Naughty King (A Sexy Manhattan Fairytale 1)

He shakes his head. “I still don’t understand why make it part of the deal that she has to work here for you?”

I drum my fingers on the desk. “Think about it, Jack. Buchanan is a crafty old son-of-a-bitch. He’s going to fight tooth and nail to figure out a way to save his business. By getting his daughter in here, he figures he’ll be able to get info about the buyers we have lined up and cut us off at the pass. Then he’ll try to make a deal with them first to sell off pieces of his company that are easily discarded, leaving him with less overhead and keeping him afloat until he can figure out his next move.”

“And you agreed to let her come here knowing that? Shit, Alexander. She could ruin everything.” I hear the edge in Jack’s voice. He’s never been one to keep a cool head when he stresses. “We’ve got billions riding on this deal. You have to become the activist shareholder in Buchanan Industries.”

I hold up my hand, stopping him before he even gets started. “Relax, Jack. I have this under control. Do you honestly think that Margo Buchanan is a match for me? Come on, man. You’ve known me for how long now?”

He shakes his head. “You’re right. I do know you, which means I know that women are your fucking kryptonite. Face it; you’ve been in a rut for a couple of years now. Hell, you’ve not been the same since Jess fucked you over. You haven’t been with a woman longer than one night since her. If Margo wags her hot ass in front of you, you’ll leap, my friend, and your self-control will be flushed down the fucking toilet. She’ll get in your head, and this whole deal will be fucked.”

I know Jack thinks that I’ve hit a dry spell since Jess Fontaine left me for another man two years ago—that she crushed me—but he couldn’t be more wrong. Jess taking off with some tennis pro she met at the country club only hardened me more. It made me stronger—made me realize that love really doesn’t exist. It’s just this thing people created to comfort themselves within stories—a mythical thing like Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny. I learned a long time ago that fairy tales don’t exist. People need to stop wasting their time searching for something that isn’t real.

Paying for pussy is definitely the way to go.

So Jack needs to stop worrying about me. Margo Buchanan will not get to me no matter how tempting she may be.

I chuckle. “Trust me. That’s not going to happen.”

“Make sure it doesn’t. We need Buchanan to sell you his shares. Our Japanese connections want pieces of his company, and the only way we can make that happen is if you’re the main shareholder. We can’t afford for anything to go wrong.”

“You’ve got to stop worrying. You’re going to make yourself old and gray far too soon.” I push myself away from the desk and walk over to the small bar that’s in my office. The crystal decanter holding my favorite thirty-year-old scotch clinks against the glass as I pour the amber liquid. “Come have a drink with me. Let’s celebrate our victory before we close this deal over lunch.”

Jack walks over and lays a couple of papers on the wooden bar. “I’ve got the latest numbers on the Buchanan stock. It’s down thirty points. Everything is lining up for us perfectly. We’re on the road to making our biggest deal yet. Your father would’ve been proud.”

I hand Jack his glass as I smile at the thought of my father. It pleases me immensely to know that if he were here, Father would be partaking in this celebratory drink. Fucking cancer. It took him away from me much too soon, forcing me to grow up way too fast.

I tip the glass back and down my drink before pouring myself another. I need a fucking subject change. “I heard a rumor about you.”

Jack’s eyebrow arches. “Me? From whom?”

I smirk. “One guess.”

“Fucking Diem.” Jack rubs the back of his neck. “What did your darling sister tell you about me now?”

I laugh. “Rachel Winslet, Jack? Really? How fucking desperate were you to take that home?”

“Dammit,” Jack mutters. “I was at a benefit at the Waldorf, and I had one too many to drink. I spent most of the night talking to your sister. When it was time to find someone to share in the pleasure of my company for the evening, all the good women were taken. Rachel was my only willing body.”

“Her body’s always willing,” I say, and then laugh, unable to hold it back.

Jack shrugs, like it’s there’s nothing else he can say. It’s a well-known fact that the woman is working her way through our social circles on her back.

I hold up my hands. “Hey, no judgment. A lay is a lay as long as you don’t plan on taking it any further than that.”

Jack tips back his glass and then sets it down on the bar. “Did Diem say anything else?”

I shake my head. “No, but what in the hell were you doing talking to my sister all night? You’re not fucking her, are you? You know that’s the one thing that would cause me to murder my best friend.”

His face contorts, and his top lip curls. “It’s not like that. You know we’ve always been friends. She’s your little sister for Christ’s sake.”

“Well, what were the two of you doing together?”

“Diem and I were just talking.”

“About what?” I ask a little agitated.

“Mainly . . . we were talking about you.”

This causes my brow to furrow. “What the hell could possibly be so interesting about me that would cause the two of you to chat all evening?”