4. Phoenix
Phoenix
M ichaela’s expensive floral scent still lingers in the air, which explains why my concentration is fucked.
Instead of attending to pressing matters and carrying out my role as the COO and acting CEO of an international hotel and real estate empire, I’m sitting behind my desk, flipping her driver’s license between my fingers, grinning like a fool.
Her departure was so abrupt, I nearly missed her phenomenal ass.
Glad I didn’t. Like the rest of her, that juicy ass—I’m already in love with—was something else.
That woman’s body is built for sin, and the caveman in me wanted nothing more than to fucking devour every inch of her.
Damn her for reminding me my right fist has been my best friend lately.
God knows I’d enjoy having all that fire beneath me.
“I pray to God I never see your face again, Phoenix Konig.”
I don’t need to picture the rage on her face as she stormed out of here.
I wonder if little flames were shooting from her nostrils.
I can’t wait for her to eat her words when she has to crawl back here with her tail between her legs.
She was in such a hurry to jump right back on her broom, she forgot something she’ll need.
Frankly, I was so taken aback by her outburst, I wasn’t thinking straight. Her ID was the last thing on my mind.
The little witch will be back.
I got ninety-nine problems… and she became one more.
And, holy fuck, what a hot-as-sin problem she is.
Her vitriolic fury was the most pleasant part of my morning.
She’s a study in contrast I’d love to unravel.
I haven’t been this entertained in a long time. She’s like a new toy to amuse me for a short time.
After Michaela Knight delivered her middle finger salute, my day took a nosedive.
The temp replacing my executive assistant, who had to turn around the minute she walked in because her three-year-old son was having an epic meltdown in daycare, couldn’t keep up.
I don’t blame her. Heck, I couldn’t keep up.
Never mind the endless calls, avalanche of emails and text messages, numerous requests from the press for a quote, and incessant congratulations from the staff, I had to face nine irate members of the board of directors.
That meeting went just about as well as the one I had with Michaela, minus the sexbomb factor.
I’m still ruminating over the gorgeous rebel with the beautiful green eyes when a succession of three small knocks at my open door brings me back to the moment.
I glance up. “Come in and close the door behind you.”
He complies before striding towards my desk. He unbuttons his suit jacket and takes a seat in one of the guest chairs.
“I’m glad I’m not in your shoes, big brother,” he says, crossing a leg over the other.
“Thank you for the sympathy, little brother.” I adopt his mocking tone.
“No, seriously. You’re up to your eyeballs in shit and you now have another problem on your hands.”
“Don’t I know it.”
“From the looks of it, you and Michaela Knight are heading to the divorce court before even going to the chapel.”
“Keep your fucking voice down.”
“Relax. One, the door is closed. Two, the board bought your story. Three, your executive assistant wasn’t in when your wife-to-be barged in here, so Lydia can’t contradict your story.
Four, the temp arrived too late to witness the Konig vs.
Knight boxing match of the year. In essence, I’m the only one who knows about your explosive first encounter with your soon-to-be-wife.
It’s our little secret.” He gestures between us.
“Shut up, you idiot.”
“Is that any way to talk to your ally in crime?”
I shoot him a warning glare.
He lifts his hands up in surrender. “Okay, okay. But in my opinion, you’re worrying for nothing.”
“I disagree,” I say. “It pays to be cautious. The walls might have ears.”
“You’re in the clear, Phoenix.”
He’s over simplifying things, but then again, Slate always does.
“For now, I am,” I say. “Niels Knight jumped the gun. We agreed neither of us would breathe a word of the more delicate details of the contract until he spoke to his daughter. She was supposed to agree to this merger-marriage before it was made public.”
“Niels is desperate to save his first wife’s hotel from the claws of his crooked second wife.” Slate sums it up perfectly.
My brother is abreast of my dealings surrounding the Villiers Grand Hotel. I made sure to brief him on my verbal sparring with Michaela right before we walked into the emergency meeting the board called.
“I know what’s at stake here,” I say. “Granted, his wife is a conniving two-faced bitch, but a heads up would’ve been appreciated.”
“After your eloquent explanation, the board of directors bought the ‘it was love at first sight’ fairytale between you and Michaela. At least now they’ll back off and stop scolding you for the media circus,” Slate says.
Our board of directors is composed of nine men and women who have little faith in my abilities to run this company.
I had to bite my tongue to remain silent during the meeting while they grilled me.
Once they were done lecturing me—and busting my balls—I was able to plead my case.
Sure, I occasionally land on the front page of the celebrity pages and it’s too often linked to a woman, but I wash my hands of this morning’s media fiasco.
Still, I had to think on my feet because I was flying blind.
Convincing a board of directors composed of logicians who only care about the bottom line that a certified playboy like myself would fall madly in love with a woman at first sight and I’d want to marry her as soon as humanly possible because I can’t imagine living one more minute without her by my side, wasn’t easy.
In business and life, I move at warp speed, which means it was no surprise I’d ‘fall in love’ in a New York minute.
I might not have an Ivy League college degree or an MBA––by choice––but my keen ability to smell a fucking amazing deal a mile away and before our rivals, has earned me the respect of most of the board members.
They can’t bitch when I’m lining their pockets with money.
That’s why I didn’t hesitate when Michaela’s father approached me a month and a half ago.
He was dealing with an unbelievable situation.
His terms were outrageous. And time wasn’t playing in my favor.
The coveted address of his Manhattan hotel made it impossible for me to walk away from the deal.
It pays to be on the list of the Top 10 Richest Hotel Moguls in the country.
“Before the board becomes too suspicious and starts poking holes in my fake-whirlwind-romance to my soulmate, I have to get my fake-fiancée on board, and right now Michaela Knight wants nothing to do with me.”
“You’ll have to woo her,” Slate says.
Thank you for your wisdom, dating coach. “Like you fucking know what that means.”
“I don’t,” he says, “but then again, I’m not the one campaigning for the position of CEO. You are, and you need her.”
I rake my hand through my hair. “I hate being in this position.”
“It’s for the greater good.” It’s Slate’s favorite go-to line since I told my father and brothers about my meeting with Niels Knight. “Back to you charming Michaela––”
“If I can get her to stop spitting fire at me like a goddamn infuriated dragon for longer than a second.”
We both laugh.
“She’s in LA,” Slate picks up where he left off. “Find out where she’s staying. Upgrade her accommodation to one of our luxury addresses. Take her out. Wine and dine her. Charm the hell out of her. Then lock that shit down, big brother.”
“I don’t have a lot of time to make our pretend union believable.
Unfortunately for me, Michaela Knight is worse than a prickly porcupine.
I can’t imagine her warming up to me.” I reckon wrestling a famished alligator might be easier than convincing Michaela to marry me after this morning’s confrontation.
“There’s a lot at stake here. We can’t lose our footing in this company. ”
“I agree,” Slate says. “Dad is a hundred percent behind you. You have my vote. Wilder thinks you walk on water. Although physically incapacitated and stuck in a bed, Roman believes you’ll kick ass. We all want you to have the position of CEO as much as you do.”
“Replacing Dad is my ultimate goal. Niels threw a curve ball that could’ve derailed?—”
“But it didn’t. It’s a minor shake up.”
“It’s a big fucking one.”
“Nothing you can’t handle.”
I slam my hand against my desk. “It pisses me off I even have to jump through hoops like a circus seal to convince those tight ass stodgy old farts of my worth.”
Until three months ago, my father, Soren Konig, was CEO of Konig Imperial Holdings, which includes the King Regency and the Pompadour 5-star hotels and luxury residencies.
His recent heart attack changed everything.
Thank God he’s alive, but he can no longer keep the same hectic pace he thrives on.
The onus is on me to preserve our legacy.
It wasn’t supposed to be this way. My older brother was the one groomed to replace Dad.
Since my great-grandfather started the company, a Konig has always sat at the helm.
Even though he’s in convalescence, Dad has a seat on the board.
So do I. Slate, Wilder, and Roman also have a seat each.
Thanks to our great-grandfather, who lost the controlling percentage to the public, the Konigs are now in the minority—five against nine.
The board never misses a chance to remind us.
They always liked my father and my older brother.
They never warmed up to Slate, Wilder, or me.
Since they consider Roman, the wild child who lands on the front of the celebrity pages a bit too often for their liking, they don’t even bother to pretend to tolerate him.
They might not say it, but it washes off them—having one less Konig to deal with at board meetings for the time being is a relief.
Some days, it’s like they expect us to kowtow to them before agreeing to some of our ideas.
Assholes. To this day, they have the audacity to question our real intentions in working in the family business.
They see us as four spoiled princes about to inherit the kingdom—with me being the most entitled one.
Like it or not, I’m stuck with them.
I have no other choice but to alter the board’s perception and convince them I’m no longer a bed-hopper and—even though I’ll never be Barron—I’m the only suitable contender.
Niels Knight’s desperation became my golden ticket when he barreled into my office unannounced, unwilling to budge until I granted him a meeting. Ironic… like father, like daughter.
In a pinch, he needed a little over two hundred million dollars—an astronomical sum for most. Pocket change for me. I was in a different kind of pinch. I needed an image makeover, stat. One look at Michaela’s photo and I accepted Niels’s merger-marriage request on the spot.
“Michaela stormed in here without knowing what her father was up to.” Slate’s comment breaks me from my rumination. “I’m willing to bet my fortune, she knows by now.”
“I hope so. I have no doubt Niels had his reasons for keeping this from her for this long, but now that the cat is out of the bag, he’s forced to fess up. None of the women I date?—”
“You mean, fuck.”
“Thank you, choirboy.”
He grins.
Asshole.
He’s as much of a manwhore as I am. All four of us are. There’s a reason the press dubs us, the filthy rich playboy kings.
“Like I was saying, none of my flighty one-night fucks would be able to step into the role of Mrs. Konig and dupe the board. Michaela Knight has the perfect pedigree—she’s intelligent, elegant, poised, passionate, and incredibly beautiful.
Another feather in her cap, she’s used to the media’s scrutiny. ”
She’d fit into my world—into my wicked plan—like the queen she is.
“You have to find a way to lasso that filly—I mean, win over your runaway fiancée and put a ring on it,” my brother says.
“You make it sound so easy.”
“A little Konig charm and she’ll be putty in your hands,” Slate says.
“It’s going to take a lot more than a little charm.”
“Then turn the volume way up.”
“That woman needs a Master to taper the hellion in her. The flare of rebellion in her green eyes as she flipped me the bird suggests you don’t tame a woman like Michaela Knight. You fucking dominate her.”
My brother nods as a familiar cocky smile stretches his lips. “Good thing you hold a PhD in the subject.”
I can’t help my wicked grin.