“Mr. North,” Danielle says, her hands balled in front of her as if to keep them close for fear they may be bitten off. “This woman is here to see Kingston.”
He sets a pair of cold, hazel eyes on me. “You’re here for Kingston.”
I pull the wallet out of my pocket and show him. “Only to give him his wallet back.”
His gaze drops to the wallet and then slides to Danielle, where he nods once to dismiss her. She backs out of the room quickly. His attention completely on me makes me feel exposed, vulnerable, and a little scared.
He stands and motions to the chairs that face his desk. “Come in. Have a seat.”
“Um…” I turn back to the door and find it closed. Danielle must have some super silent powers to have done that without me hearing it. “I’m sorry, maybe I have the name wrong. Are you Kingston North?”
His eyes narrow in suspicion, and he doesn’t hide his inspection of my face. “No.”
I absently touch my temple, where my scar disappears into my hairline. “They made it sound like he’d be here—”
“Why don’t you sit down.” He motions again to a chair.
I sit on the edge of the seat, my nerves making it impossible to get too comfortable. I met an old psychic last year. She came to visit her sister, who was in the final stages of breast cancer. She’d cleanse her room with sage and lay crystals around the bed. She taught me about auras, and this guy is giving off some serious red—passion, ego, danger, warning. Guys like this feed off fear, and I’m no one’s pig trough.
He stands in front of me, leans back against his desk, and crosses his ankles. “How do you know my brother?”
Brother? Strong brow line, full lips, hazel eyes. Not nearly as pretty, but that might have something to do with his fuck-off expression.
I don’t know how much Kingston has told his brother, but I’m not about to rat him out.
I stand and hold out the wallet. “If you could return this to him for me, I’ll get out of your hair.”
“Answer my question.” He folds his arms over his chest.
Yep, he’s a dick. I mirror his stance. “No.”
The corner of his mouth ticks up. “You’re the woman he blacked out with.”
“Hold on… he didn’t black out with me.”
He shrugs. “Semantics.”
Is he implying what I think he’s implying?
“Your brother was mugged, and—”
“What did you say?” His voice turns arctic-level cold, making the hairs on my arms stand on end. “He was mugged?”
I slam my mouth shut.
“Don’t hold back now, sweetheart—”
“I’m not your sweetheart.”
“What is going on in here?”
I whirl around and, unprepared for the visual assault, I stumble back a step.
It’s Mr. Handsome Pants. And although he looked incredible when he was passed out and hungover, he looks otherworldly hot now.
His eyes are wide on me and bounce quickly to his brother before settling back on my face. “You,” he whispers.
I instinctively pull hair over my scar.
“You didn’t tell me you were mugged, fuckface.”
I jump at Kingston’s brother’s growl.
Kingston notices, and his wide eyes grow narrow and swing to his brother. “Calm down.”
“No. You fuck—”
“Now, Hayes. I’m serious.” After a brief stare-off, Hayes backs down with a shake of his head.
Seeming satisfied, Kingston turns to me, his posture stiff. “Hey.”
Not a single intelligent word comes to mind, so I shove his wallet toward him.
He spots his wallet, and I expect him to look happy or relieved, but he seems indifferent as he takes it from me.
“I found it. There’s nothing in it.”
He doesn’t even look, just lets it dangle in his hand at his side.
“Except for a business card and an insurance card.” I motion to the wallet, but he keeps his eyes on mine. “It’s how I found you.” Pulling my hair across my lips, I mumble, “I hope that’s okay.”
The air in the room hums with a charge of electricity—or maybe the warm sensation against my skin is the result of having two handsome, powerful men staring directly at me in close range.
“What’s your name?”
I rip my gaze from Kingston to Hayes, who asked the question. “Gabriella.”
“I owe you money,” Kingston says. He pulls a sleek brown billfold from his pocket, and I swear I can smell the leather from here. He fishes out a few bills, folds them, and offers them to me, pinched between two long fingers.
I take the money and stuff it into my pocket.
“She paid for my Uber home,” I hear Kingston say. I assume answering his brother’s unspoken question.
“I can’t believe you were mugged,” Hayes grumbles. “You should’ve called me.”
“They stole my phone, and I couldn’t remember anyone’s number.”
Hayes rubs his eyes and then shakes his head. “Then you’re lucky Gabriella here found you.” He circles around to his desk chair and mumbles, “Dumbass.”
I shift on my feet, my soles tingling with a desire to get away. “I should go.”
Kingston steps aside, allowing me to pass, and stares at the floor.
“Hold on,” Hayes says from a casual position, leaning back in his chair like some kind of corporate god. “I can’t just let you leave without properly showing my appreciation for what you did for my brother.”
“Hayes,” Kingston says softly but with a stiff venom.
Hayes smiles. “We have a party coming up. Why don’t you let Kingston take you as his guest.”
“That’s not necessary. I was happy to help.”
“Nonsense.” Hayes motions toward Kingston, who is still looking at the ground. “Bring Gabriella, ya know, as your date.”
A muscle in Kingston’s jaw jumps, and he licks his lips as if trying to bite back an angry response.
“No, thank you,” I say firmly. “I’m not interested.”
Kingston’s gaze meets mine, and there is tension in his stare, some internal struggle that has me leaning in for a closer look.
“Oh, come on, it’ll be fun. And you’ll be doing Kingston a solid.” Hayes sounds lighter, more relaxed. Dare I say… friendly. “There’s no hope of him coming out of that closet anytime soon. Our family is kind of a nightmare. Bringing you will keep them off his back.”
I study Kingston under a different lens. Incredible body, perfect hair, fashion sense, and he smells better than any man I’ve ever—oh.
Ooh…
Kingston is gay.
He catches my eye, and whatever he sees in my expression makes him wince.
Poor thing, he’s probably getting pressure from his wealthy, traditional family to get married and produce offspring. Old money can be so archaic.
“I’ll do it.” With straight shoulders and a stiff spine, I nod. “I’ll go.”
Kingston’s body seems to melt a little in his well-tailored suit. “You don’t have to—”
“Are you kidding? I’d love to go.” If for no other reason than to fuck with his family, who care more about their bloodline than they do about their own son’s happiness.