The Heir (The King Dynasty #1)

4. Noodles are Triggers

Chapter four

Noodles are Triggers

M y phone pings the next morning while I'm busy preparing to go into my work room with a group chat between Fabian, Isobel, and I. My brows raise, wondering what that's about.

Mr. King, Ms. Brookes, good morning. Fabian here. Please come join me at my test kitchen this evening in order to taste test some of the dishes for my restaurant. It will help you get a better feel for my work .-Fabian

I smile, liking the eccentric Italian man. He talks a lot, is loud, but he knows his stuff and that's admirable.

I'll be there. -King

Thank you for the invite Fabian, I'd be honored. -Isobel

I walk into my work room, seeing the enormous circular table dominating the room that has a cut out in the middle for me to walk through. Dimming the lights and turning on the projector, I find my favorite playlist, the one that makes me think of her, and I begin to work as the music fills the room.

I don't worry about being interrupted, no one bothers me when I'm in here with the door closed.

Grabbing the stack of folders I start at one end of the table, laying down paper after paper, until the entire surface is filled. Usually I'll make it through one half of the table, break, then come back and do the other half.

I turn, grabbing my tools: a carpenter pencil that I sharpen with a knife, my architectural scale, tape measure, compass, eraser, and tablet. Picking up the remote, I softly hum along with the music as I click through the slides on my projector, shifting through the pictures until I get to the build that I want.

As I bend over my papers and begin to draw and measure, I think about Isobel.

The first month we met she had on this beautiful cream colored knit suit that highlighted her hair and set off her skin beautifully. I remember feeling a bit star struck, you don't see any people of color with hair like hers. It was so unusual, but the shade goes with her skin so beautifully that now I think it'd be weird if she dyed her hair a different color.

That day she'd walked in the door, and pinned me with a look before stumbling so slightly that I could barely see it, but it was there.

There was a tense first few seconds where I held out my hand and she took it softly, barely squeezing, and the current that raced through my skin was electric enough to make the hairs on my forearms stand up. I will never forget that day, it's burned into my soul. Marked as the day I met the love of my life.

I knew it, even if she didn't.

Her eyes roamed everywhere as she spoke, telling me about Fabian's wishes for the designs, the things that she wanted that my two associates couldn't provide. I neglected to tell her that they didn't want to work with her because they were intimidated by a strong woman.

Because let me tell you, Isobel is tougher than nails and it's sexy, just what I need at my side as a spouse.

Obviously something has happened to make her that way, but in all the months that I've been watching her, I can't get a fucking hint about her childhood and it's infuriating.

The music plays and I spend a solid hour on one sheet, making sure my lines are clean, precise, perfect. I listen to the pencil as it slides over the paper. The whisper-soft feel of it as it slides across the side of my pinky finger as I stroke down the paper in one broad line, and I wonder what it would be like to slide a robe off her shoulders, baring her body to me.

Unfortunately for me, I've driven myself half crazy trying to imagine what she looks like naked, and here I am again thinking about it when all my concentration should be on the task at hand.

God, what do her breasts look like when they aren't supported by her bra?

I have sudden visions of pulling her bra off slowly, and seeing her breasts fall just slightly. I grunt softly, feeling myself harden. Swallowing hard, I move my tools over a foot to the next gridded paper and begin the design there, looking up and clicking over the corresponding slide on the wall.

Her fucking waist is unusual too, I bet I could span it with my hands. I torture myself with thoughts about what her arousal smells like. Because I fucking love the smell of pussy. I want her fat ass sitting on my face until I can't breathe. Want her to ride me reverse cowgirl style so I can see her ass bouncing, recoiling into the flesh of her back with how hard I'm taking her. Will her waist have little rolls in it as she turns back to look at me?

Would she turn to look back at me?

Will she say my name when she comes?

I pause, taking a deep breath. The first time she called me King was life changing.

She had on this matte rust red lipstick, her skin was slightly paler because it was still winter out and her cheeks were stained pink, almost like she'd just had an orgasm. She said "King" then sucked her bottom lip in between her teeth and bit down playfully. I let the nickname slide, though no one else calls me King. She's so cheeky, I love that about her. I want sass in the bedroom.

I want passion when I'm fucking her.

I want her back talking me, so I can tie her down and make her take it like the good girl I know she can be.

Even if every interaction we have is led with a bratty attitude, there's a good girl under there I know I can find if I dig deep enough. And oh trust me, I can dig real deep , if you catch my drift.

I heard her scream once. She was at the movie theater with her friends Brittany and Tiffany, and they were watching a horror movie about a woman who gets abducted. Ironic and poetic I would even say, and when the girl got snatched Isobel screamed so loud that I jerked off to that sound for three months straight. But now it's time for a new sound.

I'm ready.

I've had my staff diligently prepare a place for her in my home, but ultimately she's going to end up in my bedroom. At first though, I want her to feel comfortable around things she likes. So the more I followed her, the more I acquired. Every trinket she picked up, every knick knack she touched and wouldn't let herself buy, I bought for her.

I got a front row seat to all four times in nine months her boyfriend took her on a date. Every disappointed expression she had on her face when he would look at his phone more than her, or only half listen to her when she tried to tell him something. I saw every time she placed her hand on his and he pulled away.

She wants that man for a reason I can't fathom.

Is it love?

It has to be because there's no way she's missing these signs.

The worst is how every time they go to eat he without fails orders a pasta dish knowing she's got some weird aversion to noodles. It's the weirdest fucking thing I've ever seen because it's not a carb aversion. I've seen her eat mashed potatoes, bread, and rice.

Tsking my tongue, I pull out my electric eraser and redo a line because I fucked it up thinking about the way she licked her spoon clean of her mashed potatoes and gravy dinner one night. God it was erotic.

She's a beautiful soul too, underneath that hard exterior.

She's given money to homeless individuals, even food. One night when it was raining she was walking past a older man who had a dog on his lap huddling under an umbrella, and she got down there with him and talked for a while. When she walked away, she sat in her car and cried for so long I almost broke and knocked on her door.

Was she homeless before? Is this why she's so fucking shrewd in business? I mean the woman takes absolutely no shit, which is admirable and all… but what happens to a person, a woman, to make them be that way ?

The tinkle of my alarm goes off, signaling that I need to break for lunch and rest my eyes.

You can't work for hours straight on something that requires you to be mathematically correct. One wrong measurement and it can be mass casualty in a heartbeat. I make the short journey to my desk to grab my wallet and head out the door, knowing just where she is at twelve o'clock. Just like I know Anna is being snuck into Isobel's house for an hour right this very minute.

So since he's not alone, she won't be alone either.

And I don't want to have lunch alone. I know I'm going to see her for the tasting at Fabian's later, but I can't help myself. I want to spend more time with her than just an hour or two at a tasting, or one time a month. I need more of her. As feisty and mouthy as she is, I enjoy her company.

I have my driver drop me off at the little sub and soup shop about fifteen minutes away from my building where she normally takes her lunch.

Settling in about five minutes before she walks in, I pick a booth that gives me a direct angle to the door so I can see when she enters the shop. I hold a paper in front of my face, protecting me from her gaze should she look over in my direction.

I don't have to wait long. Isobel walks in a couple minutes ahead of schedule. Prompt as usual. She's in a gorgeous purple dress with tiny spaghetti straps and strappy sandals, showing me white manicured toes. My dick stirs at the sight of her moisturized gleaming skin. She stands at the register, ordering a lobster chowder with no bread.

She'll eat rice till the cows come home but not huge on bread and noodles.

I take a sip of my coffee and tilt my head, watching as she texts on her phone for a minute, completely oblivious to her surroundings as usual as she stands off to the side and waits patiently. When her food is up, she grabs it and then turns and walks to a nearby booth.

But that's it.

She just stands at the edge of the booth, rocking onto her tip toes, stuck because she's got too much going on.

Her phone and sunglasses are clutched precociously in one hand, her bag hanging from her forearm, weighing her down on one side with the tray balanced between the two hands. It's a disaster waiting to happen. The booth is higher due to it being on a raised platform, and because she's a short little thing, she tries raising even further on her tip toes to get the tray to clear the table, but the bowl suddenly slides throwing her off balance.

"No! No! No! No!" she gasps, trying to right it but she panics and throws her head down, having to stop it with her chin.

Ruse over, I chuckle, getting up and walking over to her hunched position.

"Here, let me help you with that," I say, leaning forward to grasp her chowder with one hand, and her tray with the other. She hasn't noticed it's me yet.

"Oh thank you so much, I was about to create a mess!" she says, giggling as she looks up and then sees me. Her eyes widen and her chest shudders on a hard inhalation of air as they meet mine. "King!" she whispers in a strangled voice.

Hmm hmm. "King indeed," I tease quietly, failing to bite back a grin.

Something about the way she says my name causes a rush of pleasure to swell high in me. I'm going to straight up beat her ass if she doesn't say my name like that the first time I fuck her. It has to be just like that, or I'm afraid I won't rest until I hear what I want.

Placing her tray on the table, I slide in without asking for an invitation. Isobel keeps her gaze averted as she slides in slowly on the other side, suddenly very enamored with her purse.

Clearing my throat, I rake my eyes all over her face and torso until she brings her eyes up to meet mine. I give her a smile, loving I make her nervous. "Hi," I say, deepening my voice.

Isobel flushes a nice pink color. "Hi, uh… what are you doing here?" She clears her throat and then casts her eyes around, almost as if she's nervous. She might be, because I have been stalking her for nine months now, and in two days she's seen me at two separate places that we don't have in common.

"Well, when I have a long day where I'm drawing, I like to go out for lunch, opting for change of scenery other than being in a dark room with my tools."

"Ohhh, it must be so exhausting drawing up little anime characters all day?" Isobel says in with a sarcastic tone, putting some chowder in her mouth. She visibly blushes at the look I give her. "My bad, I-I'm sorry. I don't mean to come off rude."

"Do you like anime? The little fuzzy characters?" I tease back.

Knowing that comment had to come from somewhere, I reach into my back pocket and grab my pen, snagging a white napkin off her tray and beginning to draw. I want to impress her. If she knew how much I charged for a simple drawing she'd fucking piss her pants. I smile at my small joke as my pen makes broad strokes across the napkin.

"I never watched the shows, but I think they're cute. It'd be cool to own one of them in real life. I've never had a pet."

Keeping my focus on the drawing I can't help my grin spreading even wider at the fact she'd been pet shopping just a couple weeks ago. Another possession she wouldn't let herself indulge in. "No? Not even a cat? They're unproblematic, though a bit neurotic," I say rather absentmindedly, giving her a quick glance from my napkin.

"No, we were too poor growing up."

Ah, we're getting somewhere.

"Too poor for a cat? Must be lonely for a little girl." We're quiet for a second.

"I had my sister to look after and make sure we could keep custody of, I wasn't ever lonely. When I wasn't with her, I was busy making money."

I grunt. "Hence the almost borderline, manic obsession with perfection concerning your job and reputation?" I keep my tone low and level, unfolding the napkin so I can give her little flourish designs. Even though folding the paper out makes it thin, and weaker, I can work under just about any circumstance. So, I adjust the pressure of my strokes, taking the weight off my free fingers and moving it to my wrist.

I look up once again and see her chewing on her lip. "Yeah something like that."

"No, not something like that. We all have a story, a past. What happened?" I'm still drawing, non-threatening.

"I don't talk about it," she says, putting another bite in her mouth. I lick my lips when she does, wishing I could taste the chowder on her lips. "You know, you say you come here to eat but you're not eating."

"Going to have a tasting later with Fabian. I'm hoping I'll be full as a tick by the time I'm out of there."

Isobel laughs. "You should bring your girlfriend, I'm sure Fabian won't mind. He wants us to experience the ' romantic taste of love.'" She arches her hand in a little half circle and laughs. I'm enjoying this soft side of her.

"I have no girlfriend," I correct her. Brat.

"Ah. Too bad. I bet it's going to be amazing for the customers. I'm a little jealous… I probably won't be eating anything."

"Oh yeah? Why's that?" I finish the drawing and then click my pen, turning the napkin and pushing it to her so she can see. "A gift, for you," I quip, winking at her and grinning.

"Hm," she says. Pushing her tray away she reaches into her bag and pulls out another small, seven inch cylinder fabric bag that she opens and pulls out a few colored pencils. I tilt my head, watching as she begins to carefully color in the drawing I made but she doesn't just fill it in, she takes her time with shading, doing ombre designs.

God her fingers are fucking beautiful.

"Because all we ate for three solid straight years was top ramen. I've had it every which way you can think of. Regular, stir fried. With broth, with little pieces of meat and boiled egg. I've even had it raw, with the sprinkle packet on it and ate it like chips."

I'm floored. Because that's a new one for me.

"Why?"

"Because we didn't have electricity at the time to boil water to cook it."

She doesn't look up at me while she draws. Her fingers graze the paper much different that mine did, and to see her femininity in such a simple thing as a project, albeit arguably the most inconsequential one that I've made to date, makes me so turned on it's all I can do to keep my hands to myself.

Us working on something for pleasure- that we're both passionate about- does something to me in a way that I can't explain.

"I'm sorry to hear that, and thank you for sharing that with me." I eye her face as she's hunched over the napkin, watching my drawing slowly come to life in 3-D. It's impressive, it looks like it's actually levitating off the napkin.

"You're welcome," she replies. Sitting back, she turns the napkin just like I did and pushes it to me. "My gift, to you." She tilts her head as I take it slowly. A long lock of hair falls forward and curls over her breasts, and my heart skips a beat at the way her doe eyes stare at me patiently.

"You are quite talented." I compliment her. As we lock eyes, something passes between us that makes my chest warm. I get those fuzzy feel good emotions that I want to wrap close to me and never let fade.

"Well thank you. That means a lot coming from such an esteemed professional as yourself, King." She slides out of her seat and grabs up her tray before I can. "Gotta be quicker than that!" she says playfully, throwing me a wink as she picks up her stuff to leave without a word like she normally does, before turning back with a furrow between her brow. "By the way, this wasn't a date."

I laugh and rap my fingers on the tabletop, not answering her. She blinks at me and gets a sort of worried look on her face before turning to walk away.

"See you in a few hours," I call out behind her. She doesn't respond, simply pushes through the door, leaving me alone.

I sit there for a bit longer after she leaves, rotating the napkin around and around repeatedly, just thinking. Making up my mind, I go a block down to the quick shop and buy a pack of top ramen, needing to know what that was like.

Wanting that connection with her.

I pull out my phone. "Hey Fabian, it's Hendrix, how're you doing?"

"Mr. King! I'm doing well, how're you? I hope you're not calling me to cancel."

I smile. "No absolutely not, sir. And I'm well. Hey, can I talk to you for a second? I have a request for you if you wouldn't mind obliging me." I spend a few seconds explaining that we need a noodle substitute to replace the pasta before hanging up.

I don't want my baby suffering.

When I get back to my office I stash the ramen in my briefcase and go about the rest of my day as usual.

But all I want is for time to speed up so I can see her again.

Six hours later I pull up to Fabian's test kitchen. It's a little warehouse at the end of the street. Quiet. Quaint.

I look through the window on the other side of my vehicle, seeing Isobel's grey car idling on the street. She's still in the car, her head down as she apparently looks at something. She brings a hand up and runs it through her hair, the strands glide between her fingers before flowing back into place.

"Sir, are you ready to get out?" Dennis asks me through the partition. My head tilts as I watch her carefully.

"No," I reply.

Needing something to take the edge off I pour a shot, and am busy shooting it, when I see her look up and spot my vehicle. It prompts her to get out, and she leans against her car patiently waiting for me. Another burst of warmth shoots through me at the sight of her, even though I just saw her a few hours ago. Looking down at the napkin we drew on, I rub my fingers across it reverently before placing it carefully into a clear sleeve, and then back into my briefcase.

Getting out, I give her a cheeky grin as I walk up to her, taking my time. Because the longer it takes for me to walk to her, the longer I get to look at her. And that's a win in my book.

The wind rustles her hair just right, and a strand glides in front of her face before her hair flicks up all around her, settling back down. For a second she looks like a match on fire. I take my chance, reaching out and pulling a strand of hair off her face, caressing her cheek as I do .

And God it's as soft as I imagined, if not softer. Her freckles are adorable, all seventeen of them. If she's got more elsewhere I'll be counting those too.

"You ready to go in?" she asks, giving me a little sassy eyebrow arch.

"Hmm hmm," I hum, reaching forward again and then running my hand down her hair. "The wind's got you a little ruffled back there," I explain.

"Oh! Well, thank you." Isobel's bites her lip and then self-consciously pulls her hair over her shoulder. She turns and then we walk into the building, straight into Fabian. He's a tall chef, about six foot one, a little thicker in the middle with strong, muscular arms. He's in his mid-fifties, and has a thick Italian accent.

"'Ello!" he says boisterously, opening his arms he pulls Isobel into a friendly hug, and I feel a pang of jealousy, wishing I could hug her like that.

"Fabiannnn!" s he croons happily, and they do a little rock, making me uncomfortable. "It's so good to see you!"

His eyes turn towards me. "Mr. King, so good to see you as well. Come in, come in!" Fabian leads the way with an arm stretched out and ushers us through a curtain. We both pause as we're magically transported into romantic Paris, complete with twinkling lights, a classic red and black checkered round table, olive trees, and a fountain.

A miniature one like the one she drew up for the real restaurant.

"Wooowwww!" Isobel breathes, her eyes go wide as she smiles brightly, stepping into the room and turning several full circles as she attempts to take it all it. "Fabian, I've never been to Paris before, is this what it's like?"

Oh yeah. I'm fixing that. That'll be our first stop.

"Oh, sweet sweet girl, Paris is much much prettier than this!" Fabian jokes.

I clear my throat and hold out the chair for her to sit, which she does gracefully and without any fuss. Thank God. I sit across from her and cross my ankle over my knee and get comfortable. The initial excitement is wearing off, leaving a carefully hidden nervous expression on her face. But she doesn't need to be nervous because I already took care of it.

"We're going to start you off with an appetizer of homemade mozzarella sticks, with homemade mozzarella and marinara sauce, and our finest bottle of red wine," Fabian says excitedly.

"Ohhh, I love wine, Fabian!" Isobel says, clapping her hands lightly and throwing me a cheeky smile. Her sassy tone is back, and I find myself hardening.

This is most definitely a date, but I won't ruin it by verbalizing it. I tuck it in as a secret just for me.

I take a sip of the wine as it's offered and hum appreciatively. Isobel widens her eyes at me and gives me a rather shocked look. "Holy cow! That's…that's the most amazing wine I've ever tasted," she whispers to me.

The mozzarella sticks come out and I laugh as a piece of cheese stretches all the way over to my side of the table, and I grasp the stick from her and turn it, putting it into my mouth and chewing playfully, relishing in her laugh. She throws a napkin at me and I reach forward, wiping some grease off her chin.

I really want to lick it off and goddamn it, if she weren't with that fucker and didn't have higher morals and it'd insult her by doing so, I would. But I have to bide my time.

But the real fun for me comes when the waitress come with an array of small bowls. The visible relief that crosses Isobel's face makes my throat tight. I look down, seeing all the pasta samples have been prepared with zucchini noodles like I requested .

Glancing up, I catch Fabian's eye. He gives me a knowing smile and disappears behind the curtain, leaving us to it. I'm busy eating up all the little happy noises she's making as she tries dish after dish while we talk quietly comparing our favorite ones, and trying to make a ranking system.

We both love the alfredo.

"It'd be nice if they had a cajun alfredo!" Isobel says with a sparkle in her eyes. She licks her lips and takes another sip of wine, and it's interesting to see her lips get darker and darker the more she drinks. It makes me want to lean in and kiss her.

Fabian comes back when we've finished, holding out two gold coins. "For the fountain. Make a wish and toss it in." I look at the water trickling over the stone into the ceramic below. "It's a wishing well, for lovers!"

"Oh Fabian, what a brilliant idea!" Isobel croons, she clutches her gold coin to her breasts with both hands held tightly together and closes her eyes for a few seconds before opening them and then she tosses it in the water with a tiny splash. We watch it settle at the bottom. It's silent for too long because she tilts her head up to look at me and grab my attention.

"Well? What about you? You don't have a wish?"

I eye her for a second before holding up the coin in front of my face, turning it. I stare hard before flicking it, making it rotate over and over as it falls into the water.

"What did you wish for?" I ask as I ever so gently press my arm into hers. My fingers twitch, itching to take her hand in mine. Does she feel even a hint for me the way I feel for her?

"If I tell you my wish, it'll never come true."

"Nope, a wish is strengthened if you share it with another person, that way the other person can also help strengthen the magic of the wish."

Isobel looks at me doubtfully. "I've never heard of that before," she says skeptically.

I know, because I made it up. "So come on. Tell me."

She gives me another look before she leans into my ear, making me bend down to accommodate her size. "I wish to always be satisfied with the life I am given."

I blink. "Hm," I grunt, because we can totally make that work. "I'll see what I can do to help with that."

She gives me a little laugh. "Okay, thanks. Start by getting that fountain in for me." At my look she turns back serious. "What about you? What's your wish?" Isobel asks me, making me hot with the look she gives me. I clench my fist, willing myself to keep my hands off her. Just a little while longer, Hendrix.

"I wish to always feel the way I feel right now."

"Oh yeah, and how's that?"

"Content, Isobel. Content."

"Aw." She turns her face up to me and smiles. "I like that, that's nice."

I nod. I like it too because she's the one who makes me feel content. "Ready to go?"

Isobel nods and we say goodbye to Fabian and the kitchen staff, parting ways outside.

When I get home an hour later, I go straight to the kitchen, open my pack of noodles, sprinkle the seasoning packet on top and take a bite, traumatizing myself.

One thing's for sure, my baby will never have to eat another noodle ever in life. I'm personally seeing to that.