Guarded King (Empty Kingdom #3)

Chapter 1

CHAPTER ONE

CHLOE

A crash sounds behind me, and the bowl slips from my hands, plunging into the sudsy water. I whirl around to find Dad standing in the middle of the kitchen, staring down at a pool of orange juice spreading rapidly across the tiled floor. Shards of glass catch the morning light, glittering within the liquid.

“I’m sorry, love,” he says, eyes downcast and shoulders slumped. “I was just trying to help.”

“It’s okay.” I keep my tone light and my features relaxed, not wanting him to feel worse than he already does. “I can clean it up.”

After quickly drying my hands, I grab a roll of paper towel off the counter and tear off a few sheets. I lay them on top of the puddle to start soaking it up, then take Dad’s arm gently and smile at him. “Let’s get you settled in your chair while I sort this out.”

As I guide him toward the small living room, I focus on taking steady breaths and make sure not to rush him, even though I can almost sense the clock ticking.

Once I’ve eased him into his chair and tucked a pillow behind his back, I help him prop his feet up on his footstool. “Are you comfortable?”

He leans back with a sigh. “I’m fine. Go on, love. I know you have a bus to catch.”

“I’ll just finish cleaning up, and then I’ll head out.”

In the kitchen, I dig out a plastic bag from under the sink and gingerly pick up the shards of glass. Then I mop up the rest of the juice, wash my hands, and check that the mess didn’t transfer to my cream-colored blouse. A relieved breath escapes me when I don’t see any. Thank god. I really don’t have time to change.

I gather my phone and keys and dump them in my purse, then fill a glass of water and take it to Dad.

“Thank you.” He takes it with stiff fingers, giving me a smile that looks more like a grimace.

My heart pangs as he carefully brings it to his mouth for a sip before shakily placing it on the table next to him.

I confirm that he has easy access to his library book and move the TV remote closer. “I’ve got to go now. Susan should be by in a little while to check on you.”

He mumbles something probably unflattering under his breath, and I hide my smile. Our neighbor, Susan, isn’t the friendliest of women. But I pay her to drop in a few times a day to make sure Dad’s okay while I’m at work. It’s not the ideal situation, since the two of them aren’t exactly the best of friends, but it’s all we can afford right now.

I brush his thinning hair back from his forehead, noting how much gray has taken over the once blond strands, then bend down and press a kiss to the top of his head. “Love you.”

The scents of soap and shampoo instead of the familiar paint and turpentine send a sudden surge of homesickness through me. Is it possible to be homesick for a smell?

The slightly disgruntled expression he wore after my mention of Susan softens, affection seeping through. “Love you too, sweet pea.” He squeezes my hand weakly, the strength in his grip barely there. “Go on, then. I don’t want you to be late.”

I look at my watch and suppress a grimace. “Okay. Have a good day.” After grabbing my bag, I cast one more look at him over my shoulder, then hurry to the door.

As always, on my way out, I brush my fingers against the frame of the large painting that hangs in our hallway. It’s a beautiful depiction of Manhattan at dawn, when the mist is giving way to the soft light of a new day. It’s my favorite of Dad’s works, which is why he’s never sold it.

With another glance at my watch, I rush out of the apartment. After taking the stairs as quickly as I can, I speed walk to the bus stop, praying I make it on time. I swear Geoff is looking for an excuse to let me go, but I need this job. And I’m good at it, even if I don’t love it.

As I round the corner, the bus pulls away from the curb. I rush to the stop, waving frantically, but the driver doesn’t even glance my way. Swearing under my breath, I pull my tote bag against my stomach and brace myself to wait.

All I need now is for the sky to open up. Head tilted back, I survey the threatening gray of the clouds overhead and mentally cross my fingers that it holds off, just for a little while.

Miraculously, I’m perfectly dry, if a little frazzled, as I dart out of the office elevator thirty minutes later. I throw myself into my chair, hoping Geoff hasn’t made it in yet. At a quarter past nine, there’s still a chance, since this is about the time he usually strolls in. He likes me to be here before him. Probably because it gives him some kind of executive high to strut past my desk and toss out his daily coffee order like I exist solely to cater to his caffeine needs.

Unfortunately, I’ve just logged in to my computer and started sorting through my inbox when his door opens and he saunters out, a self-satisfied smirk plastered across his face.

“Glad to see you finally made it.”

Considering I was less than twenty minutes late, and I’m almost always on time, his comment is unwarranted. But I grit my teeth and force a smile to my lips. “I’m sorry, Mr. Clarkson. I had to?—”

He waves dismissively. “I don’t need excuses. I need you to do the job I pay you for.”

I bite back the urge to remind him that the job he pays me for doesn’t include being cornered in the copy room so he can proposition me—but that didn’t stop him.

The thought alone has my skin crawling. I can still feel the press of his sweaty hand on my lower back and the damp heat of his breath on my neck when he invited me to finish my work at his apartment over a bottle of wine. When I declined, he didn’t push the issue, just sneered and walked away. But he’s made his displeasure at my rejection known in various subtle ways ever since. And although I’d love to tell him to take his passive-aggressive bullshit—and his job—and shove it where the sun doesn’t shine, I can’t.

I need this job too much, and with Dad’s health issues, we both need the stability.

I can deal with an asshole boss for that.

Except nothing’s looking too stable anymore. Not since the takeover.

Geoff adjusts one cuff, then the other, his movements deliberately exaggerated. “The team from Excelsior will be here at ten. Show them in as soon as they arrive.”

“Yes, sir.”

With a nod, he turns on his heel. In the doorway to his office, he stops and faces me again. “And get my coffee. It should have been on my desk fifteen minutes ago.”

When the door finally clicks shut behind him, I let out a breath, then head to the kitchenette. He has a coffee machine in his office, but he insists I bring him one anyway. I wouldn’t mind so much if he didn’t make me set it directly in front of him, just so he can leer at my breasts.

Today, though, the ball of nerves in my stomach distracts me from my slimy boss. Excelsior Real Estate Holdings recently acquired Talon Developments, which means the job of everyone who works here is on the line. Except for Geoff’s. As CEO, he’s been guaranteed a high-level position after the acquisition. I can only hope they’ll be as generous with the rest of us. And that despite my refusal of his proposition , Geoff will keep me on as his assistant.

At ten o’clock on the dot, four dour-faced men from Excelsior arrive. Once I’ve shown them to Geoff’s office as instructed, I go back to my desk and distractedly respond to emails while keeping a nervous eye on his door.

It remains closed, taunting me.

Being at the mercy of another person makes me itchy. I’ve worked at Talon since I earned an associate degree in office management three years ago. First for Geoff Sr., a sharp-minded but fair man who was easy to work for, and for the past six months, his far less pleasant son. I only hope loyalty is important to him, the way I’m sure it would have been to his father.

Resisting the urge to bite my nails, I force my attention to my computer screen and try to focus on work.

Half an hour later, the door finally swings open, and Geoff leads his visitors out. He shakes their hands, his smile as smarmy as always, and then the four Excelsior men file out without so much as a glance in my direction.

Geoff, on the other hand, immediately focuses on me. “I need to talk to you in my office, Chloe.”

Stomach churning, I nod and stand, picking up my notepad and pen in the hopes that he just has a task for me. Then I follow him as he returns to his desk.

After I take a seat facing him, he strokes his hand down his tie. “Let me get straight to the point. Excelsior is restructuring the company.”

My throat goes dry, yet I refuse to let go of the hope that I’ll keep my job.

Geoff’s next words pull that rug right out from under me.

“They have their own admin pool, so unfortunately, your position has been made redundant, effective immediately. This is no reflection on your performance, of course. It’s purely a business decision.”

My mind fixates on one word. “Immediately? I…I thought I’d be given some time to…to…”

Geoff’s smile is full of false sympathy. “There’ll be a severance package, of course, because of the abrupt nature of your termination. You’ll receive a week’s salary for every year you’ve been with us, plus compensation for unused vacation days.”

My stomach plummets. Only three weeks’ severance? Finding another job, especially one that matches my current salary, in under a month would be a miracle. Even though my eyes sting, I hold back my tears. I refuse to let him see me lose my composure.

It hurts my pride to ask, but I do it anyway. “Is there a chance of another position within the company? Maybe in the admin pool? M-my dad depends on my income, especially for his medical expenses.”

He leans back in his chair, folding his hands over his paunch. “The pool is full. However, if you ask, I’m sure HR will keep your résumé on file. And, of course, they’ll provide a reference for you. Make sure you stop by to fill out the paperwork for your severance before you leave.”

Jerking into motion, I rise, clutching my notepad and pen in my sweaty hands. Anger mixed with a sickening sense of vulnerability floods through me. I want to yell at him—demand he be a better person. A better man . But I still need that reference.

Even so, I can’t bring myself to be professionally pleasant the way I have been for the last six months, so without a word, I turn and leave, closing the door behind me.

My movements are stiff as I return to my desk and pack up my meager belongings. It only takes minutes to erase any evidence that I was ever here. I’ve never realized how few personal items I brought in or how impersonal my desk truly feels.

When my tote is loaded, I give the area a final scan, then take the elevator down to the HR department, where Gwen, a lovely older woman I’ve shared a cup of coffee with on occasion, gives me a sad smile.

“I’m so sorry, Chloe,” she says, clearly already knowing which positions have been slashed. “It’s such a mistake letting you go. You’re one of the hardest workers here.”

My smile wobbles a little. “Thank you. I appreciate that.”

She slides a severance agreement across the counter, followed by an acknowledgment of my final paycheck.

When all I can do is stare at the forms, she squeezes my hand. “I’m sure it won’t take you long to find something else. I’ll write up your reference myself.”

I squeeze her hand back and force out what I hope is a more convincing smile. Then I pluck the pen off the counter and sign the forms that signify the end of my employment. She photocopies them and hands me the still-warm duplicates. After tucking them into my bag, I give her a final farewell, then leave.

On the bus ride home, my mind races, calculating how long my severance will last after I add it to the modest savings Dad and I have. To give my hands something to do, I pull out my phone and make a list of steps I need to take, including updating my résumé and looking into applying for unemployment.

By the time the bus reaches my stop, I need a distraction from overthinking. As I start the short walk home, I call my friend Lola.

When she answers, I’m greeted with the piercing cry of her son. “Is this a bad time?” Dammit, I hope I haven’t woken either of them from a nap.

She gives a tired laugh. “It’s never a bad time to hear from you. Just hold on a second.”

She coos softly, and the crying stops.

“Okay,” she says. “He’s on the boob. I can talk.”

“How are things going being a mama, anyway?”

Christopher is two months old now, and I’ve only seen him twice, since they don’t live close enough for quick visits anymore. Lola seems to have taken to her new role naturally. She might only be twenty-four, the same age as me, but she and her high school sweetheart, Jamie, married young, and starting a family was high on their to-do list.

“Exhausting, but I love it. He’s such a sweetheart. And he’s starting to sleep longer at night. So that’s a bonus.” She lets out a contented sigh. “What’s going on with you? Have you found out about your job yet?”

My shoulders tense with worry again. “As of today, I’m unemployed.”

She gasps. “You’re kidding me. Geoff the creep didn’t fight for your job?”

I swallow back the disgust and anger that the sound of his name brings. “I’m an idiot for thinking he might. The only thing I did wrong was let him know I wouldn’t sleep with him.”

“For some men, that’s all it takes.”

“I have to find another job quickly.” I gnaw on my bottom lip. “My severance package is a joke.”

Lola is quiet for so long I worry the call has been dropped. I’m about to pull my phone away from my ear to check when she says, “Why don’t you take this as a sign to start painting again? You won that competition, and I bet you could make decent money if you give it a go. You don’t even need a gallery these days—just sell your stuff online.”

My laugh comes out slightly hysterical. “Lola, that competition was in high school. And I don’t have the time to paint anymore. Let alone guarantee I could sell enough to cover our bills. Dad’s only got one month left of his medication before he needs a refill.”

Lola exhales. “I know, I know. It’s not realistic. But it’s a shame to waste your talent and passion. Maybe if you started painting as a hobby again. Then you could build an online shop while you have a day job. Once you start making money, you can resign and paint full time.”

“Maybe one day.” I appreciate her faith in me, misguided as it is. I loved painting as a kid. I might have even been good at it—I’m my father’s daughter, after all—but I know how hard it is to make a stable living as an artist. Even Dad struggled. And now, with him dependent on me? I can’t risk it. Because what would happen if everything I built crumbled around me?

That’s far less likely with a good job and a regular paycheck—barring another incident like today’s, of course.

Lola hums, that single sound laced with far too much skepticism. “I may have another solution, then. Jamie’s sister-in-law works for a recruitment agency. They fill administrative positions in high-profile companies. If you submit your résumé, I’ll put in a good word for you.”

“Really?” Hope sparks in my chest. A high-profile company might mean a bigger paycheck, which would make Dad’s treatment and medication more affordable.

“Of course. As soon as I finish feeding Christopher, I’ll send you the details.”

We talk a little longer, only saying goodbye when I get to the front door of Dad’s apartment building.

My apartment building. After two years, it should be easier to remember that.

I pause before I go in, closing my eyes and composing myself. Things are hard enough for Dad without the added stress of my employment worries.

I take a deep breath, paste on a bright smile, and turn the handle.