King Maker (King Maker 3)

His wife didn’t count because not once had he mentioned her by name. She was Connor’s mother and that was it. He hadn’t even called her his wife, though she was. She meant nothing to him.

“That woman,” he said with contempt, referring to the lass.

I nodded. “That woman found what no one was looking for. That woman can help me prove I didn’t do this.”

“What does she have that a whole firm doesn’t?” he asked.

“Trustworthiness. She can’t be bought. And I’m damn sure some of those on the first firm or even the second you hired were paid to take a blind eye.”

I told him what I’d found out and part of my plan to fix it. And for the first time ever, we had a civil father-son conversation.

My next stop was a flight to Ireland.

Twenty-Five

My time in Ireland was filled with important firsts. It was the first time I’d truly been on my own and the first time I’d lived alone, though I wasn’t exactly living here. It had been scary at first.

When I’d taken the plane to Galway, I was certain Kalen would find me and Turner would still be with me. Neither panned out.

Aloneness soon sank in. However, after a time when no one came after me, I knew that having independence was something I needed despite my regular nightmares of being bound and gagged.

In my dreams, sometimes my captor would rape me. Other times he sold me off or killed me. Each time I’d awoken with a pounding heart and damp skin from sweat. I’d taken to not falling asleep on purpose. Though I ended up eventually drifting off while reading or surfing the Internet.

Not ready to go to sleep, I’d spent the rest of the evening sending out more resumes and checking for responses.

What shocked me was finally getting a tentative job offer after a screening phone call with human resources and a video call interview with the hiring manager. The only thing left was to pass a background check.

I’d been honest about my part in the audit scandal with King Enterprises. My new boss had been impressed with my candor and my tenacity, not put off by it.

It probably also benefited me that I’d gotten a recommendation from my first supervisor in Boston, the one who helped me get transferred to the New York office.

In a little over two weeks, I could start a new life in Washington, D.C.

“I can’t believe you’re moving,” Lizzy said.

I stared at her face. “It’s not like we’re never going to see each other again.”

A knock sounded. “Look, I have to go. That’s my Chinese food.”

“Chinese in Ireland?”

I shrugged. “I guess you can get it anywhere.”

Really, I wasn’t in the mood to sit alone at a pub.

“Just a minute,” I called out. “I’ll talk to you later,” I said to Lizzy before we ended the call.

I glanced down at the sleep shirt I wore. The incessant knocking meant I didn’t have time to grab something to cover my legs. Hopefully, it wouldn’t be a weirdo at the door.

“Lass?”

That voice had been on repeat in my fantasies for weeks, and I knew it well. I took my time lifting my gaze from the very nice shoes he wore to his gorgeous face.

“What are you doing here?” I asked. “Have you been, like, stalking me?” But that was a dumb question. “Of course you have. You’ve probably known where I was all along.”

Had the synapses in my brain been firing, I would have come up with a snarky or witty comment about law against such so I didn’t look affected by his presence. But that wasn’t the case. I was far from unaffected.

“I bet you arranged for it all, the plane, this Airbnb.”

His eyes were like lightning bolts on mine as he denied nothing. He’d known me well enough to plan it all as if I’d been the one making the decisions.

“It’s not really an Airbnb. This flat belongs to my brother.”

I gaped at the smug jerk. “And you charged Turner?”

He smirked.

The plan was for me to step back and close the door in his face. Instead, I zeroed in where our bodies connected. His fingers were wrapped around my arm where I’d unknowingly moved an inch forward, knowing just how talented those fingers were. His leg slid forward as if he expected to enter. I held my ground, forcing his leg to press to mine where he caged me in the doorframe.

The reminder of power he could wield with his legs as he fucked me made me swallow. My body responded in ways readying itself for his invasion to conquer me.

He looked resigned to something when he said, “His money was returned. Now, lass, are you going to let me in?”

And dumb me found pleasure in him calling me lass. I wasn’t sweetheart or Bailey. I was back to Lass.