Nathan King: You only wish you saw me naked. If you had, I guarantee you would have most definitely been “impressed.”
When we were kids, Nate was my best friend. In one summer, Nate grew eight inches, ditched his braces, and got a different haircut. Then, all of a sudden, he wasn’t the nerdy gamer anymore.
He wasn’t my Nate anymore.
Mulling over his words, I stare at the screen. What did I expect Nate to say? I have no idea how to talk to him anymore. No matter the topic, most of our conversations turn into sarcastic, sexual innuendo. How did we get to this place? We used to be so good together, when I was the Queen to his King.
Nathan King: You’re just jealous I’m getting some.
Furious, I roll my chair back from the desk and groan. I want to drop-kick his ass into next week. Nate’s usual cavalier attitude drives me insane, and he knows it.
A few seconds pass before I get a grip. No way will I let him win. I slide in front of the keyboard and contemplate my next move, pounding furiously on the keyboard.
Harley McQueen: Like I would ever be jealous of your disease-ridden skanks. Unlike you, I have standards.
Childish, I know, but he makes me so damn mad.
Nathan King: It’s been that long, huh?
Harley McQueen: No, you idiot.
Nathan King: Don’t lie to me, Queen.
Harley McQueen: Stop being a dick, King!
Nathan King: If you need the cobwebs cleaned off your chastity belt, you know where to find me.
Before I can respond, Nathan King is offline flashes on the screen.
Chapter Two
Nate
I raise a glass of bourbon to my lips and kick my dress shoe up on the desk. If I’m going to Hell, I might as well get drunk first. Leaning back in my chair, I click on the link to a full-page image of me dressed in my favorite navy Gucci suit with brown wingtips. I’m wearing a wrinkled white oxford unbuttoned down to my belly button with a red silk tie hanging around my neck.
Who the hell took this picture? It’s from a private party I threw at my penthouse apartment last month. I smirk at the heading that accompanies the image.
The heir to the King fortune is a bad investment.
I tip my glass in appreciation and mutter, good one.
There are five hundred comments beneath the snarky article about my playboy ways. Half of the women talk about my looks. One says, “Looks like a good investment to me,” with a ton of heart-eye emojis after her comment. I hate when women text those to me. A few women left their phone numbers for me to call.
Not a chance, ladies.
A new email pops up from Danika Kane. I laugh at all of the exclamation points she added to her email for emphasis. My publicist might kill me if my dad doesn’t beat her to the punch. Danika gets me out of hot water every time. But this time, even her powers of persuasion might not be enough to save this company.
When a new message appears on my screen, I expect to see Danika’s name. Instead, it’s Harley McQueen. It’s hard to believe we were once best friends, inseparable since we were in diapers. Now, she only talks to me whenever necessary—when I do something that pisses her off. She has kept her distance for years, though she never told me why.
Harley McQueen: And here I thought you went commando.
A smirk turns up the right corner of my mouth. She attaches an image of me with a woman’s hand shoved down the front of my boxers. If she knew the truth about those pictures, she wouldn’t speak to me. And if I can help it, Harley will never discover the identity of the woman.
Nathan King: I knew you thought of me naked. Most women do.
I laugh into the highball glass, finishing off the rest of the amber liquid. I wish I could see her reaction. Knowing Harley, her top lip is quivering as she curses my name under her breath. A chat bubble appears as Harley types. She knows how much I love to play with her. After getting my ass chewed out all morning, I could use a little foreplay before I get fucked again.
Harley McQueen: The last time I saw you naked, I wasn’t that impressed.
You can do better than that.
When we were kids, no one put me in my place better than Harley.
Nathan King: You only wish you saw me naked. If you had, I guarantee you would have most definitely been “impressed.”
My heart pounds in my chest as I wait for Harley to fight me. C’mon, Harley. Give it to me. This is how our relationship works now. We torture each other with our words, challenge each other in every way possible.
Another minute passes without a response. What is she doing? Harley initiated the conversation, and I know she wants to rip me a new one.