2. Chosen for the King
Chapter two
Chosen for the King
I 'm sitting back in my chair, a quarter to five, watching my receptionist place the biggest vase of long stemmed red roses I've ever seen in my life on a table near my desk. They're apology flowers for Isobel.
Rejection is only but a temporary pain, I tell myself.
My office lights up with a bright flash of lightning and a crack of thunder, and my office darkens as the fog just outside my building thickens even more. Getting up, I walk around turning on the various table lamps and the recessed lights in the cabinets stationed around the office and behind my chair. Giving the room a rather moody feel.
"Thank you, Sylvia," I call out, seeing her recline her head politely in a nod before turning on her heel and leaving without a word. To the outsider it would seem rude, however I don't correct it because it's not unusual of my staff to interact with me this way. I've developed a somewhat untouchable persona, and no one wants to deal with me more than absolutely necessary when it comes to work.
It's not that I'm an asshole, but I am the best in the business and you can't be the best in the business without upholding professionalism, creating some enemies, and maintaining boundaries. It doesn't help that I come from the King Dynasty family, which is what I've named my Architectural empire after.
My family name.
We're not the mafia, but we're fucking powerful in our own right. A bloodline which dates back three hundred years. We're old money, and now thanks to my business, we're now also new money. But I get to access both of it which makes me happy. My family didn't fuck off all our inheritance over the decades, leaving the next generation broke.
No, we made sure to keep our wealth, acquire new skills, and new wealth.
Squeezing the muscle at the base of my thumb hard I turn my eyes to look out the glass window, seeing the maze of streets below me with its headlights struggling through the fog, streetlights showing me a bustling city either gearing up or winding down for the evening ahead.
I wait patiently, my visit with Isobel the highlight of my month. I've been sorely tempted on more than a couple occasions to fuck this build up in a major way to extend out our meetings so I can keep working with her, but honestly, I made my decision regarding Isobel our second month of meeting. So I carried on with work as usual, not messing anything up. I'm sure our client is thankful for that.
Sitting back down, I wonder what mood Isobel is going to bring to me today to enjoy? I shake my head, sipping my whiskey and grabbing the remote to start the gas fireplace next to my desk.
"This woman," I scoff, rubbing my jaw thoughtfully. I'm going to make her pay for turning down my dinner invitation, but not right now. I can't play my cards too soon, but oh how I wish I could.
I've never met a woman who needs to be fucked literally until she can't scream, move, or half breathe.
When I get the chance to, I'm going to fuck her until I just about see the light leave her eyes, then I'll grant her mercy just to revel in breaking her down again. Because I'm convinced that it's the only thing that's going to cure her of what the fuck is inside of her. Whatever the fuck makes her be hell on wheels.
I'm also convinced I'm the only one capable.
Call me cocky, I don't care. I have an empire to run. One that takes smarts, skills, and arrogance to keep going. And boy, Isobel really doesn't hesitate to let me know what she thinks about that, with my Anglo Saxan self, I think sarcastically,
I huff out a breath and run my hands through my hair, looking at the clock again in a fit of anxiousness I only feel around her.
My phone beeps, and I hit the button to answer it. "Yes?"
"Sir, Ms. Brookes is on the way up. She's ten minutes early."
"Good," I say, flipping my folders open with our documents that we need to go over. "Send her in. Knock once before you do."
"Yes sir." I hang up and take another hearty sip, getting up to make her a vodka soda with a splash of grenadine that I hope she likes. I top it off with a cherry and lime for garnish. Feeling extra, I add a sprig of rosemary and turn, placing it on a coaster in front of where she usually sits and then sit back down myself, turning my attention to the documents in front of me.
I fired three people over that fucking fountain she requested, so if she gives me lip about it today, I may throw her ass off my skyscraper. She'd probably burst into a phoenix then double back and claw my eyes out. I grin at my secret joke.
I'm ready Izzy, I think to myself. The others can't handle you but I promise to the gods, I will have you begging on your knees. You are mine.
My junior associate Barnette didn't want to work with her, and neither did associate Connors. The meeting I had with the two of them after she'd apparently ripped them a new one almost rivaled the last meeting where Isobel gave me such a verbal lashing I'm surprised her hair didn't actually catch on fire and burn down my fucking office.
She all but called me racist, and that's something we don't do around here. I don't allow it in my office, I don't allow that shit in my family, and the second I sniff it out amongst my friend group I eradicate that sickness like a poisonous weed. Because that's all it is at the end of the day.
No, my associates are too weak for a woman like her.
It's pathetic, really.
They don't want her, but I do. I'm not scared of greatness at all. And there's nothing that anyone on this side of the universe can say to convince me that Ms. Iosbel Sophia Brookes isn't the cream of the crop. And unbeknownst to her, I'm about to skim her feisty ass right off the top and into the sunset.
I'm making her mine.
Because somewhere along the way, I've fallen in love with this bullheaded woman with the beautiful spirit that she tries so desperately to hide. My heart aches for her. The yearning for her becomes deeper and deeper with every interaction we have until I'm unsure how much longer I can hold out.
I don't care that she's got that sorry piece of shit for a man she's living with. He's nothing but a nuisance, and how smoothly she walks in and out of my office without so much as a limp or a wobble tells me all I need to know about her sex life. How could he have such a succulent woman in his bed and he not fuck her the way she deserves?
Her body is like a funeral pyre, just waiting for a match to light her up. And when I do, I'm jumping in the flames headfirst to make sure she burns good and proper.
But I'm not dumb enough to think she won't go without a fight.
No, she's a match for me, quite literally. And I'm going to burn her ass up while she's kicking and screaming. And once we're done being soldered together, we're going to emerge united as the head of my empire. As one.
Side by side atop The King Dynasty.
I don't even look up as I hear the knock on my door, I'm too busy double checking that damn fountain in a fit of nervousness, suddenly worried that the dimensions have changed in the small amount of time it's been in my hands. I want this to be perfect for her because she asked this of me, and I want to give her everything. I care deeply about what she perceives regarding my work.
Her heels clack, announcing her presence as she makes her way from my door to the desk, and it physically kills me to not raise my gaze to her.
"I'm not drinking that," she says as she drops her bag into the chair next to her.
My brow raises, yet I don't respond, acting like I didn't hear her.
I can't even get a fucking hello first before she starts with the shit?
My eyes narrow with displeasure, and fighting the urge to put her in her place, I keep my head down as I take a deep steadying breath. God she's such a fucking brat. It makes my dick hard.
"Well hello to you too, Isobel," I say dryly, finally raising my head to look up at her.
I freeze, but by some act of God my body doesn't stay locked down. Sitting back in my chair, I rub my lips and jaw and just stare at her, because God she's breathtaking.
"Hello." She's polite.
Too polite. It makes my eyes narrow as I regard her.
Slowly, I roam her face and body thoroughly like I do every time I see her. Our visits are only monthly, so I give myself permission to visually eat her up when she's in close proximity.
Her skin is dark enough to tell she's mixed with African American, and her hair is bone straight today, hanging down to her hips almost. Last month she styled it in waves, the month before that she had springy curls, and the month before that she had a braided halo.
She's got an hourglass figure, hosting wide fleshy hips that sway when she walks. She has to get her clothes tailored because her hips are such a different size from her waist. A smattering of light brown freckles adorns her nose which is framed by beautiful, high cheekbones, and full plump lips form a mouth that's given me many a sleepless night imagining those pillows wrapped around my cock.
And speaking of pillows.
My eyes fall just briefly to her cleavage. Those things are going to kill me. They're big, round, and heavy. My cock hardens so fast I grunt.
Shifting in my seat, I wet my lips. "I want to-"
"Did you get my fountain worked into your build?" she interrupts me, arching her eyebrow. I fall silent as our eyes maintain contact, and out of my peripheral, I see the glass with her drink begin to slide towards me ever so slowly, setting my blood on fire.
"What's wrong with the drink?" I snap, irritated that she interrupted me, and that she's rejecting something I did for her .
"Because we're at work. That's what's wrong," she snaps back just as irritably. "And I like to be professional." Her pretty neck arches just a bit, sticking her nose a little higher in the air.
Leaning back into my chair I rub the fingers of my left hand hard, pressing my thumb nail into my index finger to try and use the pain to keep me in check. "You do realize that drinks are something that usually goes along with these sort of business meetings?"
Lord, help me to educate her in this way.
She frowns, shaking her head. "It doesn't matter. And, not that it's any of your business King, it's just not how I choose to conduct myself with male business partners."
Well, in that case I guess she's forgiven. I tip my lips up into what I hope is a semblance of a smile.
"A water then?" I quip. Reaching forward to grab her drink, I toss it down the sink and then get her a water. "We got your fountain in, just as you so politely requested."
It's a generous lie because she fucking knows she wasn't polite about it.
Her eyes meet mine again before looking away, rather abashedly if I may say so myself. I go back to my side of the desk and place her water back on her coaster, sliding it to her where she blatantly ignores it.
Her lips purse for just a second before she looks back at me. "Thank you, I knew you guys could do it. I had faith."
I let out a chuckle. "I don't think faith had anything to do with it, sweetheart. I had to fire a few people over this fountain. I'd like my due credits please." Seeing she's still unmoving, I swivel my chair a bit and give her what I hope is a devilish smile. "I had to turn into an entirely different person to get you what you wanted, and in the end it was me who had to deliver. "
It works. Isobel gives me a slow smile accompanied by a giggle that peaks my interest, because maybe that means we're getting somewhere?
"I don't feel sorry for you, that's your job. And you mean it's what Mr. Fabian wanted?"
"No." I tilt my head at her. "I said it right the first time. It's what you wanted."
"Hm." The sound is followed by a rather uncomfortable silence that's tense and heated. Lightning and thunder cracks the sky again, causing her to flinch. My fingers wrap around my whiskey as I take a drink and fight to not reach for her hand. She'd probably slap me.
I narrow my eyes at the thought. "Drink your water," I say lowly.
We're silent as we look at each other and I see her eyebrow twitch just slightly before she leans over and opens her satchel, ignoring my command. She pulls out a folder and begins to spread her documents on my desk, showing me the newest works that she's done. It's then I realize she's dismissed me, making me irritated because I want to keep flirting with her, but she's just too professional.
Too loyal to that fucker.
"It's what Fabian wanted." I hear her mutter under her breath as she works.
I swallow another bit of my whiskey. "What was that?"
"You heard me."
My hand tightens on my glass as a wave of irritation heats my skin. "Can you not just be nice just one time. One? " I ask. Her feistiness is going to get her in so much trouble.
She folds her arms and crosses her legs, pinning me with a stern look. "No, actually, I cannot. Niceness gets a black woman nowhere in business. Nowhere. I'm sorry you don't like my mouth-"
"I didn't say that- "
"Or the way I do business-"
"I didn't say that either. I just believe that you can catch more flies with honey than with vinegar, is all." My eyes roam her face. "You'll be able to garner more business, expand your portfolio, that kind of thing with a slightly more... gentle disposition. You won't have to work so hard."
According to her facial expression it was obviously the most wrong thing that I could ever think to let myself believe was okay to say to her.
It's Isobel's turn to pin me with her eyes and tilt her head. Something flashes in her eyes that makes my blood run cold and then set on fire. My chest tightens as she leans towards me, baring more of her cleavage. But I keep myself still. Her nose twitches as she leans forward, and it's the most adorable thing I've ever seen in my life, the fact that she gifts me with her tell. Her nose twitches whenever she's getting ready to go off.
And oh man does she let loose.
"I have to work twice as hard, in order to maybe get half of what you have, King," she says through her teeth.
I raise my eyebrows and nod at her, my gaze leaving hers to stare out the window contemplatively. "It's a shame isn't it, that we haven't evolved enough as a society yet in order for that to not be the norm. There's no way I should be hearing that come out of your mouth, or anyone else's mouth in the twenty-first century, yet here we are. Well, I guess we all have to do our parts to make sure the scales become balanced. I'll have you know, King Dynasty is exactly forty-seven point three percent diversified." I turn my eyes to hers letting her know I'm serious.
"Really?" Isobel states, her tone softens and her shoulders relax just a little. Thank God for small mercies .
"Hm-hm. I'm not going to insult you by saying I have black friends. I hear that's not the way to go." I won't do it. Even though my best friend in the entire world is black, and I wish like hell I could share that with her.
Her jaw literally drops as she turns her face away for a second, and when she comes back to face me her mouth is tight with a little grin. Though she's never laughed in front of me, I've heard her laugh before, and it's magical.
Because you see, I chose Isobel for my wife, as is the King Dynasty way. So I know a lot about her.
Way more than she thinks I do.
We just take who we want, unapologetically, the only way we can marry in this family. And once a woman is chosen, we abduct her into the family. But I had to follow her first. The moment I realized what a gem I had in front of me I began to watch her. Following her around when I'm able to get away. I know her favorite restaurants, her favorite food, what she doesn't like.
Like noodles. I've never seen her eat a noodle dish. She also has a weird thing with money that I haven't figured out yet, but I will.
I know her friend group, her family ties, even the personal business of that fucker she calls a boyfriend. Like how he's busy fucking Isobel's friend and assistant Anna every chance he gets, and has been for the last six months at least. And that's the real reason why Isobel can walk so well, you see.
Poor baby, I'm about to fix that.
I hold the documents out to her. "Here are the documents for your approval. I need to call our meeting over at five forty-five today." I'm dismissive, letting her know by the coldness of my tone that I can dish out some attitude as well. Way worse than hers, but she doesn't need to know that yet. No, she'll find out when I pick her up. I'm just being polite, waiting for an in, because this one doesn't trust easy, if ever. No, I'll need an in with her.
As soon as I get it, I'll strike.
I finish up our meeting, and I'm happy to see that she doesn't complain anymore after she's assured she gets what she wants. Isobel is demanding as a business owner, and part of me wonders how her man is able to get away with fucking around on her as long as he has. Because she doesn't seem to be the type to let that happen.
I would never cheat on her. Not only because I won't want to, but the prospect of this woman trying to kill me over it sends chills through my body.
Maybe I need to snatch her up before she finds out about Christopher?
Going over the last design, I attach it to its architectural rendering and then stand, holding out my hand to her right at five forty-five. She stands fluidly, but then reaches down in her purse instead of shaking my hand. Just before I let it drop she pulls out a tube of cream and places it in my hand nonchalantly.
"What's this?" I ask, confused. Wishing I could have felt her hand in mine.
"I got it for you."
I turn the tube over and see it's the same one she let me use from a couple months ago when my hands were stinging from me scrubbing them clean of ink all weekend. My heart warms, beginning to beat a little faster.
"For me?" I ask slowly. My eyes rise to find that she's fussing with the handle of her purse, fidgeting as if she's uncomfortable.
"Yes. If you scrub your hands any harder, you won't have hands to work with. "
"Oh Isobel, my hands work just fine, I assure you." It comes out rough, too sexual.
Her eyes widen in reaction to my words, her body stiffens before she turns away and strides to the door, leaving without a goodbye. It's so sudden that I forget to tell her to grab her apology flowers.
Her physical discomfort betrays her attraction to me. The fact that she's fighting like hell in order to maintain professional boundaries makes me want to rip down that wall of hers even more. That woman wants me just as much as I want her, and it solidifies my urge to snatch her up.
I'll spend the rest of my night making preparations. Need to be ready, prepared for the minute I have my chance. Pulling out my phone, I busy straightening my desk as I call my house manager.
"Hello?" Carlotta answers the phone swiftly.
"Carlotta, I need you to make sure Ms. Brookes room is ready."
"Yes, sir. Are you bringing her tonight, sir?"
"Not tonight, but soon. I just want it perfect for her," I say. "Did you receive the perfume I told you to order for her?"
"The French one, sir?"
"Yes."
"It arrived last night, sir. It's in the vanity with the rest of Ms. Brookes things."
"Thank you, Carlotta."
"You're most welcome, sir."
I hang up with my staff and text my driver that I'm headed down. As I walk pass my receptionist desk, Sylvia stops me. "Mr. King, do you have a quick moment?"
My steps slow to a stop as I arch an eyebrow at her, she knows I'm in a hurry. "Yes, Sylvia? Is everything okay? "
"I just thought you'd like to know that Ms. Brookes enquired about the office for lease on the thirteenth floor. She's interested in renting it, sir."
Tilting my head I pause for a second. "Tell her it's not available."
Sylvia frowns. "But, Mr. King, it is avail-"
"Tell her it's not available. And while you're at it, contact Mr. Saunders and have him clean out the forty-fourth floor. We're acquiring a new business."
Her eyebrows raise but she remains professional . I say a little prayer of thanks because some days I truly wouldn't be able to manage this job without her. "Okay … may I tell him which one, sir?"
"ISKing Design, Inc." I reply simply, heading to the elevator. "Thank you, Sylvia."
My girl will not be renting an office area in my building, not when I can give her an entire floor. And her business will be reflecting her King status.
As I slide into the car I wince, forgetting the flowers yet again in my conversation with my receptionist. I knock on the partition, signaling my driver who lowers the little divider.
"Sir?"
"Dennis will you please call my receptionist and have her deliver the red roses that are in my office to Ms. Brookes' home tonight? Have her write a note: You forgot these. HK."
I grin, thinking Christopher is going to get a taste of his own medicine for once and wishing I could be a fly on the wall to see his reaction. Though, there's a major chance he won't care as he's too busy crawling around in his side piece to pay attention to anything that's going on with Isobel. Because if he had been paying attention, he would have seen me around every fucking corner.
He would have smelled the lust emitting from my pores .
"Very good, sir." The partition goes up and I make myself another whiskey, watching the lights of the city fly past the window.
Patience, King. Patience.