The Heir (The King Dynasty #1)

Prologue

Month Four Of Meetings

" W here are you, Isobel?" I mutter as I anxiously pace my office on the forty-sixth floor of the King Dynasty building, glancing at my watch in irritation seeing my partner on this restaurant build is five minutes late. And tardiness is not like her. She's always early, no matter what.

Looking at my phone, I re-read her text message that was sent early this morning around six o'clock.

Good morning King. I apologize for texting you so early, but is it okay if we reschedule our meeting today? -Isobel

I hadn't responded, hoping that by not hearing from me she'd still show up. But now I'm burning a hole in my floor, anticipating a knock on the door announcing her presence. I alternate glancing out the window at the city below me- as if I could make her magically appear on the sidewalk- and staring at my office door, willing her to walk through it in a cloud of her French perfume.

After five more minutes I give up and turn to head to my desk, sitting in the leather chair with a rueful sigh.

Just when I take out my phone to reply, the knock I'd been praying for sounds out, and I breathe another sigh, this time with relief that she didn't stand me up after all.

"Come in," I call out, putting my attention to the papers on my desk and moving them around in another rare fit of anxiousness and strive for perfection when it comes to this woman.

Isobel, the beautiful interior designer I'd been meeting monthly with for the past four months has managed to dig down deep into my soul and is busy changing my chemical makeup. Altering what makes me, me.

Because I am not this anxious, damn near borderline neurotic person I've been acting like lately.

The door opens slowly.

My chest tightens as I catch a flash of the dark green fabric of her dress as she moves past the threshold, her heels clicking on the marble of my office floor. I look up from my desk and frown, my eyes freezing on her face then dragging down her body in a thorough assessment. I feel my face harden.

Though she's dressed to the nines, she's obviously under the weather.

Isobel's walking slow. My eyes snap back to her face seeing her complexion is ashen, making her freckles stand out more than normal. Her expression is weary, and her mascara is slightly smudged like she's been rubbing her eyes. The only thing vibrant about her at the moment is her beautiful, copper-colored hair.

My heartbeat picks up pace, and I clench my fists trying to get a grip over the worry that displaces the anxiety.

Worry… another emotion I'm not familiar with.

"Hey, King," she greets me in an unfamiliar soft, weak voice.

Alarmed, I stand up, rounding my desk to get to her. "Isobel, what's wrong? You don't look well," I say, closing the door behind her and then putting my hand lightly on her elbow, welcoming that familiar spark of electricity between us.

"I don't feel very well," she answers, not elaborating.

My eyes narrow. "What's that mean? What hurts?"

"My stomach," she sighs. "I've barely been able to hold anything down for two days now."

My brow furrows as the worry etches deeper. "Come on, let's get you sat down and comfortable." Concern fills me, and I tuck her under my arm uncaring of her stiffening against me, or how inappropriate she might consider this to be.

Guiding her to the seat across from my desk, I pull out the chair and wait until she settles. She sits there for a second on a heavy sigh, and seeing she's not moving, I reach forward and gently slip her purse off her shoulder and place it in the chair next to her. Rounding my desk to the drinks cabinet, I pull out a can of ginger ale and a crystal glass.

I don't even bother asking if she needs ice, and pour a small amount so she doesn't feel the need to drink it all out of being polite, because that seems like something she'd do.

"What are you doing?" she asks.

"Making you a ginger ale. It's good for your stomach."

"I don't-"

"Isobel," I say sternly, turning back to her and handing her the drink. "Not today. You don't have to do this today." I purposefully soften my tone as she bows her head slightly, but she thankfully stays quiet. I don't elaborate, because she knows I'm referring to that fucking attitude she's gifted me with at every meeting we've had so far. "Just take the drink and start sipping. Slowly though. You look dehydrated, and you need to get something on your stomach at the very least."

"I'm sorry, King," Isobel says, looking up at me through her lashes. "I thought I might be able to have the meeting… but when I woke up this morning I still felt awful. I reached out to you but didn't hear anything back, so I drug myself out of bed to come here anyway because I didn't want to be unprofessional and," she pauses to take a deep, tired breath. "I don't know that I'll be able to do this meeting today. I'm so sorry, I wanted to tell you in person because I couldn't get a hold of you to cancel."

I glance away on a wince, automatically feeling like a piece of shit because I purposely ignored her text to cancel today. I wouldn't have, had I known this was the reason.

"My apologies. I was in back-to-back meetings all day, and it slipped my mind to respond." I turn my eyes back to hers, roaming her face tightly. "Have you taken anything?" I ask softly. "Whatever's going on, you might need to go to the hospital. I can take you."

This time it's her turn to look at me in alarm.

Aware I might be overreacting, I wrestle my face into it's usual impassive expression and try to act like I didn't just suggest something highly inappropriate.

"No, I think it's just…" She cuts herself off as her cheeks pinken, revealing her embarrassment. But she doesn't need to be embarrassed with me. I'll take her any way I can get her; healthy, sick, rich, poor. Burning me down with her little demon attitude that likes to come out more often than not. "I don't believe it's serious enough for the hospital. I've been taking medicine but it's not… I don't think it's working. I've been taking tums since yesterday and I still feel so sick."

I frown. "Let me see?"

Reaching over, she digs in her purse producing a small bottle, and slowly slides it towards me.

I reach across the desk and pick it up, turning it over to look at it curiously, zeroing in on the label before my lips tip into a frown. My eyes narrow, raising back to look at her. She's busy sipping slowly on the ginger ale, and that's when it hits me how desperate she is, because this is the first time she's ever accepted anything I've offered her to drink.

"Isobel, are you aware that these tums expired four years ago?" I ask, placing the small jar on the desk.

Her head jerks from the glass as her eyes meet mine in disbelief and then she slowly looks at the bottle, turning an interesting shade of red. I hurriedly reach down for the waste basket by my feet, but she holds up a hand and closes her eyes on a deep inhale. Then another, then another.

Though I have a shit ton to say, I pause, not really knowing what's going on or what to do. I'm tense, prepared to thrust the can under her face when suddenly her eyes pop open, and they look so hurt, so sad, that I feel something shift in my chest.

"Isobel, what's wrong?" I ask quietly.

"Men."

I raise a brow, lowering the can back to the floor and clenching my teeth hard, trying not to let that one simple word bother me. "Men." I repeat. "What about them?" I straighten my posture, sit back in my chair and fold my arms patiently.

Isobel looks too sick for me to poke her like I'd like to.

"Christopher."

At the mention of her boyfriend, a muscle jumps in my jaw. My irritation with the man such that I want to demand she not utter his name in my office or around me ever . "Your boyfriend?" I ask, quickly covering my tracks because she's not supposed to know I know anything about him or even what his name is.

Or anything I know about her… really.

"Yes. Christopher." She repeats his name for the second fucking time in my office.

"Yeah? What about him?" I ask coldly, thankful that she doesn't seem to notice, or care.

"He gave me those to take last night. I didn't even notice that they were expired because I could barely get out of bed, much less focus on labels. I couldn't even eat. He brought me those because he'd already went to the store yesterday and didn't want to go a second time." She looks to the side, lowering her voice. "And he didn't even bring me a glass of water either now that I think about it-"

"You haven't eaten since yesterday?" I ask sharply as displeasure blankets me in heavy swathes.

Four year old fucking tums? I think. That's foul.

"No, uh…I was too sick to keep anything on my stomach." She looks back at me as embarrassment clouds her features. The sound of silence ticks away between us for almost a minute straight before I break it.

"I'm sorry, Isobel," I say, though honestly, I couldn't give a fuck less about the man at this point. "It's a shame some men don't know how to treat their woman right." I shake my head, reaching for my office phone and dialing for my receptionist.

"Sir?"

"Sylvia, I need you to go down to the convenience store on the thirtieth floor and pick up a pack of tums, six bottles of ginger ale-"

"King, no!" Isobel gasps, her eyes going wide.

I continue just like I didn't hear her, ignoring another spike of irritation. "Order a bowl of chicken noodle soup-"

I go quiet as Isobel shakes her head, whispering, "No, no noodles please."

"Broccoli cheddar soup." I switch effortlessly, still keeping my eyes on hers. "And grab a to-go container of it, as well as chicken broth if they have it."

"Yes, sir."

I pause. "Sylvia, make sure the broth has no noodles."

"I will, sir."

"And Sylvia, use my name to get immediate service please. I don't exactly have the time or patience to wait."

"Yes, sir. I'll have it to you right away."

"Thank you," I say, hanging up the phone and reaching forward for her almost emptied glass.

"King…" Isobel protests in a small, vulnerable voice. "You didn't have to."

I stand up and turn my back to her, taking the time to refresh her ginger ale and get a handle on myself. I'm ready to go find this fuck up of a man and beat his ass into the ground. What the hell is wrong with him that he thinks it's okay to foist off four-year old tums on a woman because he doesn't want to be bothered?

I pause, thinking.

If he's not treating her right…maybe there's a reason why.

Turning back, I offer a tight smile and then slide her ginger ale towards her. "Here you go."

She takes it with a shaky smile. "Thank you," Isobel says in a weak voice that genuinely bothers me. I'm not used to her being so vulnerable. The Isobel I've been meeting for the last three months has been tough as nails. "I'm sorry to have caused so much bother."

"Isobel, it's absolutely no problem, and you're not a bother-"

"Thank you," she interrupts.

I smile, scoffing quietly as I sit back in my seat and fold my arms again, spreading and stretching my legs, letting the feeling of taking control even in this small way fill me with pleasure. "You're welcome. Now, you're going to eat- if you can, and then you're going to go home and lay down, and we'll redo our meeting next week." I hold up my hand when she goes to open her mouth to interrupt me again. "I want to see you eat at least five bites of your soup please, you need something on your stomach. And drink a little more of your soda."

She gives me a grateful smile. I find myself so relieved that she's too tired to fight back like the hellion I've come to know her to be.

Killing time while we wait for her food, we spend the next ten minutes talking about the new materials that our mutual client has requested in our build. When the soup arrives, she says thank you again and obliges me by taking three bites before she turns gray and I pack up her food.

Reluctant to let her leave, I push my personal feelings aside as I walk her down to her car after she refuses a ride home from my driver. Then I jump in my car and secretly have him follow her all the way home so I know she gets there safe.

Once home, I head straight to my bedroom closet and change into a pain black t-shirt and some jeans, heading through my bedroom to the hidden door in the corner. Pushing my way through, I enter the room and eye the tarps already laid down, the cans of paint, new roller brushes, and ladder leaning against the wall.

I take a second to set up, opening the paint can and dipping the roller brush into the elegant gray-blue color, proceeding to go over the white wall with broad strokes.

"Sir," Gustavo, my security guard appears in the doorway. "Carlotta's here."

"Send her in," I say, focused on painting.

Carlotta, my house manager, walks through the door and cranes her neck up to look at me. "Mr. King, Are you sure I can't get someone to do that for you?"

"For the fiftieth time, Carlotta," I say, trying to keep the annoyance out of my voice. "I want to do this myself. It's important to us." I stroke over the wall a few more times before carefully walking down the ladder and re-dipping the brush in the paint. "Now, can you please find something else to do instead of bothering me about the work I want to do in this room? Maybe go check and make sure the shelving I had custom made will be here on time."

Carlotta nods her head. "Yes sir. I'll get right on that."

"Thank you Carlotta," I say dismissively, heading back up the ladder to continue my work.

I need this room to be perfect. It needs to be everything she'd ever want.