Chapter Fifteen
Kingston
T he speed with which Sadie hightailed it out of my place yesterday means she’s up to something. What is anyone’s guess, but I’m not about to have her use her tricky little ways and freeze me out of anything. She works for me, not the other way around. The event is tomorrow night and I’m going.
I don’t give a shit what she says.
Actually, I’m insulted she thinks I can’t take care of myself. Or her.
Fuck, I’d told her I wanted to keep her safe and—
Did I?
Something happening to her isn’t on my agenda. Not at all. But I’d said it like I’d meant it, like I cared and… I don’t trust her.
Right? That’s the real reason I said all that.
I’m also the fucking tooth fairy. Wanting her safe and not trusting her don’t have to cancel each other out. Everything about her says don’t trust, just by nature of what she did for a living, who her father is, but…
She’s smart and fun and tough as nails. Things which don’t mean she can’t get hurt.
I’m at my home office, working on some things, when my phone rings. I’m expecting mother to call me back so I just hit answer.
“And here I thought you’d have someone to answer your phone.”
I smile at the richness of Sadie’s voice. “And here I thought only dinosaurs made calls.”
“Just call me your friendly velociraptor.”
“I’m not sure they were friendly.” I doodle on a pad next to my computer. There are a lot of things I want to say to her, but I’m not going to. “Would you call them friendly?”
“Take it as a warning then.”
I start to laugh, then stop. “Why are you calling?”
“The event has been cancelled.”
“And I should trust you?” I ask. “Why?”
She gives an impatient sigh. “You’re a clever boy. I’m sure you can find a way to either prove or disprove my statement. Or, I can come hold your hand this evening.”
“I’ll see you tonight.” And I hang up before I can say anything else.
My day doesn’t go according to plan. There’s some bullshit at the office I need to take care of, which I do. If I wasn’t so caught up in the dire situation of the damn tiara and who the hell is behind it, I’d find it amusing the fact workers scatter when I walk in.
I know I demand absolute excellence and hard work, and I also know I pay them for it. The old adage of the boss being away and mice playing is applicable everywhere. My mice play on a different level, and they still work fucking hard when I’m not there.
Excellence is something I demand in every business transaction I embark on, and the Sadie thing is no different. Question is, I don’t think she’s giving me that. Scratch the thought, actually. She is. But she has ulterior motives, and one of those might be getting her to use that excellence as a way to stymie the job.
I’m talking in circles in my brain.
If she doesn’t turn up tonight, I’m heading out that door to the meeting she’s claimed has been called off. And then I’ll be visiting my mother, whom I most certainly don’t trust. But right now, I have to meet Jenson. I shut down my computer and I let my assistant know to contact me if anything comes up and then I’m gone.
The sky is heavy and there’s been talk of early snow this year, but that really isn’t bothering me. No. What’s bothering me is the tiara crap.
Because that’s tied up with an ex-cat burglar with mesmerizing eyes and a mouth that haunts my dreams.
I get in my car. “Henry and Co,” I say to my driver. It’s a little restaurant on the east side of Central Park, and I’m going to be late. Something I abhor, but I can’t do much about.
Sadie Hess shouldn’t haunt my dreams. It’s the first time a woman has in a long time. Not since…well, not since I was that stupid kid who thought love was real.
It’s probably the tiara business that’s putting her front and center. Of course, that works right up until I get to the hot fantasies that star her.
I’m not a man given to fantasies. If I want and the woman is willing, then it happens. No need for fantasies, hot or otherwise.
So why Sadie? She’s not my type. Is she?
That bothers me. She’s there, under my skin, so deep I can feel her sliding against the bone. We are a lot alike, I know that, but I’m not exactly looking for another me. Not that I’m looking.
We arrive at the curb and I get out, my driver moving off to find a place to park. I head in to the swank little bistro in bronze and red and pale honeyed wood. I slide into my seat opposite Jenson and I’m half surprised not to see my mother there. After all, she seems to have her fingers in everything these days.
I run a cool gaze over Jenson, who seems like the place is too warm for him. He’s not sweating, but there’s a definite sheen.
“What’s up?”
He plays with his menu. “I take it the search isn’t going well?”
“I’m not sure yet.”
“Time’s running out, Kingston, and when it comes to the company, I can’t wiggle out of it.”
I narrow my eyes. I should be meeting my brothers for lunch, but the meeting with Jenson seemed more important, and that feeling grows with his discomfort that borders on desperation.
“I get all that. But can you tell me how it went missing?” I pause, giving him time to answer, but it’s there in his eyes. He doesn’t know.
The waiter comes and I order the house salad and croque madame. Jenson the house salad only, which tells me a whole story.
“So, you don’t know, and no one reported it.”
“Things aren’t that easy, Kingston.”
I nod and smile. “Things never are.” I pause again. “Just one thing; just how much of this is my mother’s interference?”
I get home later than I’d have liked. There’s work waiting for me. I’ve three messages affirming that, but I walked home, across the park because the bite in the air helps clear my head.
Jenson never answered me, which told me even more.
I don’t think the tiara is meant to be missing. At least not like it is. Perhaps I’m meant to be on some wild goose chase, but if so, I can’t see to what ends.
I absolutely know my mother is up to her elegant neck in whatever the fuck is going on. His not answering answered that.
And Sadie’s involvement? It might have my mother’s prints on it, or perhaps not. That’s the thing. Yes, mother had the word Raven written down, but that’s exactly the direction she would turn to if the police weren’t to be involved.
I honestly don’t know what that means. Only that perhaps my father stipulated that.
I don’t have answers. I don’t have anything, and I’m not sure I want them.
What I do want is the tiara and the money it’s worth. And I want to keep the family business private. Yes, for me, but mainly for my brothers. I get something out of it, but they get more, in terms of sentimentality and the fact it belongs to us.
I’ll get the tiara in time. Have it valued and Sadie sell it. And then I’ll get to the bottom of this mess.
Something isn’t right when I let myself into my home. The lights come on as I step in, just like I’ve set them. But it doesn’t feel empty. My cleaning service isn’t due for another few days and the air doesn’t hang with that sparkle fresh scent from scrubbing things that don’t need to be scrubbed.
I stand still in the wide hall and set down my coat and keys. Hesitating, I glance at the phone in my hand and then set it down, too.
No, it doesn’t feel empty. Or just vacated. Someone is here.
And I know exactly how she tastes.
“When I said I’ll see you tonight, Sadie,” I call out as I go into the library and fix myself a drink, taking a seat on one of the leather sofas, the reading lamp casting a soft warm glow and fuzzing the edges of shadows. I take a sip of the Scotch—I like quality single malt when I read—and set it down on the book I’ve been reading when I have the time. Honestly, it feels forever. “When I said that, I envisaged you on the other side of the door. Or down in the foyer, asking to be buzzed up by the doorman.”
“Where’s the fun in that?” She comes in, barefooted like this is her home and something strikes me deep at that thought, of what it means and how she seems to fit almost perfectly.
I say almost because I don’t like her.
If I cling to that lie, all will be safe and fine.
“Manners aren’t meant to be fun.”
She makes a scoffing sound and comes to sit next to me, leaning over to steal my drink.
“That is disgusting.”
“That,” I say, easing the glass from her fingers, trying to ignore that lingering buzz from where her breasts brushed me fleetingly, “is Laiphroaig Lore. Single malt? You need to develop good taste, Sadie.”
“Yes, I do. Especially since I’m here.”
“Why are you here?”
“I didn’t learn anything new today,” she says, stretching and sitting back, shifting so she’s got a little distance between us. Like that will keep her safe. “And you commanded it. I’m on your dime, Kingston.”
I take her in, her cheeks still a little bright from the cold, the tip of her nose a charming pink. “Not been here long, then?”
“Arrived about five minutes before you.”
“We’re an interesting pair, aren’t we?” These words come of their own accord, because we’re a puzzle I can’t quit. “You annoy me. I annoy you.”
“I don’t respect you and your kind,” she says.
“Right back at you there, Sadie. You’re a criminal.”
“Now you’re being boring and repeating yourself. Ex criminal.”
I sip my drink, aware her mouth was right where mine was. There’s a smudge from lip balm that tastes faintly of honey.
And of her.
“And yet,” I continue, gazing at her, taking in the slight tenseness that comes to her, the dilation of her pupils when she looks at me as she waits. “I don’t think I’ve wanted someone more.”
“That me?”
“Just like you want me.”
She opens her mouth and the air thickens, but she closes it again and I can almost see her run.
“Neither of us are inclined to do anything about it,” I say.
She narrows her eyes. “That would be stupid.”
“Agreed.”
If I closed the gap right now, I could have her. We both know it. That knowledge pulses in the air like a living thing. I want her. I can’t deny that. I’ve been fighting it since I first saw her. And maybe dislike is wrong. Maybe it’s to do with trust. I don’t trust her.
But that doesn’t bother me, either.
Because I don’t hand out trust. Not often and not easily.
No, it’s something else I can’t quite define, something that goes down to the core of me.
So, I don’t do anything.
Sadie unwinds herself from the sofa and goes to the bar area and she grabs the reposado tequila and pours a healthy shot. Then she turns to me.
“Kingston?” she asks, voice quiet, “ever think about looking into your mother?”