Chapter 2
Julie
Honestly, I kind of expected that Tasty Slice was Kingmaker’s only office space—not that I would consider it an office space, but I was inclined to think nicely of it after the staff were sweet and happily comped me the slice of pizza, wishing me luck with Kingmaker—but when he asked me on Friday to come meet him with the plan he’d devised, he sent me the location to a complex that seemed like it actually charged rent with contracts.
Probably not contracts a lawyer had ever seen, but contracts nonetheless.
It was a dilapidated building that had clearly been a warehouse once, but judging by the signage around the construction barriers I had to slip through to get to the doors, it had been converted over the years.
Legally, probably not. But de facto, judging by how long it seemed to have been like this.
Downstairs seemed to be a music studio, and I could hear the low rumble of the bass from within, and upstairs were people’s offices, scribbled on a sign that looked like the offices were switched out frequently.
Kingmaker’s was one of the fresher ones. I wasn’t sure I liked that.
But I was sure that he was judging me as soon as he saw me, because when I knocked on his door, it opened to where he gave me a once-over and said, “Do you only have the one outfit?”
“What—you’re still wearing that same tacky tracksuit.”
He gestured to his ugly outfit. “It’s the uniform.”
“Okay, then so is the hoodie.”
He shook his head. “That’s not a king’s uniform. Don’t matter. We’ll get it sorted. Come in. You’re early.”
“Didn’t have much else going on,” I muttered, letting him lead me into a crowded office space, tacky motivational signs up on the walls, whiteboards crowded with information.
A corkboard stocked with documents, including the awful paper detailing my plan—if you could call it that—to get a hot girlfriend instead of going to Missouri.
I was surprised to see I wasn’t the only name pinned to the board.
Maybe he did have other clients. Or maybe he made them up to look more legit.
“That’s about to change,” he said, shutting the door behind me. “I’ve come up with step one of the plan.”
What would Guin say if she saw me like this?
Falling for some obvious scam just because I was lonely?
My face burned with embarrassment. He said a king isn’t ashamed, but I must not have been a king, because I was pretty fucking ashamed.
“The plan to make me stupid rich with a hot supermodel girlfriend,” I said, and he responded without a hint of irony.
“The plan to make a king out of you.” He handed me a folder, a few documents inside.
Well… documents was a stretch. A few pieces of paper with his, uh, diagrams. GALLEY LAUNCH PARTY was the big text on the first one greeting me.
“In this city, connections separate the kings from the nobodies. You won’t get anywhere if you don’t know the right people. ”
“So you’re, uh, going to send me to a launch party?” I said, flicking through the pages. He was… earnest. Did he actually believe his own bullshit? It was all documented like he was doing a corporate proposal.
“You need to meet the right people. To get connections, and to develop a king’s mindset. Being around other kings makes a king out of you.”
“I’m pretty sure, historically, kings don’t tend to get along with one another…”
Once again, he ignored me. “Jackson Dale’s the guy. CEO of a consultancy tech group called Galley, hosting a launch party at the Williamsburg Waterfront for a new subsidiary of his company. You’re gonna show up, yeah? Make an impression.”
I prickled all over, my body shutting down at the idea.
It was all fun and games in theory, but I thought we’d be talking manifestation rituals and helping me set goals, not sending me to a party where I definitely didn’t belong.
“I’d make an impression, that’s for sure,” I said, closing the folder. “How do you even know about this?”
“You can’t be a kingmaker without knowing a thing or two,” he said. “I’ve got my sources.”
“Okay. Cryptic.”
“But you can’t go looking like that,” he said. “You’re getting a makeover first.”
I felt my face burn. “What? I look fine.”
He ignored me. “We’re gonna get you a haircut, right off the bat. And then a nice outfit. We’ll get you in a good suit, a good styling. Don’t worry, I know the right people.”
“I cannot afford a fancy suit,” I said, and he waved me off.
“Relax. It’s taken care of.”
“What? You’re not comping me a suit. You wouldn’t even buy me a slice of pizza.”
“And you’ve gotta get interesting, too,” he said, ignoring me. “A king ain’t boring. When people ask you about yourself, you’ve gotta have something to tell ‘em.”
“I’m not boring.” I shot back defensively on autopilot, even though I knew full well I was the most fucking boring person in the city. Unfortunately, this was the one time he actually listened.
“Tell me what’cha already got, then. What’s your claim to kingship?”
“Uh.” I scratched the back of my head, my face burning. “I didn’t realize I’d be coming in for an interview.”
“That’s what I thought.”
“Jesus, lay the fuck off, Kingmaker.”
“Do you like music?”
The question threw me off my defensive posture, and I frowned. “Uh—sure?”
“We can work with that. You’re gonna be in the music industry. There’s a recording studio downstairs from here, and you’re gonna go meet some up-and-coming talent, so you can chat about it to people you meet at the launch party.”
I shook my head. “When you say I’m going to be in the music industry, are you saying I should just go and fucking lie to everyone?”
He put his hands out like he was DJing on an invisible deck. “It’s not lying,” he said, hamming on more of a fake Bronx accent. “It’s manifesting. The truth changes when a king speaks. You just gotta own your truth, loud enough the universe hears it. When a king decrees, the people listen.”
“So we’re fucking lying.”
He dropped his hands by his sides, talking with a genuine voice for the first time since I’d met him. “Look, everyone’s posturing and shit at these parties. You won’t be the only one making things up. Besides, we’re already lying about who you are.”
“We’re already—we’re doing fucking what?”
“You gotta have an invite to show up at this place. So we drop a little white lie,” he said, putting on the Kingmaker act again.
“This girl called Cassandra Evans-Pierre is supposed to attend, but I have it on good authority she’s a no-show this time.
So you tell them at the door that’s who you are. ”
“Dude, what the fuck, I’m not doing this,” I said, backing away now. “You want me to just go lie about my work, my name, what else?”
“Hey, easy, girl,” he said. “You don’t need to go through the whole party pretending to be Cassandra.
Just at the door, say you’re Cassandra Evans-Pierre and your friend Krysten invited you.
Then you can show up as your actual self.
It’s just party-crashing. People do it all the time.
You’ve gotta do something to get your foot in the door if you’re gonna be a king. ”
“I don’t want to be the king of lies.”
“No harm no foul. Little victimless crime. Cassandra ain’t gonna show, so it’s not like you’re taking her invite away. And a conquering king is always going to break some rules along the way. You gotta get with the flow or you’ll get swept away by the city. You feel me?”
“I don’t feel anything.”
“You should see a doctor about that.”
I scowled at him. Eventually, he broke.
“Do you want to do this, or do you want to go back to Missouri?”
Ugh. He had to hit me where it hurt. My face burned, and I shoved my hands in my hoodie pockets, hunching my shoulders.
I should never have signed up to anything with this stupid guy.
Now if I gave up and went back to Missouri, I’d spend forever asking myself what would have happened if I’d just told one little white lie.
I was quiet for a while before I said, “If it worked… which is a big if… then I’d already be in and stuff, right?
I wouldn’t have to keep lying and pretending to be someone else? ”
“Of course.” He put his hands up. “You got Kingmaker’s word.”
What the hell was Kingmaker’s word worth, anyway? I sighed pointedly, frustratedly. “Okay, fine,” I said. “Sure. Just this once. I’ll attend this party. What’s the harm? It’s going to be some stupid party that will amount to nothing and I’ll never see any of them again anyway.”
“That’s what I wanna hear.” He picked up another folder from his desk, and he gestured to the door. “C’mon,” he said. “We’ll hit up the recording studio today, and I’ll send you to my guy Daniel tomorrow for the styling appointment. No time to sit around. A king’s gotta keep moving.”
I was going to start up a drinking game where I’d take a shot every time this man said king. Poison all my organs in an hour so much I wouldn’t be worth harvesting anyway. Win-win.
∞∞∞
Unlike Kingmaker, Daniel knew his stuff.
He was a handsome ginger man with perfectly styled hair and goatee and a neat suit in a tasteful burgundy, and I felt so out of place going into his styling boutique that I crept in like I was a schoolgirl in trouble with the principal—the place was sleek and upscale, everything cleaner than I’d forgotten things could be, and I felt like I was in a showroom as I sat in the reception area, looking at framed magazine spreads and covers on the walls.
Mostly of powerful, glamorous women. The one right across from me was a Vanity Fair cover with a beautiful brunette looking at the camera like she was vaguely mad at me but in a sexy way, HELENA WARRICK TELLS ALL written over it like I was remotely hip enough to know who that was.
Was I really trying to be like that? Trying to pretend like I was in that sphere?
Me? I wasn’t cut out for that.