When Bentley’s parents excuse themselves to find their seats, Preston turns to me.
“Jasmine, you’re an absolute vision in that dress,” he practically purrs. “Remind me to thank whoever picked it out later.”
“Preston...” Charles says in warning.
“Dad,” Kingston grits out at the same time, shifting his body again so he’s blocking me even more.
“Relax. It was a compliment—I meant no harm. Although, it seems my son hasn’t gotten the memo. He’s practically pissing circles around her right now, isn’t he?” Preston’s greedy eyes are fixed on me the entire time, and I have to put some serious effort into not gagging.
Screw it, if Preston really wants to do this in front of all these people, game on, motherfucker.
I straighten my spine and step forward so my shoulders are flush with Kingston’s. “Why would he need to do that? It’s not like there’s anyone here who poses a threat. I mean, I share DNA with this one”—I jerk my head back toward Charles—"and the only one left is you.” I take a moment to look Preston up and down, my disinterest clear.
Kingston’s fingers tighten around mine so hard, I wince. He immediately loosens his grip, but the warning is clear. I’m not stupid; I know Preston Davenport is a lot more dangerous than he looks on the surface. But guess what? He’s not the only one.
Mr. Davenport’s cheeks redden. “You certainly are spirited, aren’t you?”
I pop a brow. “Your point?”
He pastes a fake smile on his face. “No point. Just an observation.” Preston slaps Kingston on the back. “Wouldn’t you agree, son?”
Kingston is practically vibrating with rage as he shrugs out of his father’s hold. “It’s one of the many things I appreciate about her.”
“I bet.” Preston laughs. “I’m sure she keeps things... interesting.”
“Can you not talk about me like I’m not standing right in front of you?”
Preston’s eyes narrow, but before he can say anything else, Charles speaks up.
“Enough,” Charles commands. We’re all careful to keep the volume of this discussion down, but I don’t miss the anger in his tone. I thought his ire was due to my insolence, but my father’s glare is fixed on Kingston’s father when I look up. “Preston, didn’t you mention you wanted to speak with a certain supplier before dinner? They’re about to start serving, so you should probably go do that now.”
Preston brushes imaginary lint off his sleeve. “Yes, of course. Thank you for reminding me.”
Charles nods.
When his father walks away, Kingston clears his throat. “We’re going to get some fresh air before dinner.”
We don’t bother waiting for Charles’ response; we just walk away. Once we’re outside on the balcony, Kingston yanks me into a darkened corner and wraps me in a bear hug.
“Fuck.” He takes a few deep breaths before pulling back to frame my face with his hands. “Are you okay?”
“Are you?”
He shakes his head. “Doesn’t matter.”
“Like hell, it doesn’t!” I argue. “It looked like you were two seconds away from knocking your father out cold.”
Kingston presses his forehead against mine. “That’s because I was.”
I sigh. “Kingston.”
“I couldn’t stop thinking about the video.” He pulls back to look me in the eye. “I can’t unsee that shit.”
He turns his face into me as I run my finger along the length of his eyebrow. “Me, either.”
Kingston looks around to ensure we don’t have any possible eavesdroppers. “I thought I could handle it; that it’d be just like any other day I had to put on the front. But when I saw the way he was looking at you, I wanted to fucking kill him, Jazz. Right on the spot, no concern for witnesses. I was envisioning bashing his head into the floor until brain matter was seeping out of his skull.”
I cringe from that disturbing—yet, also strangely satisfying—visual. “We can’t let your dad get to us, Kingston. He’d win, and that’s not an option.”
“Agreed, but it’s not going to be easy. Suspecting my father wanted you was one thing. Knowing he’s fantasizing about you while fucking someone else? That he sees you as a barrier between him and ten billion dollars? It’s an entirely different ballgame, especially when you’re within his reach. I don’t want you anywhere near him, Jazz.” Kingston blows out a breath. “Logically, I know he wouldn’t have actually touched you in front of all those witnesses, but it’s like my brain short-circuited. That crap he just pulled? He wouldn’t be so brazen if he wasn’t confident in his ability to win whatever game he’s playing.”
“Speaking of games... is it just me, or did it seem like he was goading my sperm donor? Do you think he knows your dad is sleeping with Madeline?”
“Maybe.” He shrugs. “Shit’s definitely going down between them, but my gut is telling me it’s bigger than an affair.”
“Like what?”
Kingston shakes his head. “Add it to the list of things I don’t know.”
“So, what do we do now?”
He leans down and pulls my lower lip between his teeth. “We go in there and play nice. Completely act like that entire encounter never happened. After we eat, I make my rounds, then we can ghost this place.”
“Pretending that didn’t happen is easier said than done when we have to sit at the same table. Just thinking about that look your dad gave me makes me want to vomit.”
Kingston tilts my chin up. “Don’t give him the satisfaction of knowing he rattled us. You’re the strongest person I know, Jazz, and my near freak-out back there was just a blip. I wasn’t prepared for his aberrant behavior, but I am now. We just have to remember nothing’s off the table when it comes to Preston Davenport. And you and me? We’re a team. If anyone can do this, it’s us. Don’t let him fucking win this round, Jazz.”
“I won’t.” I throw my shoulders back, steeling my resolve. “We won’t. If your dad wants to fight dirty, let him. We’ll just have to show him what badasses we can be.”
Kingston smiles. “There’s my girl.”
CHAPTER THREE
KINGSTON
The head table is one of those rectangular ones that’s set apart from the other guests. I frown when I see place cards, indicating where each person should sit. There’s a total of eight place settings, with—surprise, surprise—our fathers in the middle, lording over everyone. Madeline and Peyton are seated to Charles’ left, and my sister and Reed are to my father’s right.
Ainsley must’ve specifically requested Reed’s spot because neither my dad nor Charles are considerate enough to think of something like that. The place card bearing my name is directly next to my dad’s, so this should be interesting, to say the least. Since Jazz and I are the last two to arrive, we don’t really have the option of rearranging the cards. Switching to another table defeats our objective.
“Assigned seating?” Jazz whispers. “Seriously?”