“That man takes such good care of me.” Mother busies herself with punching reheat on two of the pre-cooked meals her husband prepared for her in his absence. “He won’t leave for a trip if he hasn’t left food for me to heat up while he’s gone.” She turns to face me with a dreamy expression on her face. “I really think I’ve found a good one this time, Margo, honey. This one is a keeper.”
I love my mother, but it takes everything in me not to roll my eyes and blurt out ‘that’s what you said about the last four.’ My mother is a hopeful romantic, always believing in soul mates and fate and all that hokey nonsense.
She takes in the expression on my face and then shakes her head, causing her long dark curls to bounce around her shoulders. “Don’t give me that look.”
My mouth drops. Sometimes I forget how good she is at reading what’s on my mind even if I don’t make a move to voice it. “I didn’t say anything.”
“You didn’t have to. I’m your mother, Margo. I can read how much you detest the idea of love by the expression on your face. I’m pretty good at that, you know. Matter-of-fact, I once had this clairvoyant tell me I was a natural at reading auras.” The sound of the microwave dings, signaling that our food is ready and interrupting her train of thought. She lifts one of the plates of grilled chicken to her nose. “Ah. This smells wonderful. Jean Paul is a man of many talents, cooking being one of them.” She wiggles her eyebrows suggestively.
My face twists. “Ew. Mother. Please. I’m your child, for God’s sake. I don’t need to hear about your sex life.”
She sets a plate in front of me and then waves me off dismissively. “Oh, please, darling. You’re a grown woman. It’s not like you are too young to hear about this.”
I wrinkle my nose as I cut into the chicken in front of me. “There’s never going to be an age when I’m old enough to discuss sex with you.”
Mother pulls out the barstool across from me and takes a seat before she begins to cut up her food. “Speaking of sex, I took the liberty of Googling Alexander King while you were off gallivanting with him last week.”
I raise one eyebrow as I swallow down the food in my mouth and do my best not to choke. “Why would you do that?”
“I had to see exactly who my daughter was spending all her time with.”
This time, I do roll my eyes. “Don’t let his beautiful face fool you. He’s not pleasant to be around.”
“The hot ones never are, dear. That’s what makes them so fun. They’re a challenge.” A smile pulls at the corners of her mouth. She’s no doubt reliving some memory of a time she spent with some old asshole boyfriend as she takes a sip of her water. “Tell me, was that trip to Vegas all work or did you manage to get some playtime in with the notorious Naughty King?”
For a moment, I debate whether to lie to her. I could stick to the story that absolutely nothing happened between Alexander and me, but knowing how well she can read me, she’ll see right through me.
I readjust in my seat. “I would like to say that it was all business . . .”
“But?” she prods.
“It wasn’t,” I answer honestly.
Her smile widens as she leans in, clamoring for the juicy bit of gossip she can tell is about to spill out of my mouth. “Do tell. And don’t leave out one sordid detail.”
I close my eyes and wrinkle my nose. There’s no way I can hide what happened in Vegas from her. Besides, she’s the one person in this world I can trust with this secret. “I slept with him.”
“That’s my girl!” she exclaims and then instantly launches into a question. “How was it?”
“Mother!”
“What? Inquiring minds, darling. Are you going to see him again?”
I lift one shoulder in a noncommittal shrug. “I don’t want to, but I’m afraid I’ll be forced to.”
She nods. “That’s right. The whole spy mission your father has you on. I nearly forgot about that. If you really don’t want to see Alexander King anymore, just quit and tell your father that you’re done being his little tattletale. Lord knows how hard it is to be in close proximity to an ex-lover. Your father should understand and not make too much of a fuss over the situation.”
I sigh. “It’s not that simple, I’m afraid.”
“But it is. If you’re afraid to tell your father, I’ll call and tell—”
“My issues are much bigger than handling Daddy.”
She bunches her brow, clearly confused. I can see the wheels turning behind her eyes as she tries to figure out what I’m hiding. “Then what is it?”
“I married the bastard on a drunken whim,” I blurt out before I lose my nerve.
Her eyes widen. “Say again? I’m not sure I heard that quite right. It sounded like you just told me that my only child ran off to Vegas and got married for the very first time without me present.”
My lips twitch and finally pull down at one corner. “It’s not like I planned for it to happen. Hell, I don’t even remember it.”
“Oh, dear.” Mother sighs. “Does your father know?”
I nod. “Of course he does. He thinks this is excellent leverage to have on Alexander.”
We sit in silence for a few moments and then Mother says, “Maybe this isn’t such a bad thing.”
That’s not exactly what I was expecting her to say. “How can you say that? Being married to Alexander King is one of the worst things I can ever imagine happening to me in my life.”
“Are you sure about that?”
I push my half-eaten plate of food away before folding my arms across my chest. “Of course, I am. He’s a pompous asshole, and I can’t believe I allowed myself to get in to this situation.”
“See, dear, that’s where I think this marriage might not be such a bad thing.”
Clearly, my mother is allowing Alexander’s disgustingly good looks to blind her to the truth of how awful he is. “You’re not grasping the—”
“I understand just fine.” She cuts me off and then levels her gaze on me. “I’m not sure you’re seeing that maybe fate has a way of intervening, even if you don’t believe what’s happening is the best thing. If you let your guard down enough to marry him, drunk or not, he can’t be all bad, can he? There has to be some small part of you that enjoys being with him or else you would’ve never gone through with a quickie Vegas wedding.”
I open my mouth to argue—to explain that the liquor completely impaired my judgment when it came to Alexander, but that wouldn’t exactly be the truth. I had sex with the man two times before I even had a drink of alcohol. I have no excuse for that. Alexander King is a very intoxicating man, and it pisses me off that I find it so hard to resist him.
Margo
MY PALMS SWEAT AS I sit at my desk, waiting for the moment Alexander comes marching through the door. I don’t recall the last time I’ve been this nervous. That man just has a way of pushing my buttons, even when he’s not around. I seriously entertained Mom’s idea of quitting, but I know Daddy would kill me if I gave up on saving the company, so here I am.
All night long, I ran scenarios through my head of what it would be like to see him today. I have loads of fiery dialogue just waiting to assault him the moment that cocky mouth of his opens and he says one cross thing to me.
The soft ding of the elevator stopping on this otherwise quiet floor catches my attention. I practically leap out of my seat, not wanting to be in a position to be talked down to if it is Alexander.
It’s only seven. Most of the employees don’t start rolling in for at least another forty-five minutes, but I know that Alexander is always the first one at the office every morning.
I hold my breath as I hear heavy footsteps head in my direction.
Our gazes meet as soon as he rounds the corner and turns into my office. He’s always so put together, and today is no different as he waltzes toward my desk in his perfectly pressed black suit. I stare into Alexander’s gray eyes, ready to begin our verbal sparring match, but I never get the chance to say a word. He turns without so much as a word to me and storms into his adjoining office, slamming the door shut behind him in the process.
My mouth drops open. So much for my thought-out plan of attack.
I plop down in my chair and do my best to pretend the man, who is now my husband, isn’t on the other side of that door, avoiding me at all costs.
Asshole.
I flip off the door but refuse to go chasing after him to demand answers. If he wants to play ‘let’s pretend last weekend never happened,’ then so be it.
Game on.
He will not control my thoughts any longer. I won’t allow it because I’ve done nothing but obsess about him since I arrived back in New York. If I haven’t been daydreaming about the way his hands felt on me, then figuring out a way to take him down has consumed me. I wish he weren't such a fantastic lover. Maybe then, I could jerk my head out of the fucking clouds and stop thinking about Alexander King in toe-curling sexual positions.
I sigh and check the clock on my computer screen. It’s nearly twelve, and there still hasn’t been a peep out of Alexander. Not even for his coffee—which is odd since he always seems to take great pleasure in having me fetch on his command.
I’ll be damned if I break the little silence game we have going on between us. I refuse to allow him to believe he has an inch of power over me. I still want him to think I’m ready to stick it to him at any moment for not having a prenup in place before he married me.
I return my attention back to the statistical figures for King Enterprises that I’ve been able to get my hands on. All morning, I’ve been looking for traces of unethical practices that can help me in my pursuit to take Alexander King down with a bit of blackmail. Unfortunately for me, nothing of use has turned up. To my surprise, this company seems to do everything by the book.
The phone on my desk rings, and I snatch it off my desk the moment Alexander’s name flashes across the caller ID. “Yes, Mr. King. Is there something I can do for you?”
“I need a car brought around in exactly fifteen minutes,” he orders without as much as a greeting.
I don’t appreciate the bossy tone in his voice, so I decide to throw a little dig of my own at him. “Of course, sir. Is there anything else you need from me? Your messages, coffee, divorce papers? Oh, wait, I forgot that we need to tie up many loose ends before we close that deal.”
The last one has me biting my lip to hold back a snicker. I don’t even have to see the expression on his face to know that one has him seething.
“Margo . . .” he says my name with a warning, but I’ve decided I need to keep going—keep pushing his buttons.
“Do I detect some anger? Is that any way to speak to your wife? We are still in that newlywed phase, after all.”
“Margo,” he growls. “Get your ass in this office so we can discuss this matter privately. We don’t need the entire fucking office knowing our goddamn business.”
I raise my eyebrows while a smirk crosses my face. “No need to get touchy. I—”
Click.
Before I can throw out anything else, Alexander stops me in my tracks by hanging up.
The smile still rests on my face as I push myself up from my desk. I like the idea of having this egotistical man by the balls. His reputation of dicking women over precedes him in this city, so I love the idea that I’ve one-upped this man.
Now all I have to do is march in there and keep up this bitch persona. The only chance I have of keeping him at bay is to continue to piss him off. If he despises me, then he’ll stay on the other side of that desk and not attempt to use those magical hands on me. Lord knows, if he touches me, I’ll lose all self-control, and I cannot allow that to happen. This is my one shot at forcing Alexander King into not taking over my father’s company. It’s also one of my last chances to put distance between the two of us and regain control of my heart before it falls for this wicked man.