1. Michaela #2
“I want to know why Phoenix Konig and my stepmother concocted this little scheme. What’s in it for him?”
With a careful step and balancing on her cane, Keira comes to stand in front of me. The top of her blonde head reaches below my chin. Barefoot, I’m an inch shorter than her, but since she’s wearing flip-flops and I’m wearing high heels, I tour over her.
“You called and made an appointment with the tycoon? He had time in his busy calendar to fit you in at the last minute?” Her tone is laced with skepticism.
“I tried, but his guard dog—whoever is manning the switchboard is giving me the runaround. Even though I kept giving the person my name, she refused to believe me. I have a sneaky suspicion she thinks I’m a whack job.”
“If your text and social media messages exploded, I can imagine how it must be for someone like Phoenix Konig,” Keira says.
At least she stopped calling him my husband-to-be.
I roll my eyes. “Puh-lease. This is part of a well-oiled publicity machine. Phoenix Konig must be enjoying every minute of this.”
It’s official.
The fake news of my pending wedding has gone viral.
Lucky me. Not.
It’s a little freaky how fast fake news can travel. My phone was lighting up like the giant Rockefeller Center Christmas tree. I let it all go to voicemail. Until I have answers, I’m ignoring everyone. Too bad for me, the two people I’m dying to hear from haven’t called me back.
“Innocent until proven guilty, remember?” Keira says. “It’s the legal principle our great country was founded upon.”
“Yeah, well, I’m about to administer my own legal principle.”
“What do you have up your sleeve, Miss Knight?”
I adopt her formal tone. “I’m glad you asked, Miss Weatherly. I pinned down King Konig’s HQ.”
“Oh, this sounds James Bondish.” Keira’s eyes sparkle with excitement.
“Trust me, it feels like a covert operation. All that to say, I know where to find him. Now, I’m going to pay the king a little visit.”
Keira shrieks. “You’re going to drop in unannounced?”
“I am.”
She squints at me. “Is that a good idea, Mikki?”
“What other choice do I have?” I shrug. “Sure, I could open a bottle of wine at nine o’clock in the morning and get drunk, but that won’t do much to help me understand how I got entangled with this stranger.”
“What if he can’t meet with you?”
“If he’s in connivance with my stepmother and willing to spread lies, he’ll make time to meet with me,” I say, lifting my chin up.
“You should wait it out,” she says. “I’m sure you’ll be able to get through to your stepmother at some point.”
“She’s barely interested in talking to me when she’s in a chipper mood , unless it’s to shove a ‘suitable life mate’ down my throat,” I say with quotation marks.
“Given the drama in New York, I doubt she’ll want to talk to me.
It’s not like Daddy knows anything about this farce.
I want answers and I want them now. If not from her, then from this King Kong Tycoon. ”
Keira laughs.
While my cabbie weaves his way through traffic, I research as much as I can on King Kong Tycoon. It wouldn’t be wise to walk into battle without an ounce of preparation.
Keira was right.
My never-to-be-husband is a serious tycoon.
Given my family is also in the hotel industry, you’d think I would’ve heard of Phoenix Konig before. I’m sure his name came up in conversation, but there was no point in bogging my head with facts about a man I was unlikely to ever meet.
The Konigs play in a whole different league from us.
It’s like comparing a goldfish to a blue whale.
Phoenix’s family owns a plethora of commercial real estate and luxury residential complex buildings across the country, on top of owning the biggest flagship of luxury hotels in California, the second most prominent hoteliers in the nation.
They also own many luxury hotels around the world.
King Kong Tycoon’s dad, Soren, is the CEO, but he runs the corporation along with his four sons—Phoenix, the oldest. Slate, the middle child.
Wilder, the other middle child. Roman, the youngest.
I was dead set on finding as much dirt as I could on Phoenix, but I got sidetracked by the numerous articles about the patriarch’s recent heart attack.
As I was reading about the heart-wrenching ordeal, I tried, but failed to push aside traumatic memories of Daddy’s close call three years ago.
I don’t think I could’ve survived losing a second parent.
A taxi ride later and I arrive at my destination.
I pay the cabbie and get out of the car.
Even if I’m wearing shades, I shield my eyes from the blinding sun as I crane my neck upwards to take in the grandeur of the Pompadour Hotel & Residences.
Impressive skyscrapers rise above me. They’re not nearly as tall as the average building in New York, but they still touch the sky.
The Pompadour is an uber modern luxury complex composed of three sleek glass towers.
It isn’t only a pied-à-terre to the extremely rich and wealthy, it’s also where the beast presides over his empire.
Let’s see what you have to say King Kong Tycoon.
I stride across an ocean of asphalt to the Beverly Hills premier HQ, each step of my Christian Louboutin shoes stomping with the determination of a take-no-prisoner warrior.
Good God, it’s hot.
I pinch the front of my dress with two fingers and fan myself, hoping to avoid walking into my meeting with the beast looking like a hot mess. Unsightly underarm sweat stains would make for a poor first impression.
It’s like a freaking sauna.
I’m no stranger to New York’s 90/90 summers—ninety-degree and ninety-percent-humidity—but LA is much hotter. I swear it feels like it’s two hundred degrees. I can’t fathom what it will be like by midday.
As I trek to the entrance, I take note of the hustle and bustle—the revolving door of new faces. That’s one of the constants about life as a hotelier.
Everything about these buildings screams corporation.
It’s the antithesis of the Villiers Grand Hotel.
Our family boutique hotel in New York brims with rich history and welcoming old-world charm.
Even from the outside, the Pompadour seems a little too sleek, cold, and impersonal.
I doubt it will be any different once I pass the threshold.
Pompadour. Hmph. Pretty pompous, if you ask me.
When I enter the hotel, the cool air hits me like a speeding freight train.
Thank you, God.
I pause long enough to scan my surroundings. My eyes bounce to every corner. A swarm of newly arrived guests take residence in the opulent lobby, and the hotel staff is busy attending to them.
How do I get to you, King Kong Tycoon?
I either have to ask a concierge for help or figure it out myself.
The scale of this hotel is far more eye-popping than the Villiers Grand, but I’m willing to bet everything to my name, there’s a dedicated set of elevators leading to the executive floor.
As I debate, a group of four men talking, coffee cups in hand, pass right by me.
My ears catch a snippet of their conversation.
“Yeah, we should be locking down the purchase on three old office buildings we’ll convert into high-end hotels-slash-residencies in Dallas by end of day,” a man wearing a purple shirt, black pants, and tortoiseshell glasses says.
“We should secure two soaring towers in Cleveland by end of the week,” a tall blond wearing a flower print shirt says.
With the agility of a spy, I trail behind the foursome, balancing on my four-inch heels, as they lead me to the Promised Land.
Operation King Kong Tycoon commences.
I step into the elevator right before the doors close.
“Good morning,” I say with a bright smile.
Four pair of eyes rake up and down the length of my body.
“Good morning,” they say, practically all at once.
The lack of subtlety in their tone is as heavy as a brick. I’m surprised they didn’t punctuate with, And how you doin’? a la Joey from Friends .
I’m not one to play damsel in distress, but it’s the only card I have right now in my deck.
“I’m here to see Mr. Phoenix Konig. Silly me, I forgot which floor he’s on.”
“He’s expecting you?” The tinge of suspicion in the guy’s voice wearing a purple shirt doesn’t go unnoticed.
Think.
Think.
Think.
“I’m here about…” Dammit. Think faster. “A family run boutique hotel on Park Place,” I say. I cock my head to the side and knit my eyebrows together for effect. “It’s one of those hush-hush deals Mr. Konig wants to snag before anyone else.”
Giving them the name of our family hotel would be like sounding the alarm. I want to catch Phoenix Konig with his bespoke pants down.
“Oh, yeah.” The tall floral shirt guy nods. “Great address.”
He fell for it?
This covert operation is turning me into a real spy—one who thinks on her feet.
Smart of me to have used Monopoly as my get out of jail card. Along with being the least landed-on spots in the game, Park Place is also the name of a park that’s long gone. I researched this useless piece of information one day for no good reason. I can’t believe it’s my lifeline.
Board game to the rescue.
It’s with herculean effort I don’t roll my eyes hard. “Isn’t it?”
The men nod.
“All five Mr. Konigs are on the top floor,” purple shirt guy says. “I guess I should say, all four Konigs since Roman is still bedridden on the other side of the planet after the freaky accident.” He presses the button before sliding a key card into a slot.
I read about that. Thank God he’s still alive.
I smile. “Thank you.”
“No problem.” He winks. “Take a right when you get off the elevators. Lydia Gillanders is Phoenix Konig’s executive assistant. She’ll take good care of you.”
“Got it. Thanks again.” I smile wide.
I didn’t expect things to go this smoothly. This must be my lucky day.
I lean against the wall, eyes cast to my designer heels, pretending I’m unaware the men are eating me up with their eyes.
The ride to the top floor of this fourteen-story hotel is super short. These elevators seem to be powered by jet fuel. Nothing compared to the slower speed of our elevators at the Villiers Grand.
The foursome gets off on the twelfth floor, taking with them the awkward tension that was lingering over my head. I’m thankful they didn’t drill me with questions about my fictitious hotel.
A nanosecond later, I reach the top floor. When the elevator doors open, I step out. Thank God there aren’t any CIA-type security codes required. It would be a shame to get busted this early in the game.
I lean forward as I take in the lay of the land. I peek to my left, then my right.
So far, so good.
Only a set of glass doors separates me from my target—that and the gatekeeper.
You’re close, girl.
I summon my lady balls and take a confident step forward. I stride down the hallway, praying all the angels in Heaven to watch over me.
Here goes nothing.
I pull open the glass door and step inside King Kong Tycoon’s sovereign world.
No one.
The desk is empty.
I catch the name on a plate on the desk. Lydia Gillanders .
I’m at the right place.
My heart beats a little faster.
I want answers.
I get on my toes to peek at the computer screen. It’s as black as night.
Is Lydia on a break?
My eyes move to the heavy-looking wood door behind the desk where I’m certain my target is hiding.
What to do? What to do?
My inner wisdom speaks out. “Patience, Mikki.”
As I pace the space, waiting for someone to show up, I run the possible scenarios of how things are about to go down in my head, and choose to eliminate the one where I get escorted out of the building by the police like a common criminal.
I got this.
Well, I hope I do.
We’ll soon find out.
Another minute goes by.
Then another.
And another.
And another.
Dammit.
Where is Lydia?
I’m about to run out of patience, when the wooden door behind her desk opens.
It’s about time.
A tall man emerges.
“I want answers and I want them today, Slate,” a deep, commanding voice from inside the office says.
“I’m on it, Phoenix,” the man standing at the door says.
King Kong Tycoon is in his office.
I was worried my timing might’ve been off. After all, Phoenix could’ve been trapped in an endless meeting or worse, absent from the office.
The man I now know as Slate senses my presence and shifts his attention to me. His arresting, piercing eyes meet mine. They’re the clearest arctic blue eyes I’ve ever seen.
Wow.
The man is stunning.
His stylish dark-brown hair, his pristine, perfectly cut dark-gray suit, and his gorgeous shoes, scream power.
He’s far more handsome than I remember from the photos I perused through on the way here. Then again, my focus wasn’t on the Konig men’s hotness meter, but rather, their profiles.
I should’ve paid more attention.
When I meet his eyes again, I snap back to the moment.
This isn’t the time to get sidetracked by good looks. You’re on a mission.
I offer the man still checking me out a coquettish smile.
He responds by flashing me a flirtatious, wide grin.
He gives me a quick onceover and cocks an eyebrow, nodding.
I wink.
The megawattage of his smile grows to blinding levels.
Men are so easy.
I take this as my omen.
I don’t think twice.
I charge forward like a linebacker running with the ball towards the end zone. The man stares at me, stunned, as I zoom right past him.
“What the fuck?”
I ignore him.
I’m in.