomplishment, something meaningful. Those who are rich and lose everything can learn that appreciation, too. Thus, money can buy happiness. You’re just not one of those people, and neither am I. Defend that,” I challenged.

  “Let me get this straight. I’m about to lose because someone in the world somewhere is made happy because of money?”

  “Not just money, disgusting amounts of money.”

  “This is why you failed to defend your dissertation, isn’t it?”

  “The devil’s in the details. For every rule, there is an exception, even if we haven’t been able to prove it. The trick is preventing the questions you can’t defend against. One day, I’ll figure that part out.”

  “If you take away that person’s wealth, their happiness goes away. Shouldn’t you be able to keep what you buy?”

  Argh! “That’s deviously evil.”

  “Can we keep playing this game? I’m having fun.”

  “I bet you are. How do you know the money you’re donating to charity isn’t buying someone happiness?”

  “I don—” Landen snapped his teeth together, then he sighed. “Damn it, you tricked me.”

  I smiled. “Yes, I did. As you don’t know, you can’t claim, without a shadow of a doubt, that money can’t buy happiness.”

  “If I try to say that was a slip, you’re not going to give me a single inch, are you?”

  So many opportunities, so little time. I’d be a fool to let such a good chance to get him out of his shirt go away. He could say no if he didn’t want to put himself on display for the sake of his pride. “I might consider allowing you to salvage that failure for a price.”

  Arching a brow, he considered me. “What price?”

  “Your shirt. I think it’ll look better on me,” I lied, struggling to hide my grin. “Give me your shirt, and you can continue to defend your dissertation.”

  I wasn’t sure what to expect from him, but his throaty chuckle and immediate removal of his jacket wasn’t it. He tossed it aside, where it landed on the couch’s arm. “Should I give you my tie, too?”