Guarded King (Empty Kingdom #3)

Chapter 22

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

ROMAN

I stare down at the file on my desk. The one I’d forgotten I’d asked for.

I lost control. Twice in one day. I’d sent her home, then strode into my office, determined to lose myself in work and put her out of my mind. But her scent lingered on my jacket, sending me flashing back to that moment in the dark—to the sensation of her body pressed against mine, to the neediness in her voice when she breathed my name—and my dick stiffened and jerked in my pants. She’d gone home for the day, and there was no way I could concentrate with that memory in my head.

After the last time, I swore to myself that I wouldn’t jerk off to the thought of her again, and somehow, I’ve managed it. But with my cock hard, and her scent filling my head, I convinced myself that doing it just once more wouldn’t hurt. Once more to purge this addiction. I knew it was an excuse, even as I thought it. But there was no resisting the temptation.

So I locked my office and stripped off my jacket and shirt, then stalked to my bathroom without slowing to close the door behind me. Belt unbuckled, I yanked down my fly and fisted my dick. With one hand braced on the counter, I worked myself over, imagining all the filthy things I would do to Chloe if she weren’t my assistant. If she were just a woman I met at a bar one night.

I was close, so close, when some strange awareness, maybe just a damn vibration in the air, made me look up. When I found her watching, the rational part of me knew I should stop, but the part of me that wants what it shouldn’t have, the part that grows stronger every day, recognized the emotions on her face. Want. Desire.

So I gave her a choice. Go or stay. And fuck if my pretty little assistant didn’t stay. Right up until my release ripped through me and I orgasmed with my eyes fixed on hers.

I scrub my hands over my face.

Fuck .

How has it come to this? How have I lost control so completely? Over a damn woman I told myself I could resist with no problem. A woman I’ve somehow convinced myself I’m protecting.

I’ll talk to her tomorrow. Make sure she knows that what happened today, my horrendous slip in control, will never happen again.

But a few hours later, I’m at home, standing at the window, nursing a glass of whiskey and looking out at the city below me, thousands of lights glittering through the still-falling rain. And despite my best efforts, Chloe is still on my mind.

Maybe I need a reminder of why this is so fucking important. A reality check to cleanse me of this growing obsession. It’s worth a try, at least.

I pull out my phone and shoot off an email, then drain the rest of my whiskey, drop the glass off in the kitchen and head to my bedroom to change. Ten minutes later, I’m pounding out my excess energy on the treadmill set up to overlook Central Park. As raindrops smack rhythmically against the glass, I concentrate on the pump of my heart and the rasp of my breath and the trickle of my sweat. Trying my hardest not to think about the way Chloe’s cheeks flushed and her mouth parted as she watched me come with her name on my lips.

Cancel my meeting with Cole and Tate this morning, please.

I send the message to Chloe at six a.m., then get dressed. After last night, I’m not sure how she’s going to respond. Maybe I should be less concerned. After all, she made the decision to stay and watch.

Regardless, tension builds inside me as I wait for her response. I crack my neck, dispelling a little of the strain there. Thank god it only takes a few minutes for her to respond.

Would you like me to reschedule?

A shot of relief rifles through me.

I’ll check in with them when I get into the office. It should be about 11 am.

The gray bubbles appear instantly.

Should I tell them you’re sleeping in?

I regard my phone, a reluctant smile pulling at my lips. After everything that happened yesterday, she’s joking with me.

They’d be as likely to believe you if you told them I was spending the morning at the zoo. Just tell them I have unwelcome business to attend to.

I pocket my phone, my smile fading as I head to the elevator. Since it services only my penthouse, I ride it uninterrupted all the way down to the garage. I’ll drive myself today. I always do when I visit Dad.

In minutes, I’m easing my titanium gray Aston Martin DB11 into the early-morning Manhattan traffic. It’s about seventy miles to the federal prison, which means a round trip of about three hours. I don’t mind. Despite having Phillip at my disposal around the clock, I enjoy driving, particularly on the open road. It gives me a chance to clear my head.

And today, my head really needs clearing. Losing sight of my priorities like I did yesterday is unacceptable.

After an hour and a half trip through the lush, green landscapes of upstate New York, I pull into the prison parking lot. The facility is surrounded by a fence topped with coiled barbed wire, a clear reminder of where I am. The main building is a sprawling structure of gray concrete, the small, barred windows breaking up the otherwise featureless walls. Because of the nature of Dad’s crime, he lucked out and resides in the adjacent minimum security satellite camp, which is significantly less oppressive.

Inside the low-slung brick building, I’m met with the stern stare of the security officer sitting behind bullet-proof glass.

“Identification and purpose of visit, please.”

I pass him my driver’s license. “I’m here to see Maxwell King.”

He scrutinizes my ID, then taps away at his computer. After a moment, he returns my card and hands me a visitor pass.

“Place your phone, keys, and all the contents of your pockets in the locker. Then pass through the metal detector.”

Having been through this process half a dozen times over the last three years, I quickly lock my phone and keys in the small metal locker behind me, then walk through the metal detector without incident.

“All good, Mr. King,” the man says. “Follow the blue line on the floor. It will lead you to the visitors’ room.”

I nod, clip the pass to my shirt, and make my way through the facility, slowing only to be buzzed through the few security doors along the way.

The visitors’ room is simple and functional. The walls are painted soft beige, as if the color choice can soften the reality of where we are. There are partitioned areas to allow at least the illusion of privacy, with cushioned chairs and small tables.

I choose a table, then wait until the guards escort Dad in. He’s wearing a dark green uniform, and the lines on his face look deeper than when I last saw him six months ago. The gray at his temples has spread quickly as well. He looks older. As if every month in here is the equivalent of a year on the outside.

He assesses me as he approaches, wearing the same condescending expression he used on me and my brothers when we were growing up. I’m not that teenage boy anymore, though. The one who spent too many years believing I needed to earn his approval. These days, that’s the last thing I want or need.

I don’t stand as he gets to the table, and I don’t move to shake his hand.

He doesn’t bother either. “To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?” he asks with a barely concealed sneer as he pulls out the chair across from me and drops into it heavily.

Leaning back, I cross my arms over my chest. “Just thought it was time that I did my familial duty.”

He snorts. “What do you know about duty?”

The tension that’s plagued me all morning returns full force, the muscles in my neck and shoulders tightening, but I don’t physically react to his words. “Duty to my family name. Duty to the company. Those are the only lessons of value you ever taught me.”

“Is that what you call stealing the company out from under me? Duty?”

“You lost control of the company because of your own damn greed. But I’m not here to rehash that old story.”

He folds his arms over his chest, mimicking my posture, his eyes, the same pale gray as mine, narrowing. “Then why are you here?”

Good question. Why do I keep coming back? Tate never visits. Cole stopped after only a couple of trips, when he realized it was masochistic to force himself to spend time with the man in front of me. So why do I find myself sitting here again?

When I don’t answer, he leans forward. “You’re here because, what? You think you have something to gloat about? I still read the news. You’re going to run the King Group into the ground, and when the shit hits the fan and share prices crash, you’ll only have yourself to blame.”

I don’t rise to the bait. “Share prices are the highest they’ve been in over a decade.”

The laugh that escapes him is harsh and ends in a cough. It takes a moment for him to catch his breath, but when he does, his words are just as sharp. “And how long will that last? You think you won’t make a mistake?”

I stare him straight in the eye. “Is that what you call what you did?”

He rests his forearms on the table. “I see that look on your face. You think you’re better than me. But you’re exactly the same. I made you who you are.” He thumps his fist on the table, his face going alarmingly red before paling again. “All this eco-friendly, tree-hugging bullshit is turning my company into a laughingstock. The King Group builds luxury real estate. We don’t cater to hippies.” His chest heaves as if his anger is stealing the air from his lungs.

With a deep inhale, I do my best to rein in my own temper. “You’re behind the times if you think luxury real estate doesn’t need to feature sustainable technology. The King Group may have been on top when you were sent here”—I throw my arms out wide—“but the share value was already starting to fall. Cole, Tate, and I shored the company up. We undid the damage you caused. We are what’s keeping the King Group where it should be.”

He glares at me, and I return the look.

“You’re weak. All of you,” he eventually says. “Two damn sons and a bastard, and none of you have the balls to be the men I taught you to be. Don’t think I didn’t hear about your brothers and their women,” he spits. “Marriage should be a strategic move. Why tie yourself to one woman if there’s no business advantage to it? If your brothers wanted to fuck whoever they wanted on the side, they could have. What the hell benefit is there in marrying an architect and a coffee shop owner?”

I grit my teeth, angry with myself for once believing the same bullshit. For letting his poison influence me—and my relationship with my brothers—even after I found out what kind of man he was.

“The company can thrive without Cole and Tate having to sell themselves or their happiness.”

He scoffs. “You think love creates happiness? You know better. Your little marriage rebellion proved that, didn’t it?” He shifts forward, gripping the edge of the table. “Or have you forgotten how easily Katherine played you?”

“I haven’t forgotten. Or forgiven.”

I’m not just referring to Katherine, and he knows it.

His laugh is sharp and ugly. “You should thank me. You needed that damn lesson.” He rocks back on his chair, the sly, smug smile I remember so well stretching across his face. “And it worked, didn’t it? I saw the announcement of Cole’s engagement to Kenneth Berrington’s daughter. You had your hand in that, didn’t you?” He doesn’t wait for a response, nodding to himself before continuing. “I figured. It’s exactly what I would have done. You’re my son, whether you like it or not. It’s in your blood to play the game as it’s meant to be played—hard and ruthless.”

Remaining expressionless takes more strength than I’d like to admit. “You know he didn’t go through with it.”

His chair thumps back down on the floor, his face flushing red again. “Because when it came down to it, you didn’t have the balls to force the issue. You let him follow his dick instead of his head. You cared more about what he wanted than what was best for the company. And that,” he jabs his finger at me, “is why you’ll never be the CEO the King Group needs.”

“And you are? A man who almost ruined the company’s reputation because he was too narcissistic and greedy to put it first. A man who screws anyone in a skirt.”

“You’re letting your bitterness show, son. Every woman I screwed wanted what I gave them. Every. Single. One.”

My fists clench. Hatred scouring my veins. How much of this man still lives inside me? Did I get the part of me that lost control around Chloe from him? Is his weakness my weakness?

I force my fingers open. I’ve got the reminder I came here for. No need to put myself through more of this.

I shove my chair back and stand.

“Leaving so soon?” Dad knows he’s gotten to me, and it makes the bastard happy. What he doesn’t realize is that I came here for exactly that reason.

“It’s been a pleasure, as always.”

He stands as well, steadying himself by bracing his hands on the table. “I’ll be out of here in a few years, and it won’t take much to sway the board into seeing things my way again. So don’t get too comfortable in that CEO chair, son . The moment you let your guard down, the moment the world realizes who you truly are, you’ll see how quickly they’ll turn on you.”

I take my time buttoning my jacket before I look him in the eye. “That’s not going to happen. After all, you’re the one who taught me never to let my guard down. It’s the one thing I’ll thank you for.”

My head is clear now. I’m focused. With a nod at the guards to let them know we’re done, I walk out, leaving him behind.