Submitting to Them (Cinderella’s Daddies #3)

Chapter 1

One

Kingston

Five minutes ago, my phone buzzed with a notice from the building’s security guards. BOMB THREAT. Immediately, calmly, evacuate. My phone rang a second later, and I answered, saying I was on my way out.

I’m leaving, but I’m not sure I’m calm. I don’t know where the device could be, who called it in, nothing.

It’s as if my heart and lungs cease to work.

As I walk toward the stairs, I text Sebastian. Bomb threat. I’ll let you know when I know more .

My footsteps echo in the stairwell. It’s only seven a.m. and the place is nearly deserted, especially on a Saturday.

“Kingston!” a woman calls from behind me.

I turn around and spot Kristin coming down the stairs.

“I didn’t realize you were here,” I say.

“I fell asleep at my desk.” Her hair is messy and she has dark circles under her eyes. “I can’t believe this is happening. Distract me.”

I can use some distraction myself.

“So, you were working late on a Friday night?” I ask as we take the stairs down together. “Or coming in early today?”

“I stayed last night, fell asleep at my desk.” She shrugs. “I have a lot to do.”

I can relate, and sympathize with her.

“Do you really think there’s a bomb?” she asks quietly.

“A threat, yeah.” I don’t want to believe it’s real, but I have to take it seriously.

“I’ve never been through anything like this before.”

Giving her a tight smile, I say, “Me, neither.”

Kristin and I catch up with another couple walking downstairs.

They aren’t part of my company—a few smaller companies rent space here in my building.

The woman’s face is tight with fear and the man is breathing hard.

I want to tell them and Kristin that it’s going to be all right, but I don’t know this for certain.

I can’t make this assurance or any promises whatsoever.

The four of us continue down the stairs, quickly and quietly. I don’t touch the stair railing—I don’t know why. It’s not like that’s going to trigger a bomb. Kristin stumbles on one of the steps, and I steady her with a hand to her elbow.

“Thanks,” she whispers, then removes her high heels to walk barefoot.

As we reach the ground floor, two uniformed people—a man and woman—come out onto the stairwell and begin walking up. They’re wearing helmets and heavy tactical gear and they look larger than pro football players.

“Do you know if anyone else was on your floors?” one of them asks, her voice muffled through her helmet.

“I didn’t see anyone on the twelfth floor,” I say. “But I could’ve missed someone.”

I hadn’t seen Kristin there, after all.

“I don’t think anyone else is there,” Kristin says.

“We didn’t see anyone on the eighth,” the other couple says.

The officers pass us and go up to the third floor, where I assume they’ll do a sweep for anyone who might remain in the building. I’m assuming our security measures will show whether anyone else has entered the building, but it’s probably their job to be thorough and also do a physical check.

We reach the ground floor. Nearly home free. My heart feels like it’s lodged in my throat. Kristin and I start walking faster, and so does the couple, until the man is outright sprinting for the main doors of the building. I don’t run—I need to be calm. But it’s mighty fucking tempting.

Emergency vehicles line the boulevard, lights flashing. Long strings of caution tape decorate the sidewalks. A crowd of idiots waits behind them. This is a bomb threat, not a parade. Do they want to get blown up?

As I go through the front doors, uniformed officers wave me forward, their faces calm and serious.

A man operates a wheeled robotic device and another person in bomb squad gear opens the door for the robot, then ducks away.

I just keep walking. Kristin keeps pace with me.

My only goal is getting away from the building.

The morning sun reflects off the windows of another building, momentarily blinding me. Holding a hand up over my eyes, I scan the sidewalk past the yellow tape. Nearly there.

“Kingston!” a female voice yells.

I look up. There, a few yards away, Ella stands beside Sebastian at the edge of the cordoned zone. I rush toward them, vaguely conscious of Kristin coming with me.

“What the fuck are you two doing here?” I say, ducking under the tape. I grab Ella up in a tight hug, keeping my body between hers and the building. “You don’t hear about a bomb threat and then go to the place where it’s happening!”

“I needed to see you,” Ella says. Her eyes dart curiously to the side of me, where Kristin stands.

“Don’t ever do this again,” I say, then throw a what-the-fuck look over to Bash, who shrugs.

“Sorry,” he says. “I didn’t think of it like that. We stayed back, of course.”

Kristin puts a hand on my shoulder, using me for balance while she puts her heels back on. “I’m heading home, if you don’t need me here.”

“No, I’m fine,” I say. “Get some rest.” Turning back to Bash and Ella, I say, “I mean it, there is no reason for you to put yourselves in danger. I’ll come home as soon as I can, and we can talk then.”

A man in a suit approaches me and flashes his law enforcement ID. “Are you the owner of the building?” he asks.

“Yes.”

“I have questions, some things I’d like to go over with you.”

“Of course. Just one moment.” I turn to Ella and Sebastian. “I’ll see you two later. Please stay away from this area for now. I won’t…I won’t be able to concentrate if I think you’re in any danger.”

“What about you ?” Ella asks.

“I’m being safe,” I say. “They need to talk to me and get the bomb defused. I’ll follow all of their instructions. Now please, go home.”

She looks away, obviously angry. I’ll talk to her after this is wrapped up. Right now, I have to deal with a literal bomb threat.

Ella

Kingston has texted to check in a few times. I’ve written back, but my messages are short and to the point.

It turned out, the bomb was a fake. The police are still investigating, and Kingston’s been busy helping them out, discussing possible suspects, and I don’t know what the hell else.

Now I’m at the pub, working my ass off and stewing about the whole morning.

I know it’s stupid, but my feelings are hurt. He made a good argument—maybe Sebastian and I shouldn’t have gone to the Tyler building. But it wasn’t like we tried to get close. We stayed behind the safety tape, and we would’ve moved if someone asked us to or told us it was too dangerous.

Not only that, but I was so fucking scared.

“Hey, are you all right?” Natasha asks while we fill up some soda cups.

“Yeah,” I say. “Freaked out—my boyfriend’s building had a bomb threat this morning. Everything’s fine, but you know.”

“I’d be freaked out, too,” she says, nodding solemnly.

Her makeup looks exceptional tonight, and I say so.

She smiles and gives me a mock curtsy. She hoists her tray of drinks and heads back out to the dining area, calling over her shoulder, “I’ve got a date after work.”

Well, good for her. I don’t know a whole lot about Natasha’s personal life, but she seems kind of lonely sometimes, so I hope good things come from tonight.

As the night wears on, I try to ignore thoughts of Kingston.

I wonder who the woman was, who walked out with him.

She was really pretty, with wavy brown hair and dark green eyes.

It had been difficult to swallow my jealous reaction when she put her hand on his shoulder to put her shoes on.

The gesture had seemed intimate for some reason.

Sighing, I shake off the thoughts. I was probably just imagining it. And nothing worse than turning a bomb threat into a reason for jealousy.

Soon enough, Nicholas-don’t-call-me-Nick arrives.

My shift is over. But as I start to move toward the office to get my things, I see Natasha looking over at the clock behind the bar.

Her last table is taking their sweet-ass time paying the bill.

Their prerogative, of course—the pub isn’t closing anytime soon, but they could at least pay and then hang out.

Natasha walks out to them to ask and they nod, reaching for their wallets…

but they start gabbing again and from their body language, they’re telling her it’ll be just another minute.

She walks back to the bar, her mouth looking a little tight.

“Hey,” I say, “I’ll take care of them. You can go.”

“No, you probably have things to do, too.” She gives me a falsely bright smile. “But thanks for the offer.”

“Get your ass out of here,” I say. “You have a date. I have no plans whatsoever, and you’d be offering to take the rest of my shift if our situations were reversed.”

A look of conflict passes over her face, and then she nods. Decision made, now she looks relieved. “Thank you so much. I really liked this guy when I met him yesterday, I don’t want to screw up our first date.”

“Go, go,” I say. “Let me know after, okay? And be safe. Text me if you need me.”

“Will do.” She hurries to gather her belongings and then comes back out. She throws her arms around me. “You’re a good friend. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” I say, hugging her back.

I let Kevin know I have to text someone really fast about my change of plans, and I type up a message to Sebastian to say that I’m getting off work a little later than planned. I don’t include Kingston on the text.

I’m being petty. My dad taught me better. So at the last second, I switch the message over to our group text, and hit send .

No problem, I’m still at work, too , Kingston writes back.

Of course he is. He went in at four a.m. And he’s still there at nine p.m.

I wonder if the woman from this morning is there with him.

Sebastian

Abdul’s is busy, and it takes me a minute to find Kingston among the full tables.

I like this place because it’s an upscale bar, not a pub.

People aren’t here to hook up. Well, some people probably are, but the vibe is relaxed, and there are a lot of business-type people.

I don’t exactly fit in with my tats and leather jacket, but nobody’s giving me dirty looks, either.

Besides, it’s Sunday. Lots of people are in jeans.

Kingston, included. Except his eyes are glued to his phone. I can tell from the wrinkle between his brows that he’s working.

“Shit man, give it a rest for an hour, okay?” I say as I take a seat across from him.

“What?” he asks, distracted.

“Stop working for a little while.”

He jabs at his phone screen a few more times, then sets it on the table next to his drink. “Sorry. It’s been intense.”

“Any theories about what happened yesterday?”

Shaking his head, he says, “Not a single one. The detectives aren’t sharing anything with me at this point. I think they’re suspicious I set the whole thing up, because I was there so damn early, but since there’s literally no motive, they have to let that go.”

A server comes by to ask if I’d like a drink. “Iced tea, please,” I say.

As the server walks away, King says, “Do you think you’re an alcoholic? After everything that happened, and Trina drugging you rather than you getting so drunk you blacked out, it made me think.”

He’s got a point. I’ve been wondering the same thing.

“I guess it doesn’t matter,” I say. “I haven’t missed alcohol for seven years. That in itself probably should’ve been a sign that I’m not an alcoholic. But given that I’ve gone so long without it, and not cared, I don’t know. Seems weird to start drinking now. I may as well stay sober.”

“Yeah.” He nods. “Makes sense. Have you heard from Ella today?”

“Yeah. She’s working tonight, of course. How do we convince her to quit the pub?”

“No idea. I’ve a mind to find out where she owes money and pay off all her debts, but even I know that wouldn’t be a welcome gesture.”

“She’s very proud.”

“If she moved in with one of us, she might stop working at the pub,” I say. “Because then she won’t be paying rent.”

“Or she’ll keep working to save more money, or insist on paying us rent.”

“Shit, I didn’t think about that.” I drum my fingers on the table for a minute.

There’s nothing I can come up with, no easy solution to help Ella without offending her or us coming off like controlling assholes.

Our server returns with my iced tea. As soon as they leave, Kingston says, “I guess we just ask her if she wants to move in with one of us, and maybe, eventually, she’ll feel comfortable enough to not pay rent.

If nothing else, she could save her money toward rent, if she’s worried about breaking up.

Which certainly won’t be initiated by me. ”

“Not by me, either,” I say. The very idea makes my heart crack.

Kingston’s focus strays to his phone.

“Okay, stop it,” I say. “What’s really going on?”

He sighs and shoves the phone to the side, farther out of his reach. “I want out, Bash.”

“Out of…?”

“Out of the business. I’m rich.”

I laugh. “No shit.”

“I’ve earned enough, and I’m tired of working all the time. If I quit, I could do, I don’t know, fun shit. Or I could just take a more hands-off approach to the business. Consult. Sit in on the occasional meeting.”

“Remember when we were in college?” I say. “You always said you didn’t want to become a rich prick. Rich, yes. A prick, no.”

He levels a gaze at me. “You think I’m turning into a prick.”

“Leaving for work at four a.m.? While a beautiful girl asks you to stay in bed with us? Yeah.”

“Look, my goal is to step back. Work less.”

I shrug, take a sip of my tea, and say, “All right. How long do you have to push so hard before you can take a back seat? What’s your timeline?”

“I don’t have one yet.”

“If you don’t come up with one, then it sounds to me like you’re all talk.”

“Fucking hell.” He lifts his whiskey and swallows the rest down. “You’re right. I’ll think on it.”

I know I’m right.

Kingston’s phone buzzes and he snatches it from the table. His eyebrows bunch together and he starts to stand.

“Dude, don’t,” I say.

He gives me a regretful look. “Sorry, Kristin needs help with something. I’m the only one who can do it.”

I don’t say anything else, just let him go. He knows what he’s doing isn’t healthy.