Текст книги "King of Hearts"
Автор книги: L. H. Cosway
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Текущая страница: 2 (всего у книги 21 страниц)
Two
I picked up some groceries for dinner on the way home, my thoughts centring on my new job, but, more importantly, my new boss. Yeah, he was appealing to look at, but there was something else about him. Something beneath the surface that got me curious. I had a feeling that there was far more to Oliver King than met the eye.
Counting the flights of stairs as I climbed my way up to our flat, I tried to remember whether Karla was working days or nights this week. Being a constable with the Metropolitan Police meant she didn’t always work a simple nine-to-five.
When I heard the shower running, I knew she’d been on the day shift. As I turned the TV on and made a start on dinner, I heard the shower turn off. A few minutes later, she came out wrapped in a towel and gave me a tired smile. Wet tendrils of her bright red hair fell across her forehead, and her clear blue eyes seemed weary.
“Hey,” she said, voice soft. “How’d your first day go?”
“It was good,” I replied. “Good but weird. I swear, it’s a whole other world over there.”
She sighed and sat down on a stool by the counter¸ watching me chop carrots. “Tell me about it. Some days I just feel like chucking it all in and finding a rich man to marry. It’d make life a whole lot easier.”
I snorted. “Yeah.”
Despite her profession, Karla could actually be a very sensitive person. Some would even go so far as to say shy. She was hard-working, and tough as nails in her own way, but she was also quiet and kind. She fell into police work due to her dad being on the force, but I always wondered if that was what she really wanted to be doing.
“Did something happen today?” I asked as I studied her. She seemed more tired than usual.
Rubbing at the crease between her eyebrows, she answered, “I had to break up a really vicious fight between two kids today. One of them was hurt pretty badly and had to be hospitalised. He was only fourteen. I’m still kinda reeling.”
“Oh, my God,” I exclaimed, putting down the knife and going to her. I threw my arm around her shoulders. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” she said, accepting my hug. “It’s just so hard sometimes. You try your best to help people and keep them safe, but kids are still out there, killing each other, stealing, doing all sorts. You end up feeling like there’s no way the system can ever work.”
I didn’t say anything, just squeezed her tighter. Finally she let out a long breath and pulled away. “Don’t mind me. I’m just being morose. A good night’s sleep and I’ll feel better.”
I gave her an understanding look and returned to the carrots. Trying to take her mind off it, I said, “I think we should go out this weekend. I know money is tight, but we need to let off some steam.”
Her eyes lit up at my words. One thing that the both of us loved was dancing, and every couple of weeks we’d go out to a club.
“The Silver Bullet is putting on a ska night on Friday,” she said. “I saw the poster on my way home from work.”
I grinned at her. “A ska night it is then. We’ll paint the town beige, since red is reserved strictly for those age twenty-five and under.”
That solicited a giggle from her, and I felt good that I’d made her laugh. She picked up a carrot and took a bite. “Well, of course.”
***
The next morning I arrived at work bright and early. This time I didn’t see King in the elevator, which I found curiously disappointing. Okay, all right, shut up. So my peepers found it disappointing, because he was one hot slice of A. Plus, remembering that smile we’d shared yesterday made my belly feel all a-flutter.
I was sitting at the computer, completing some data entry that Eleanor had tasked me with while she scanned the morning’s papers. Gillian’s lightning fingers danced over her keyboard like a percussionist portrayal of busy, busy, work to do. Her desk was on the other side of our atrium that led to King’s large office. When he arrived at around eight-thirty, he gave each of us a nod hello as Gillian hopped up from her seat, the same as yesterday.
“Morning, Eleanor, morning, Gillian, morning, Alexis,” King chirped. He gave Eleanor a sparkly-eyed look. “Have you heard the news?”
She glanced up at him, licking a finger before casually turning another page. “I don’t partake in salacious gossip, Mr King. You know that.”
I nearly snorted at her dismissive response but managed to hold it in. Eleanor was quickly becoming my lady hero, because I knew for a fact she was the only person who got away with talking to King like that. I also had a hunch that she was the one who’d suggested he apologise for saying what he said to me in my interview. I was seriously looking forward to being her age and gaining that “Miss Trunchbull, I don’t suffer fools gladly” vibe.
King let out an amused huff and turned to Gillian. “Have you?”
Gillian seemed oblivious as she nervously cleared her throat and clenched the folders she was holding. “Oh, um, no, sorry, I haven’t.” She seemed disappointed in herself, like she considered letting down the Oliver King in any way was a failure on her part. I felt like telling her to buck up and be a woman, not a simpering girl desperate to please her boss.
Finally, he looked at me. “Well, you obviously haven’t, either, newbie. God, is it so much to ask to have some ladies who like to gossip around here? I’m practically bursting at the seams.”
Eleanor shook her head, but I saw her lips twitch with a hint of a smile. Mr King was obviously in an unseasonably personable mood this morning. While chatting with her yesterday, she’d told me that his moods could be somewhat unpredictable, so it was always best to err on the side of caution.
“Well, tell us what you know, and I’ll be happy to oblige,” I said. “Gossiping is my forte.”
“Oh, thank God.” King exhaled with false dramatics as he approached the desk and eyed me mischievously. “George Bacon, one of the top guys over at Citibank, died last night.”
I let out a breath. “That’s terrible.”
“A-ha! But you haven’t heard the worst of it. Poor Georgie boy popped his clogs during a rather intensive session with a lady of the night. His old ticker wasn’t up to the challenge.” He shook his head, but he clearly felt no sympathy for the man. Well, since we’d just been hit with a motherbutcher of a recession, very few people felt sorry for those working in the financial services industry these days. However, being a banker himself, I thought Mr King might be able to empathise.
I stared at him, finding his choice of conversation topic surreal. Oliver King really didn’t have any tact, but oddly, I didn’t mind. In fact, I kind of liked it. When I’d taken this job, I thought I’d be stuck working with a bunch of stiffs.
I wasn’t sure why I said what I did next. It was a mixture of being a smart-arse and having no filter. I grinned at King and deadpanned, “So, what you’re saying is, he came and went?”
There was a beat of silence before King let out a loud guffaw of a laugh. Smiling widely, he leant in and rested his hands on the desk as he responded with a wink, “I prefer to say he arrived before departing.”
I chuckled. “Well okay, then, if you want get all fancy about it.”
We were still grinning at one another when Eleanor cut in, “Mr King, I do believe you have a meeting in twenty minutes that you need to prepare for.”
King didn’t look away from me for a moment as his grin began to fade. Having his eyes on me made me feel a little goose-pimplish. Finally, he nodded and turned, striding inside his office with Gillian following behind. I returned to my data entry, and a minute or two of quiet passed before Eleanor said, “I think you two might be a little too alike.” She paused, and there was a smile in her voice. “After I’m gone, maybe let Gillian accompany Mr King on trips. I shudder to think what the two of you would be like unleashed on prospective clients.”
I shot her a questioning look. “Trips?”
“Sometimes he requires us to accompany him on business trips. It’s only really once or twice a year.”
“Oh, right,” I said, frowning a little. I must have blanked over that part of the job description, too full of glee when I saw the size of my yearly salary. Oh, yes. This year was going to see quite a lot of cake buying once the money started to roll in.
The morning passed quickly. When lunch time came, I declined accompanying Eleanor and Gillian to a sushi restaurant in favour of grabbing a sub from a nearby deli. I needed the carbs, and I never felt full after sushi. And okay, maybe I should have been eating more sushi than subs, because I was carrying a little extra weight, but I just couldn’t seem to summon up the urge to care. My body was what it was. I’d inherited it from my curvaceous Greek mother, and life was too short to go around eating packets of zero-calorie jelly from Japan.
I brought my food back to the office and found the place relatively quiet, since most people were either dining out, or were in the cafeteria having lunch. I had planned on eating at my desk, then making a start on the remainder of the workload I had to complete, when my attention wandered to King’s office door.
My nosiness was urging me to go inside and take a look around, and I knew from his schedule that he wasn’t due back from his afternoon meeting until three. Bringing my lunch with me, I stepped inside his office and marvelled at the view. His desk was big and imposing, and there were a number of picture frames on the wall. Two of them showed his university certificates. He had a first-class honours degree in finance and accounting from the London School of Economics, and a masters in finance from Cambridge. I whistled as I took them in. An education like that must have cost a pretty penny. But then I realised that King’s family probably wasn’t hurting for cash when I took in the next frame.
It showed an old concert poster for Elaine King, a world-renowned concert pianist who had her heyday in the late eighties/early nineties. She was now a renowned shut-in, think Agnetha from ABBA but classier. It didn’t take much for me to put two and two together and figure out that she was related to King somehow, and taking in her blonde hair and familiarly refined features, I’d put my money on her being his mother. Wow.
I saw a door leading to an in-office bathroom and took a step inside, letting out a few choice swearwords when I saw the size of the place. It was probably bigger than my and Karla’s entire flat. It boasted a large walk-in shower, a closet, and floor-to-ceiling windows with that special glass that went either clear or frosted at the touch of a button. The pièce de resistance, however, was the fancy designer sofa that went along one side of the room. I mean, a sofa like that in a bathroom like this just screamed extravagance, and since I only had a crappy threadbare one at home that had definitely seen better days, I couldn’t help but to plop down on it and dig into my sub.
Yes, I was eating lunch in my boss’s en suite bathroom while enjoying the view of the city beyond. Probably not the cleverest of moves. And yes, it was weird, but I couldn’t resist taking advantage of the luxury. Who knew when I’d next have the chance?
Pulling out my phone, I browsed Facebook as I chowed down, intermittently chuckling at funny statuses or shaking my head cynically at the usual whack jobs. I came across a collection of photos from a distant cousin of mine, taken at her wedding vows renewal.
Hmm, bitch never invited me. I swear to God, it was the height of excess to have 350 pics of the same event, but like the weirdo that I (and, let’s face it, all of us were) I couldn’t help but to keep on clicking, like I needed to see ten variations of the same scene more than a crackhead needed her next fix.
I was lost deep in the Facebook vortex when the distinct clearing of a male throat caused me to jump and drop my phone in fright. Glancing up, I found King standing in the doorway, arms crossed and a curious look on his face. He was back early. Of course he’d come back early.
“Enjoying your lunch?” he said, raising an eyebrow.
What was that sound, I hear you ask? Why, it was my heart plopping right out onto the floor and crawling away in mortification.
“I, eh, uh….” I tried to think of an excuse, but drew a complete and total blank. Finally I went with, “You have a couch in your bathroom.” Yep, that gem was all mine.
“I do. And you’re in here, why?”
I let out an embarrassed laugh and hung my head in shame. There really was no excuse for this. It was like, when you see a giraffe walking by, you’re more than likely at the zoo. This was me taking liberties plain as day. Wincing, I decided to go with honesty and face the consequences. “I’m really sorry. I was looking around your office and saw that you had a couch in your bathroom and that your bathroom is swankier than any bathroom I’ve ever been in, and I just couldn’t help myself.”
Oh, God, somebody gag my verbal diarrhoea, please.
I stared at King. King stared at me. His expression was indecipherable until he shook his head and let out a gentle laugh. Then he surprised the shit out of me when he closed the door, stepped inside, and dropped down beside me. He threw his arms up and rested his head in his hands, kicking his legs out.
“It is quite swanky in here,” he allowed.
A beat of silence elapsed before I had to ask, “Am I fired?”
King’s eyes slid to mine as he let out a long sigh. I thought he might be enjoying making me sweat before he finally answered, “Luckily for you, I’m in a decidedly good mood today, so no, you’re not fired. I’d appreciate it, though, if you let me know the next time you feel like eating lunch in my bathroom. I could have been in here taking a shower.” He grinned at me before putting on a face of mock horror. “Or, God forbid, having a number two.”
He whispered the words “number two,” and I burst out laughing. I swear, it was the last thing I’d expected him to say. He was pretty funny when he wanted to be.
I swiped my fingers over my heart. “Okay, cross my heart, I’ll give you notice the next time. Number twos are not something I want to witness.”
He waggled his brow and leaned in a fraction closer, bumping my shoulder with his. “Ah, but you wouldn’t be adverse to a shower?”
His question took me by surprise, and I was doubly surprised by the faintly heated look he gave me. My surprise, combined with my frazzlement, caused me to blurt out a whopper of a lie. “Oh, well, being a lesbian and all, seeing you in the buff wouldn’t really bother me.”
Why, why, why, Alexis? Why did you say that?
King eyed me shrewdly, his expression incredulous. “You’re gay…seriously?”
I pursed my lips together and swallowed. Now that the lie was out, there was no taking it back. Then I’d have to come up with a reason for lying, and that would mean telling him the way he looked at me made me have some very unprofessional thoughts about him. And yeah, no way was I doing that. No way.
“Yep. Gay as a…spring day on the first of May.”
Jesus. I had no idea where that weirdness had just spewed from. He studied my features, and I didn’t know what he was going to say next. Then he gave me a playful grin before asking brazenly, “Always or mostly?”
The cheeky little…I stared at him head on and continued lying. “Always.”
I wasn’t sure, but I thought I saw a flicker of disappointment in his eyes. “Oh, well, at least this means we’re ticking a box in the old equal opportunities survey.” I could tell by his tone that he was joking. But still, I needed to change the subject. Perhaps he’d forget about the lie. After all, he was a busy man and surely took in a lot of new information on a daily basis. Perhaps the “Alexis being a lesbian” info would get lost amid the masses.
“You have a picture of Elaine King in your office,” I said. “Any relation?”
His expression grew clouded, his demeanour more serious now as he answered soberly, “Yes, she’s my mother.”
“Wow. That’s some talented gene pool you come from. Do you play piano, too?”
He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Yes, actually. Mum began teaching me as a boy. Of course, I play purely for recreation. Mum is the star.”
“She’s very beautiful,” I added.
“Yes,” King agreed, frowning. “She is. It’s a pity the world doesn’t get to see it anymore.”
I wanted to ask him why that was, but I didn’t want to pry. Besides, I’d succeeded in changing the subject, and that was good enough for me. I wrapped up the last of my sandwich, got up from the couch, and gave him a friendly smile. “Well, Cambridge, I’d better get back to work. No rest for the wicked.”
He narrowed his gaze playfully, and I was relieved to see the humour return to his features. I didn’t like him sad and serious. “Let’s leave Cambridge out of it. It’s Mr King to you, Oliver at a push.”
“How do you feel about Cambo?”
One eyebrow shot up as he joked, “Cambo as in Cambodia?”
“Nah, Cambo as in, I came all over your boobs.”
What I’d said was probably pushing the limits of boss/employee appropriate chitchat, but he’d been overstepping the boundaries just as much as I had during our short time in the bathroom. Therefore, I wasn’t as worried about his reaction as I might have been.
I’ll give him credit – King didn’t miss a beat as he laughed loudly and shook his head. “Oh, my God, you really are a lesbian.”
Three
The rest of my first week went by, and I didn’t see much of King. The man was one busy banker. However, on Wednesday, the day after our bathroom chat, I arrived back from my morning break to find a Post-It note stuck to my keyboard. It was from my boss. He had really messy handwriting, but I managed to make it out nonetheless. It read:
Alexis,
I have lunch meetings all this week, so my swanky bathroom is free and at your disposal should you wish to avail of it. Just clean up the crumbs when you’re done.
Mr King
I was positively gleeful that he was giving me permission to use his bathroom as my own personal dining area and took full advantage of the offer. Besides, it was nice to have a little sanctuary away from my co-workers. I was fond of Eleanor, and Gillian was nice enough, despite her habit of flirting with any and every man who came into the office. But still, I cherished my hour in King’s bathroom. It was my thinking time to eat and relax without the constant need to be conversational.
I had a swing in my step as I walked home from the tube station Friday evening. Karla and I were going to our ska night, and I couldn’t wait to get dolled up and hit the town. After a week stuck in the office, I was more than ready to let my hair down. Maybe I’d even meet a man. Since my breakup with Stu was only a couple of months in my rearview mirror, I hadn’t really given much thought to dipping my toes back in the dating pool. But now that I had this new job, I also had a newfound boost of confidence. Yeah, I could definitely pull tonight if I put my mind to it.
I ate a quick dinner that Karla threw together for us, then hopped in the shower. Fresh and clean and wrapped in a towel, I stood by my closet and took inventory of my clothes, trying to decide what to wear. My wardrobe was a bit of a mishmash of styles; I liked to wear eye-catching patterns. In the end, I chose a pair of slinky leopard-print leggings, a black halter top that cupped my tits nicely, a chunky gold necklace, big hoop earrings, and a pair of stripy green and black wedge heels.
Shut up, I looked fabulous.
Standing by my full-length mirror, I began straightening my wavy hair and took in my appearance. The mismatched patterns were purposeful. Besides, you had to dress funky for a ska night. It was expected.
“Great outfit,” said Karla as she came into my room. “And those pants make your arse look fantastic.”
“Why, thanks,” I said, grinning and switching off the hair straightener. “You’re not so bad yourself.”
Karla wore a tight red pencil skirt and a stripy black and white top. She had the pale skin, red hair, and blue eyes of someone with a definite hint of Irish in their lineage. I, on the other hand, inherited my looks from my already mentioned crazy Greek mother (crazy in the best way) and had dark brown hair, almost black eyes, and an olive complexion. I also had an ample chest and a definite arse going on.
After I applied a bit of makeup, we shared a quick glass of wine before heading out. The Silver Bullet was totes hipster and always putting on random themed nights. At twenty-seven, and Karla being twenty-eight, we were probably a little old to be coming here. But whatever. The day I stopped going dancing would be the day they put me in my grave.
The ska night was in full swing when we walked in to the upbeat saxophone stylings of “One Step Beyond” by Madness. I didn’t even bother going to the bar first to get a drink. Instead, I grabbed Karla’s hand and led her to the dance floor, where we proceeded to bop and jump up and down like a pair of overenthusiastic toddlers.
I was lost in ska heaven when I felt a pair of arms go around my waist. Turning, I found my friend Bradley grinning down at me, wearing a wife-beater vest and a pair of canary-yellow jeans. Bradley was my brother from another mother who loved the cock. And yeah, camp as a row of tents. He’d gone to school with both Karla and me, and now worked as a pretty successful fashion photographer.
“Lexie! I haven’t seen you in ages,” he shouted in my ear. “What have you been up to?”
Fluttering my eyelashes, I replied jokingly, “Oh, you know, the usual. Leo Di Caprio offered to whisk me away for a dirty weekend and wouldn’t take no for an answer.”
He let out a yip of laughter and took my hand in his, leading me towards the bar. Karla followed, and Bradley turned to give her a quick hug and a kiss hello. He called to the barman, ordering a round of shots before turning back to me.
“I’m glad I bumped into you,” he said. “I’ve actually been meaning to give you a call, because I have a proposition.”
I grinned and knocked back the shot; it burned good as it went down. I liked Bradley’s propositions. They were almost always guaranteed to have “fun” stamped all over them.
“Oh, yeah?”
“Yesss,” he said. I could tell from the sparkle in his eyes that he was more than a little tipsy. “I’ve just started working for Baha. You ever heard of them?”
“Can’t say that I have,” I replied as Karla’s elbow knocked against mine while she drank her shot.
“Wellll, they’re a really popular fashion label, and I’m going to be working with them on an upcoming shoot for their plus-size range. They’re looking for some new faces, and I immediately thought of you.”
I sputtered a laugh. “Me? What, like, you want me to model?”
Bradley whacked me playfully on the arm. “No, I want you to make the tea. Of course, I want you to model. You’ll be perfect.”
I pretended to play it cool and joked, “Oh, well, I’d say yes and all, but if I showed up, they’d probably tell me to take my Kate Moss–lookin’ self back from whence I came.”
“Ha! Good one,” Bradley deadpanned. “Are you up for it or what?”
“Eh, yes, I’m up for it. When, where, and can I keep the clothes after? But, more importantly, how much will I be getting paid?”
He gave me a little scowl. “You’ll be very handsomely compensated, we’ll see about the clothes, and I’ll call you when I know more details.”
“Coolio,” I said, and turned to try and catch the barman’s attention. I needed a drink to celebrate. It really was turning out to be my lucky week. I had new job offers coming out the wazoo. Before I knew it, I’d downed a rum and Coke, and Bradley was dragging me and Karla back to the dance floor. At one point, a brunette wearing a skintight shirt sidled up to Bradley and began what can only be described as booty popping at him. He continued dancing and arched a brow as she turned to face him, shimmying her boobs.
“Oh, you are so barking up the wrong tree, love,” he sighed, and grinned.
I didn’t think she heard, because she was now rutting against him. I snickered my laughter and grabbed a hold of Karla’s hands, swaying her to the music. I was a happy, sweaty, dancing mess when I felt my phone begin to vibrate inside my bag. Stepping outside for a moment, because the music was too loud for a phone call, I glanced down at the screen and recognised King’s number. Eleanor had me programme all the required numbers into my phone on Monday, and similarly, she’d passed my number on to King if he ever needed me.
I was curious, and yes, too tipsy to be answering a call from my boss, when I hit “accept.” “Yo.”
King’s voice came down the line. “Alexis? Is that you?”
I grinned and leaned against the wall of the building. “The one and only. What can I do for you, boss?”
He cleared his throat, and there was a beat of silence, as though he was considering whether to continue the conversation. Finally, he went on, “I apologise for disturbing you outside of office hours, but I need someone to go collect some folders from Monty, and both Eleanor and Gillian are busy.”
“Monty as in Burns?” Yep, definitely tipsy.
I heard the smile in his voice when he responded. “No, Monty as in Montgomery Charles. He works for me at the bank. He’s drawn up some certificates, and I need the originals. Are you free to collect them for me?”
I sighed internally, knowing my night of fun was at its end. “Not exactly, but since you’ve allowed me to requisition your office bathroom this week, I suppose I do owe you one.”
“Great,” said King before rattling off where I had to go, alongside his home address, and told me he’d leave a key with the doorman. He also told me to keep my travel receipts for reimbursement. I went back inside, told Karla there was a work thing, and swiftly flagged down a taxi. Monty turned out to be a twenty-something guy with a big smile and a distinct eagerness to impress. He was adamant that I deliver the papers directly to Mr King, no detours. It was probably the way I was dressed that had him concerned, like I was some crazy leopard print–adorned lady pretending to be Oliver King’s assistant.
The taxi was idling by the side of the road, waiting for me, when I returned and we continued on to King’s place. It turned out his apartment was located close to the Thames, in a building that screamed money.
The doorman was expecting me and handed me a key card as I looked around the stylish modern interior. There were about ten floors, and King’s apartment was at the top. Choosing to take the lift, since I had enough stairs to contend with in my own building, I hit the button for his floor.
I was fully sober as I walked down the long corridor to his apartment and let myself in. At first the place seemed quiet, but then I heard the music. Someone was playing a piano.
As I stepped around a tall column and entered the spacious lounge, I saw him. His back was to me as he sat in front of a black baby grand, his fingers skimming the keys as he played something classical. The tune was soft and hard at the same time, so intricate and beautiful. I knew I’d heard it before, maybe in a film, but I couldn’t pinpoint where.
It made my pores grow tight and my lungs feel a little bereft of air.
There was something that was just so unexpected about seeing him like this, and it hit me square in the feelers. In the office I’d seen him professional, efficient, confident, and in control. But right then he was vulnerable, artistic, and totally absorbed in the music. And he was good, crazy good, so good I didn’t understand why he was a banker when he could be playing music like this for a living.
The song became passionate, and his fingers pounded the keys right before my phone went off with a text. I had no clue who it was from, but I stood still as King immediately stopped playing and twisted around to face me. He seemed taken off guard, surprised to see me there even though he knew I was coming over. It was clear that he’d been completely lost in the music.
A moment of heavy, unexplainable tension fell between us.
Then he did a slow perusal of my body, and I swear he was holding back a grin. All in an instant, the tension was gone, and he wore a humorous expression.
“Oh, go on, say it. You know you want to,” I sighed.
King let out a breath like he’d been holding it, and his voice was full of amusement. “What on earth are you wearing?”
“Hey, what I wear outside the office is my own prerogative.” I scowled at him playfully. “But if you must know, I was out clubbing with some friends when I got your call, hence my fan-bloody-tastic attire.”
He pursed his lips in an effort to stay his grin. “Well, in that case, I apologise for interrupting your night. Please, come and sit down. Do you have the receipt for your taxi and the certificates from Monty?”
“Yes and yes,” I replied, walking to his couch, setting the folders on the coffee table, and taking a seat. “By the way, you play beautifully. Your mum taught you well.” My words were restrained. What I really wanted to do was gush about how amazing he was, how the music had given me feelings I’d never had before, how it had made me see him in a completely different light. And I really liked that light.
King seemed to grow self-conscious as he ran a hand through his hair. “Yes, well, it’s just a hobby.” He paused and eyed my bag. “The receipt?”
“Oh, yeah, sorry,” I said, and began rummaging for it while he waited.
As I handed it to him, I did a quick scan of his place. The Steinway sat by the window looking out onto the river, and I noticed piles and piles of paperwork stacked neatly all over the living room floor. He must have been working tonight. A bottle of red wine sat open on the coffee table, a half-finished glass beside it. There was an expensive-looking chessboard on the table, and I wondered if he played or if it was only there for show.
I remained seated as King disappeared into another room before returning with his wallet. Retrieving a few notes, he handed them to me. I took them and shoved them in my bag.
“Again, thank you for doing this on such short notice. I do try not to disturb my employees outside of the office.”
“It’s not a problem,” I replied, and our eyes met. We both stared at each other for a moment, and my skin began to feel warm. King took in a deep breath. He didn’t seem to want me to leave yet, so I nodded towards the coffee table. “Nice chessboard. Do you play?”
