10. Rip #2
“Don’t go placing any bets then,” my brother says with a chuckle. He browses my dozens of ties laid out on my bed before pointing at one. “That one is navy.”
Turning around, following his pointed finger at the tie that is damn near identical to the one around my neck. I can normally tell by how the fabric feels, but clearly that’s not a perfect system.
“Change it before we’re late. The reservation is for—”
“Six. Yes, Thomas. I’m aware.” Goodness, he’s like a broken record. Aren’t I supposed to be the one constantly reminding him? “Go feed Ryland before we leave.”
Thomas listens, and I hear rummaging in the front room as he prepares what sounds like crisps and a drink—a five-star meal. I swap out ties begrudgingly, admire my fine physique in my suit, and join Tommy.
I find Thomas kneeling before Ryland, feeding him crisp ones one by one like a baby. We aren’t yet able to risk letting his arms free because he’s still a flight risk, which means the only way he eats is if we put the food in his mouth. It’s more demeaning for him than for us.
The man chews angrily. “This is ridiculous.”
“You’re lucky we’re giving you anything at all,” I snarl. “Before we go, tell me more about Kingsley.”
He looks at me through his swollen eye. “I’ve said all I will.”
“So you say.” I lean in close. “C’mon, mate. Don’t make me bloody up my suit because you won’t cooperate.”
He turns his head away from me. “He’s Xavier Beaumont’s son.”
I gasp dramatically. “Wait, really? No, you’re pulling my leg.”
Thomas snickers beside me, but Ryland doesn’t find it so funny.
Slumped against the wall, he recites basic facts about Kingsley that anyone in the organized crime world would know about him.
“He’s the heir to the Crowncrest, and he’s been trying to prove himself worthy of it.
After Sylvie’s death, he took a break, but everyone thinks that one day he’ll rejoin the fight club again, so he’ll be ready to find her murderer.
No one knows what truly happened after—”
“Wait, wait, wait.” I wave my hand in his face. “Fight Club?”
Ryland’s eyes widen. The bloke thought he could ramble about pointless facts to get me off of him, but ended up mentioning something I’ve never heard of. Lovely.
Thomas rubs his chin. “In the days you’ve been with us, you never mentioned Fight Club.”
“Sorry, I figured you guys have heard of something as simple as a fight club before,” Ryland mumbles. “Do you not have one in whatever fuckass town you two emerged from?”
My fists clench by my sides, but I stand my ground. “Where is it? When will Kingsley be there?”
“I don’t know when he’ll be there. If you had any sort of comprehension skills, you’d know I said everyone thinks he’ll rejoin.” Thomas stuffs another crisp into Ryland’s mouth.
“Where is it?”
“Don’t know. Where’s your parents?” He smiles like he’s up to something clever. “Apparently you don’t know either.”
Next thing I know, my foot is knocking him in the head like a powerful horse kick. The instant my foot makes contact with Ryland’s thick skull, he topples over, knocked out unconscious in the blink of an eye. Light’s out.
Thomas stares at our sleeping hostage, completely unfazed. “He had it coming.”
He sure did.
The walk to the restaurant isn’t bad, but I’m thinking of asking the Beaumonts for a golf cart for Thomas and me. It’s a lot of walking going all over the fifty-acre resort, and it wears you out. Since we’re such vital employees, I’d say we’ve earned a sweet ride.
Tonight we’re filming inside the most expensive restaurant on the property.
It’s the kind of place with menu items you can’t even pronounce and a long wait because even those not staying on the property can come.
I’m sure the prices are through the roof, too, but we don’t have to worry about it since filming means our meal gets paid for by our boss.
Bright lights illuminate the outside of the building. It’s got huge, dark windows, bushes all over, and this giant fountain smack dab in the middle. Everyone showing up is dressed as if they’re attending a ball. It’s the type of restaurant I used to dream of coming to.
We get inside, and there’s a line in front of the hostess desk, but I spot Kingsley at the front. I’d recognize those twists anywhere.
He’s so deep in conversation with the hostess, who has this weird habit of fluttering her eyes, he doesn’t even register we’re beside him.
“We sanitized your table with every cleaning product in the restaurant,” the woman chirps, propping her elbows on the counter. “You, Mr. Beaumont, deserve a spotless area for your first time here!”
This is one of the resort’s newer and nicer restaurants, and Kingsley has never taken the time to try it. Why am I not surprised?
“Thank you.” He flashes a smile, and it doesn’t reach his eyes, but it’s good enough for the hostess. “But all the guests deserve a clean area, Marlene.”
Marlene’s jaw drops, and I swear her whole life flashes before her eyes. “Of course! We treat all guests like royalty, as we’ve been taught. I meant that you being… well, you, we want your guest experience to be top-notch.”
God, this woman needs to get a grip. She’s practically foaming at the mouth for him. Sorry, Marlene, but the prince doesn’t enjoy having two-way conversations with people, let alone fraternizing with his employees.
I know that for a fact.
“Don’t worry. I understand,” Kingsley murmurs, his hand resting lightly on Marlene’s as he offers a faint smile. “I know you would never treat customers any less. Not even for me. That’s why you’re my favorite hostess, darling.”
My face involuntarily pulls into a repulsed scowl. Am I dreaming, or is Kingsley engaging? Not only is he engaging, but he’s also… flirting.
And did he call her bloody darling?
I take a dramatic step forward, bumping shoulders with Mr. Flirtatious and alarming Mrs. Can’t Stop Batting My Eyelashes. Their heads snap my way so hard you’d think I was intruding.
“So sorry to interrupt this lovely conversation,” I say, my smile sickly sweet. My eyes find the hostess. “Is our table ready?”
Timidly, she looks down at her tablet. “Uh, yes.”
I clap my hands while my teeth grind against each other. “Would you look at that? Instead of holding up the line, you could be bringing us to our table. Doesn’t that seem like something you should do, Marlene?”
Marlene shrinks under my hard gaze, and I almost feel bad for the girl. Key word, almost.
A second later, she’s gathering menus and walking us to our table in a quieter area away from the main crowd. Marlene sets the menus down, letting her hair fall to obscure her view of me. I almost laugh out loud.
“Thanks, Marlene,” Kingsley says softly, almost like an apology.
“Enjoy.” She curtsies before rushing off.
Thomas’ eyes are boring into my soul the way they do when he has an opinion he’s dying to share. That opinion is usually unwanted on my part, which is why I ignore his hard stare and focus on the menu.
“Should I get the truffle-infused risotto or the sous vide wagyu beef?” I peer at the menu. “Hey, I think I pronounced that right.”
Kingsley and Thomas, sitting across from me, share a look. Eventually, Tommy speaks. “I heard the risotto is good.”
“It’s the guest’s favorite,” Kingsley adds. Our eyes meet.