56. Kingsley
56
KINGSLEY
I t’s as we’re leaving the coffee shop that I notice two things. One is the sign in the door telling customers the shop is closed. Which means there’s a reason why we were the only two patrons inside the shop. The other is the fact that the owners could not thank Dante enough when he slides his black card across the counter to pay for our coffees. They are so high on singing his praises, I think they won’t stop long enough to let us leave. I may have been sheltered from the real world my whole life, but I am nobody’s fool when it comes to understanding situations for what they are.
“How much did you pay them?” I ask him.
“What?” He looks surprised that I am even asking.
“Do you always make it a habit to shut down restaurants when you feel like it?”
“Not always. But almost everything I do is deliberate, Kingsley.”
“What do you mean?”
“This shop has been here for years. They make the best coffee. They also have the best prices, because in this economy, they have to be competitive to stay afloat. But their good intentions have landed them in some financial strife. So I popped in and asked for a favor. Because they were so accommodating, I paid them enough to cover their rent for the next year. That should help in getting them back on their feet.”
I look at him, gobsmacked. The lengths he went to in order to help these people. The sort of money he drops on keeping a coffee shop afloat for another year in this city is a person’s wage, so I understand the kind of money he’s paid here today. Even I have heard the notorious stories about the price of real estate in New York.
“How did you even know all this about them before you stepped into the shop?”
The smile Dante gives me is doing things to my insides I can’t explain. There is so much for me to learn about him. So much I still haven’t unpacked. And so much I can learn from him.
“Everything was carefully orchestrated,” he begins. “From the moment my guy told me you left the house and tracked me down the road, I set things in motion. You just accelerated my plan.”
“How?”
“I make it my business to know everything about the local area where we hold real estate. I knew this family was in trouble and had planned to help them. I just found my opening when I decided to take you for coffee even before I met you in the cemetery and had Simon call ahead to shut down the shop. The fact that they accommodated my request was merely an added bonus for me. I was going to help them regardless.”
“You can do all that? Without one thing going wrong?”
“A lot can go wrong,” he tells me. “But today, the stars aligned in our favor.”
I’m sure I’m making goo goo eyes at Dante as we continue walking back to the house, a calm silence falling over us. I am still in awe of his generosity, but given the kind of money he has, I am sure this is a pinch of salt in comparison to what he is worth.
I wonder if the same can be said for me once I take my place at the head of the table. I know that my father amassed a fortune and had properties scattered across several states, but I don’t know the extent of his fortune. As though reading my mind, Dante turns to me and tells me one day soon I’ll be in a position to do the same.
“Everything has to be calculated,” he says. “Measured. And you should always know your surroundings. No point opening a hotel and leaving yourself open to competition with an empty block sitting next to you.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning you buy the empty block next door before you even build your hotel.”
* * *
No one ever knocks on my door. Ever.
So, when someone does, I call, “Coming!” and slide across the hardwood floors in bare feet without a single thought to how I’m dressed, what I’m doing, or how the person on the other side might see me.
I yank the door open with enthusiasm and find Dante standing there, his gaze traveling up my long legs, lingering far longer than necessary, before he meets my eyes.
The look on his face makes me pause. His mouth opens, but no words come out. Dante’s always quick with his biting wit, so this uncharacteristic silence is... intriguing.
Finally, he seems to find his voice. “What the fuck are you wearing?”
I blink. “What’s wrong with the way I’m dressed?”
His jaw tightens. He steps inside and shuts the door behind him, flattening his back against it as if he’s bracing himself. “What if it had been someone else knocking? Hmm? Someone other than me.” His hand does a frustrated loop in the air, his eyes travelling down my body again.
I glance down at myself. Short tight tank top, boy shorts, naked feet. “What’s wrong with how I look?”
He stares at me, and I swear his eye twitches. “Everything. Everything is wrong with how you look.”
I fold my arms. “That’s rude.”
“Kingsley. For the love of God. Go. Put. On. Pants.”
I’m about to argue—because I still don’t see the issue—when I catch his expression. His eyes are dark, stormy, and... something else. Something that makes my skin prickle.
For a brief, unusual moment, I try to see myself the way he sees me. My legs. Long, bare, and glistening with moisturiser. My tank top riding up just enough to make the boy shorts look even smaller.
Oh.
“Right,” I mutter, bolting for my room. “I’ll just—um—pants. Got it.”
Five minutes later, I return in skinny jeans and a navy henley, feeling decidedly more decent. Dante’s still standing there, looking equally agitated and—oddly—like he hasn’t taken a full breath since he arrived. His eyes flick down to my legs again, and I swear he looks... annoyed.
“Well?” I say, putting my hands on my hips. “I’m dressed. Why are you still mad?”
“Because,” he says, running a hand through his hair like he’s holding himself together by sheer force of will, “you don’t get it , Kingsley.”
I cock my head. “Get what?”
“That opening the door in that state is dangerous.”
“You’re not dangerous.”
He lets out a sharp laugh, though there’s no humor in it. “You have no idea how wrong you are.”
“Okay, Mr. Dangerous,” I say, crossing my arms. “Explain it to me, then.”
His jaw tightens again, and for a moment, I think he’s going to dodge the question. But then he steps closer, towering over me in a way that makes my breath hitch.
“You don’t answer the door like that unless you’re expecting someone—” He stops, his eyes flickering with something unreadable. “—someone who matters.”
I blink up at him. “But you’re the person who matters most to me.”
For a second, he looks like I’ve knocked the wind out of him. He drags a hand down his face and groans. “Kingsley, that’s not?—”
“What?” I say, leaning forward. “Not true?”
He gives me a sharp look, then shakes his head. “That’s not the point.”
“Then what’s the point?”
“Have you ever even been with a man?”
I rear back, startled. “Like, romantically? Why would you ask that? That’s so personal.”
He shrugs. “You just said I’m the person who matters most to you.” As if that’s reason enough to share my private life with him. I fix him with an irritated look.
“No.”
“Jesus Christ.” He mutters it under his breath, like he’s speaking to himself, before pacing the room.
“Well, I haven’t had many options, have I?” I’m genuinely confused.
He stops, turning to face me, his expression a mix of irritation and something else. Something darker. “The problem, Kingsley, is that you have no idea what you’re doing to me.”
My heart skips a beat, but I plaster on a smile, trying to lighten the mood. “You don’t like the shorts?”
His lips twitch, but he doesn’t smile. Instead, he steps closer, his eyes locking onto mine. “Kingsley, I’m this close—” He holds up his hand, thumb and forefinger barely apart. “—to losing my goddamn mind.”
I stare at him, my pulse racing. “Why?”
He sighs, raking a hand through his hair again. “Because you’re infuriating, beautiful, and... impossible to stay away from.”
I blink. Then, with a slow grin, I say, “So you do like the shorts.”
For a moment, he just stares at me, and then—finally—he lets out a low, reluctant laugh. “You’re going to be the death of me, Kingsley.”
“Well,” I say, batting my lashes. “At least you’ll die entertained.”