Money Man (King Maker 1)

Lucky for the guy, he’d gone for the gorgeous but way too skinny blonde who danced next to her. A mistake on his part. The redhead had the face of an angel and a body the devil himself would pray for. As it turned out, she’d been the sin that tasted like heaven I couldn’t forget.

Though I’d been balls deep in her four times, it wasn’t enough. Watching her eyes go unfocused as she came had become my drug of choice. But it was her mouth that would be my undoing. Those damn lips of hers had been a temptation, but I wouldn’t make that mistake again. If only I could get her off my mind. A bed perhaps. Maybe one time in a bed, all night, of course, would be enough.

Then again, she’d probably never let me touch her again. Finding Matt’s clothes in her room had made me see red as if I had a right. The emotion had been so foreign, I hadn’t been able to stop the outburst that likely killed any chance of tasting heaven again.

“Bro.”

The impatient word had come from a far place and snapped me out of my head. I looked up and saw my brother eyeing me quizzically.

We were of two different minds. Where I’d grown up with three goals. One—to survive the streets. Two—to be rich and never want for anything again. Three—to take my father down several pegs. My brother, on the other hand, had grown up with everything, but wanted none of it.

“How’s—” Connor began.

His question was cut off when our dad’s pinched-face admin walked in like she owned the place.

“He’s ready for you,” she announced, eyeing Connor’s rock star attire disapprovingly.

I stood, knowing exactly what this meeting was about. What had he found out? I shook off that thought. Good thing, I already had an explanation ready. There was nothing our father could say that would rattle me. I was fully prepared for anything that came out of the old man’s mouth.

Twenty

Bailey

I walked into the conference room that morning on a mission. After setting my stuff down, Anna, the only other person in the room, ambushed me.

“I think I saw the Money Man.”

I’d been so focused on giving Scott his ring back and setting a course for a new future for myself, I’d completely forgotten about the enigmatic man everyone was speculating about.

When I didn’t react quickly enough, she said, “You know who I’m talking about.”

I nodded. “How do you know it was him?”

“I mean, I don’t know exactly. It wasn’t like the person with him said, ‘How’s your morning, Money Man?’”

I laughed. “True, but why do you think it was him?”

“The person called him Mr. King. And he wasn’t an old guy.”

My jaw slackened as my fascination increased. “What’d he look like?”

“You know what they say, tall, dark, and handsome. Like totally hot—sunburn levels.”

Our conversation was cut short when the guys walked in. Anna guiltily slunk away. If they’d been paying attention, she so would have given away that we’d been talking about something other than work.

I sat and turned my computer on as Scott hadn’t arrived. I was deep into tying out bank numbers when he showed up two hours later.

“Status update,” he said and proceeded to talk to each of us individually.

I took the ring out of my purse and gripped it tightly. Though Lizzy had several colorful ideas what I should do with the ring, including handing Scott a pawn slip, those were lost to me. Scott had made a point to send me a text about New York and Massachusetts laws which required me to return the ring; effectively stopping me from doing anything creative with it.

When he got to me, the first thing I did was discreetly put the ring in his hand.

“I hope you choke on it,” I said quietly and took satisfaction from his eyes bugging out before launching into my update about the missing money in the bank accounts.

“Have you heard from their accounting team?” he asked professionally, having recovered from my earlier comment.

“Not yet.”

“Well, let me know when you do.”

He closed a hand around the ring and walked away with no mention of his ludicrous call the night before.

Late that evening as I was packing up, my phone buzzed. Pulling it out, I saw it was an unknown caller.

I put it to my ear and quietly said, “Hello,” after accepting the call.

“Lass,” a rough, masculine voice said. He was breathing heavy and I wondered what exactly he was doing. Incidentally, I was also grateful he used the endearment “lass” and not “sweetheart”.

Quickly, I stepped out of the room, making a beeline for the bathroom, and asked, “Why is your number blocked?”

Nervous tension had coursed through me at what he potentially might say. Automatically I’d gone on the defensive, throwing out a question to keep him off balance.