24. Phoenix
Phoenix
T he jet just reached altitude and we’re cruising across the sky.
“This is living large, King Konig,” Michaela says, bouncing in her seat as if she’s testing the springs.
“You approve?” It’s a struggle to contain my amusement. She’s like a kid on the morning of her birthday.
“Most definitely,” she says. “The smell of leather is unmistakable. White. Nice touch. I appreciate how buttery soft these are.” She caresses the chair’s armrest. “Way better than vinyl or that horrible fabric they have on some commercial flights—so unhygienic. On top of that, we don’t have to worry about airborne germs like we would if we were flying coach.
Even if we were sitting in first-class, we’d still be breathing the same recycled air.
Not here. It’s just us and the small crew. ”
“It’s one of the many perks of owning your own private jet.”
“That, and the legroom.” She extends her short legs and wiggles them in the air.
My gaze travels from her painted toes trapped in strappy heels, runs up her legs, pausing at the hem of her dress before my eyes scrape back up to her face.
“You can recline the seats fully,” I say. “There’s no space restriction.”
Her eyes snap up at mine.
“There’s a footrest. It’s perfect for catching some shuteye during long trips.” I point to the armrest.
She takes me up on my offer. “Do we get blankets?”
“And pillows and sleep masks.”
“I love your life.”
“You mean you love our life.”
She blushes. “Yes, for as long as it lasts, I freaking love our life.”
I can’t help my smile.
The flight attendant approaches us with a tray.
“Congratulations again, Mr. and Mrs. Konig,” she says.
Michaela grabs a flute of champagne. “Thank you.”
I grab the other. “Thank you.”
“It’s my pleasure,” the flight attendant says. “I’ll leave the appetizers on the table. Let me know when you’re ready for dinner.”
With a smile, she turns on her heel.
I lift my glass. “Here’s to Paris!”
“I second that,” Michaela says.
“And here’s to my father-in-law and his unbendable demands,” I say.
Something unreadable veils Michaela’s eyes.
“What is it, hellion?” I brace myself.
“I won at the lottery.” Her eyes well up. “You’re a good man, Phoenix Konig.” She blinks the tears back, but one rolls down her cheek. She wipes it away with the back of her hand.
I reach out and squeeze her knee for comfort.
For a few long breaths, we stare at each other.
No words are needed.
After this morning’s meeting, Michaela was pretty shaken up by my revelations. She’s grateful she’s not indebted to an evil psychopathic asshole without a conscience. Her father would’ve laid his life on the line to make sure she didn’t end up as Ripley Madigan’s property.
My need to protect her is stronger now than it was when I gave Niels my word.
I fight for what’s mine.
“Five glorious days in Paris,” Michaela says, breaking the silence.
I lean in. “I wish we could stay longer, but there’s too much going on in LA, and you know this is kind of last-minute.”
“I haven’t been to Paris in so long, you won’t hear me complain.”
I want to ask her when she last visited the French capital, but I refrain. This is the kind of information people in love know. The flight attendant, captain and the first officer signed nondisclosure agreements, but why chance it?
There’s still so much to discover about you, Mrs. Konig.
“Other than the gala, what else is on the agenda?” She bounces in her seat.
“I have to pop into our three Pompadour hotels to take in the lay of the land and meet with upper management. It was on Dad’s agenda, and now I shoulder the responsibility. It’s going to be grueling, but I don’t have much of a choice.”
“Oh, okay,” she says. “It sounds like I’m going to spend most of my days alone.”
I sense her disappointment.
“Paris is a beautiful city. Since you haven’t been in a while, there’s a lot to see and do—so many amazing restaurants to discover. Feel free to give my Black American Express card a good workout.”
“I guess.” She shrugs.
“Let me get this straight,” I say. “You were less than eager to take on my last name––which most women would trip all over themselves to agree to––and now I suggest shopping, upscale restaurants and sightseeing in Paris and you’re lukewarm at the perspective. You’re an enigma.”
“Don’t get me wrong, all those things sound appealing, but it’s a reminder I don’t have anything to challenge me,” she says. “A life of daily shopping, spas, and lunch dates at LA’s hot new eatery—or at the Pompadour—will become boring real fast.”
I chuckle.
“What’s so funny?”
“After our lunch last week on the yacht, I knew expecting you to wait for me at the penthouse like a good little wife at the end of a demanding day with my slippers, a cigar, and a tumbler of fine scotch was fooling myself?—”
“This isn’t the fifties, dear husband.”
“I’m yanking your chain, kitty cat.” I wink. “All that to say, I made an executive decision about you.”
She cocks an eyebrow. “What kind of executive decision?”
I reach to the seat across from me and grab my Louis Vuitton briefcase. I rummage through it and pull out a stack of business cards.
I hand them to her.
Her gaze bounces from the cards she’s holding to my eyes.
“Michaela Konig, Art Director and Principal Art Buyer, Konig Imperial Holding.” She reads out loud.
She blinks at me.
“Congratulations on your new appointment,” I say. “I hear your new boss is a pleasure to work for.”
She narrows her gaze. “Let me guess. You’re my new boss?”
My lips break into a triumphant grin. “In the flesh.”
“You’ve got to be kidding me.”
“You said you’re not one to sit idle. You worked for one of New York’s top art buyers in your attempt to distance yourself from Thana––”
“I was his assistant. You promoted me to director. That’s a huge leap.”
“You can handle it,” I say. “It’s the same thing you were doing in New York, but now you represent one client and you call all the shots. You’ll even have an executive assistant.”
“I hope I’m not taking someone else’s position?”
“Actually, you are.”
Her face drops.
“Please, tell me you didn’t demote or fire someone on my account. I couldn’t live with myself if you did that.”
I love her altruistic nature.
I reach out for her cheek and caress it. “I’m not that kind of asshole boss, kitty cat.”
“Thank God. I couldn’t stay married to you if you were.”
“The woman who held the position before you was expecting another child. She left a little over a month ago. She now has four boys under the age of eleven, and she wanted to be a stay-at-home mom to raise her family. We were supposed to fill the position before her departure to ensure a smooth transition, but with Dad’s heart attack and recovery, Roman’s surfing accident, and my extra responsibilities, it slipped to the bottom of the list of priorities.
Additionally, after meeting with your dad for the first time a month ago, I told the director who was responsible for finding a replacement to put the hiring on ice.
From your profile, I knew you’d be the perfect candidate. ”
She shakes her head. “Anything is possible in your world.”
“Pretty much,” I say. “If you accept the position, you can get started when we land in Paris?—”
“What?”
“While I’m in meetings, you can visit the galleries for inspiration, that way you can hit the ground running when we get back to LA.
We’re in the middle of a renovation of a new Pompadour luxury residency-slash-hotel in Santa Monica that will require a lot of new art—paintings, sculptures, pricey vases, you name it.
You can work with the decorator to make it happen. ”
“Just like that?”
“Just like that.” I nod. “Take it or leave it, Mrs. Konig?”
She considers me for a beat.
“It looks like you’re my new husband and my new boss.”
I grab her hand and interlace our fingers together, boring my eyes into hers.
“Fair warning, I’m as much of a demanding boss as I am a husband.
” I arch a brow. “You’ll be evaluated nightly on your daily performance to determine if you deserve my tongue, fingers, or cock.
On days you impress me, you’ll get all three.
If you blow my mind, you’ll get a good spanking before I allow you to ride my cock. ”
Her cheeks bloom into a bright shade of pink.
“Now, let’s talk about my other expectations.”
Over the next hour, I brief her on our hotels.
She listens intently. I keep it specific to the Pompadour brand so as not to overwhelm her.
Her position is nothing she hasn’t done before, and I’m certain she’ll ace it.
We end our meeting as dinner arrives. The food is excellent, as always––another perk of having your own jet.
The meal ends with more champagne and a remarkable array of scrumptious French desserts.
“The champagne is going straight to my head,” Michaela says. “I blame the altitude for feeling this light-headed. I didn’t drink that much, did I?”
“This is our second bottle.”
She giggles. “That explains it.” She drops her glass on the table.
I follow her lead.
Her eyes roam the space before meeting mine. “I can’t believe you have a bedroom at the back of this plane.”
“These seats are comfortable to sleep in, but the bed comes in handy.”
“I see.” Her eyes roam again. “I guess if you were to join the Mile High Club you wouldn’t get into hot water or legal trouble since you own the plane.”
That gets my attention. “What are you suggesting?”
She shrugs. “Nothing.”
“Do you want an introduction to the club, kitten?”
“I was making conversation,” she says in a dismissive tone.
I study her.
She kicked off her high heels a long time ago.
She traded the long maxi dress she was wearing this morning for a short flirty one.
I’m quite partial to this one.
She rubs her bare legs together and bites against her lower lip.
If that isn’t an invitation, I don’t know what is.
“Have you ever…”
The sexual tension crackles between us.
I bring my lips to her ear. “Have I ever fucked a woman on this plane?”