Lush (The King Cousins Book 1) (The King Brothers 4)

by K. D. Elizabeth

  A guy like him, though, clearly flying by the seat of his pants throughout life? I could never actually be with someone like that. The very thing that attracted him to me for a hookup is the last thing I’d want to be involved with on a long-term basis.

  But I just acted and completely ignored the potential consequences. That’s something that James would have done—that he probably did do, now that I think about it. Get involved with someone completely wrong for him and not care who got hurt in the process.

  The old pain resurfaces. And the guilt. The helpless rage that I could have done something and didn’t.

  Yeah, Jude. Let’s just pile on, yeah? Let’s go through all your greatest regrets real quick. What else do you have to do tonight? Who needs sleep, really?

  No. I’m not going to do that. Obsessing over things I cannot change isn’t healthy and won’t help me get out of this situation. What I need to do is schedule an appointment at the clinic for when I get back to Oregon tomorrow, and then finish up all the research Northwood requested for this deal, so that come Monday, when I have to fly back here on Northwood’s jet, I’ll be primed to get this thing closed.

  And it’s like just thinking about my boss summons him, because as soon as I finish that thought, he calls. Groaning, I stare down at my phone, my thumb hovering over the ‘answer’ icon as I deliberate how much grief I’d catch if I let it go to voicemail. This is a game I play on a near-daily basis. I’ve long ago already memorized just how many seconds I have until the call kicks over to my message box.

  I sigh. He’ll just call back.

  “Northwood. Hello.”

  “Jude? Where have you been all night? I’ve been texting.”

  Rolling my eyes, I say, “Charles. I flew across the country, drove two hours each way from Savannah to Ovid, and you’re wondering where I’ve been all day? This is the first thirty minutes the whole day I’ve not been in motion.”

  “Hmm. I suppose. So tell me. Did you meet King? I told you not to.”

  “No,” I sigh. “I didn’t meet him. I don’t even think he was there.”

  “Hmm. And there wasn’t any Old Abe’s being sold? No signage anywhere?”

  I open my mouth to tell him about the bartender pulling a bottle out from behind the bar, but something holds me back. Northwood isn’t above cutting corners on deals—or worse, if office rumors are true.

  According to the office grapevine, more than one employee has been fired for speaking up when Northwood cut them out of their commissions for bringing in new products. And others have mysteriously quit, only to turn up working for the liquor company that suddenly pulled its agreement with NBI. While I’m not particularly close with anyone at work—the office environment is far too cutthroat for that, also courtesy of Northwood—I’ve even overheard conversations implying Northwood’s tried to copy products from companies he’s just signed an agreement to distribute for.

  But that might be a bridge too far. It’s hard to say how much is hearsay from disgruntled employees and how much is the truth. What I do know is that working for Northwood can be a miserable experience. That must mean there’s at least some truth to the rumors.

  Not that I would know. I’ve always laid down the law about that when it came to my own work. I simply won’t do unethical shit. And because of my particular abilities, Northwood’s not in a position to deny me that. He’s never tried to make me do anything shady—quite the opposite, in fact.

  Which is why this sudden uneasy feeling is so surprising.

  Charles Northwood better not try to short-change Old Abe’s. I haven’t been this excited about a project in years, and I refuse to let my dick of a boss ruin the product.

  Not that I can tell him that. Northwood and I have been locked in a kind of extended stalemate ever since I got hired at his company. He runs the show and can dictate whether I ever advance in this industry, but I have skills he doesn’t—and can’t reproduce in either himself or another person.

  So neither of us has a vested interest in pissing the other off too much. It’s resulted in my lasting much longer at this company than most other employees, and him not getting what he wants 24/7. Neither of us is happy about it.

  “I couldn’t find any signage,” I finally say, knowing he’ll start to get suspicious if I don’t give him an answer soon.

  “Interesting,” he says. “So you’re back in the room? Getting ready for bed, Jude?”

  And then there’s that. The other reason—one of many—I dislike the man.

  Northwood’s never outright expressed interest in me sexually—he’s far too shrewd to ever put something like that on record—but he hasn’t expressed disinterest, either. He’s the king of subtle innuendo, but he never strays into the land of impropriety, so there’s little I can do.

  The man is old enough to be my father and has the nasty personality to boot. I’ll pass, thanks.

  I suppose I could just quit, but then I might as well flush everything I’ve worked for down the drain, as well. I’m not about to punish myself like that for doing nothing wrong.

  “I know you’ve had a long day, is all. I wouldn’t want you to overdo yourself on account of me,” he adds when I pointedly don’t respond.

  Uh huh. I’m sure that’s exactly what you meant, Charles.

  “Frankly, sir,” I say, steering the conversation back to where it belongs, “this was a bit of a waste of a trip. I didn’t see anything out of the ordinary or that would imply the business is struggling. I think we have the potential for a strong partnership here.”

  On the contrary, the fact that I actually saw one of the patrons—even if it was just Bartender Boy’s twin—consuming the drink implies that some of the people in the town are aware of it and already like the product. If anything, that’s evidence the product will sell.

  Something Northwood would be interested in knowing.

  But again, instinct has me holding my tongue.

  “Well, that’s great news, Jude,” he says. I frown. His tone is seemingly pleasant, but I’ve come to know him well enough that I’d swear he’s not pleased to hear it.

  More evidence that I’ll need to proceed with the utmost caution on this deal. And I had to go and sleep with one of the employees. Stupid, stupid. As if the stakes weren’t high enough already.

  “It is,” I say firmly. Firmness gets places with Northwood. “And I’m sure we can discuss the rest of the details tomorrow when I return to the office.”

  “That’s why I’m calling, actually.”

  The sinking feeling deepens. “Oh?”

  “I’m going to need you to stay on site until Monday. Can you extend your stay at the hotel?”

  “I’m not sure,” I say slowly. “Charles, what’s the reason for this? What more could I need to figure out before the meeting? At this point, we’re mostly waiting on King’s presentation. It’s my understanding that that was pretty much a formality. Isn’t that true?”

  “Yes, yes,” he says absently. A little too absently for my liking.

  “Then what’s the problem?”

  “I was hoping you could get a look at his stock.”

  I actually pull the phone away from my ear and stare at it. What? He can’t seriously be asking me that. “Charles,” I say, not bothering to hide the confusion in my tone, “how am I supposed to do that? You said you don’t want me to announce my presence.”

  “I’m sure you’ll figure something out. You’re a resourceful woman, Jude.”

  Yeah, and I’m also the Queen of England. The only way I could possibly take a peek at King’s stash is if I either seduced him too—perish the very thought—or somehow broke into wherever he stores it. The odds of either of those things happening are precisely zero.

  “I’m not doing that,” I say.

  He pauses. It’s never good when Northwood pauses. “I need you to be a team player on this one, Jude.”

  “I’m always a team player. You know that. But I don’t do anything unethical. You know
that, too.”

  “I’d never ask you to do anything untoward, Jude.”

  I resist the urge to snort. Yeah, only because I’ve been upfront from the get-go that I won’t do it. I’ve heard the horror stories from my coworkers.

  “Yes,” I say through gritted teeth.

  Northwood pauses again. “It’s important that you help bring this deal to fruition, Jude. It’s not just about the company. For your own personal benefit as well.”

  I still. Is he saying what I think he’s saying? “Sir, are you—”

  “Yes, Jude. I am. Bring in Old Abe’s, and you’ll finally get that promotion. The whole deal. I’m sure that changes things, right? You won’t mind staying in the area for the rest of the week, will you?”

  “No, sir,” I say, excitement coursing through my veins. Finally. After years of sucking up to this guy and playing corporate ball, I’m finally going to be free to do what I want. He’s got me. He and I both know it. He’s dangled the carrot right in front of my nose, and I’m going to heave and ho until I pull that cart.

  If that means I have to stick around here for the rest of the week, then fine. I’ll figure something out.

  “You can consider it a done deal, sir,” I say.

  “Wonderful. I’ll see you on Monday, then,” he says, and hangs up.

  For a long moment, I stare at my phone, too stunned to think. I can’t even believe it’s really happening. He’s dangled this in front of me for so long, I was beginning to think that it was never going to happen. But shrewd guy that he is, he’s just about guaranteed I’ll do whatever I need to get this done.

  That doesn’t mean I’m going to sneak around King’s premises, searching for his secret stash of product. Or that I’m even going to step foot in that bar again until Monday. No way can I even think of doing so, not after I slept with one of the employees. If I have any sense at all, I’ll steer clear of the place. I might take a look around town, maybe have a little chat with people to get their opinions of King, but that is it.

  I’ll just have to make up some excuse to Northwood as to why I couldn’t find the stash. No way am I telling him I’ve slept with one of King’s employees and that my returning before our meeting might create a problem. I draw the line at bringing my sex life into my work. It’s no one’s business, and Northwood doesn’t need to use it as an excuse to yank me from the deal.

  Maybe I can tell him that it’s in a hidden location outside of Ovid.

  Whatever. I’ll figure it out. But what I will have to do is find a local clinic in Savannah.

  Because if there’s one thing I know, it’s that I’m not going to be able to tie this deal up without first closing the book on my disastrous one-night-stand.

  Chapter Six

  Nathan

  Now I might be a wild man, but diseases give me the heebie-jeebies. So the morning after my little fiasco, I hightail it over to the only physician’s office in Ovid.

  The one thing I loathe more than contracting some terrifying disease, though, is getting stuck with the needle to be diagnosed with it. I mean, think about it. Needles are entirely unnatural. Humans have evolved over literally thousands of years to avoid the hell out of anything that has some pointy shit on it.

  Stingrays, porcupines, even little honeybees. Any one of them will fuck you up with the slightest little prick. So in all honesty, being afraid of needles is highly rational. Manly, even.

  I keep telling myself that as I head up the steps to our small clinic, which happens to be run by my brother, Griffin, the third oldest in the family and essentially the chronic do-gooder of the King brood. He took over from our ancient town doctor who understandably decided he’d had well enough of staring at the wobbly bits of the people in this town and wanted to gallivant around the world. Grif’s just started in his stead.

  Here’s the thing about Griffin. He’s kind of … how should I put this … oh, yes. He’s the perfect combination of Hermione Granger and Neville Longbottom. Yes, really. Griffin is simultaneously a huge do-gooding know-it-all and also a man with zero game when it comes to the ladies.

  Now, I know what you’re thinking. Nathan! You protest. That guy who played Neville in the movies is super-hot now.

  And sure, I’ll grant y’all that. But his character? Total virgin. And while, yes, Griffin’s situation is not that bad, he’s been mooning over the same woman pretty much since the cradle but has yet to close the deal.

  I suppose I should admire him for his taste and patience because Cassie Taylor is rather delightful, but there comes a point when a brother simply has to say enough is enough. Grif needs to tap that or move on. His balls are going to implode otherwise.

  And, well, there’s also a little bit of a problem with Cassie. For about a week now she’s been hanging out in my bar with Mike Lipton, our boyhood nemesis and the biggest ass you’ll ever meet. Seriously, that dickface would charm the granny panties off a nun while he sold her soul to the great Satan himself. The dude blows.

  I’m not exactly sure what Cassie has been doing with Mike; she’s been in Abernathy’s like four times already, and call me absolutely crazy, but I’m pretty sure Griffin has no idea this is happening. My brotherly honor is offended on his behalf. I must meddle.

  I’m rather a big fan of meddling. It’s my main hobby.

  When I finally arrive at his clinic, I waste no time in shoving open Griffin’s door. The stupid shit forgot to lock it even though the clinic isn’t officially open yet.

  “Yoo-hoo? Griffin, dear? Daddy, I’m home!” I cheer, throwing open the door.

  But I grind to a halt at the astonishing sight of Griffin thrusting his tongue down Cassie’s throat while foisting her onto the reception desk.

  Ewwwww. Mega eww.

  They tear apart, but I’ve already seen everything. I’ve got their number. That was not a platonic kiss. Give the man a round of applause; maybe he isn’t such a Neville Longbottom after all. Perhaps there’s still a little foot-face Cedric Diggory in him yet.

  I, naturally, am 100% pure Cedric Diggory, sans the foot-face. It’s a terrible burden, but someone’s got to bear it.

  “Nathan. What are you doing here?” he growls.

  What’s this? Is that annoyance from the great Griffin King? Surely that can’t be right. He never denies us anything. He’s practically a doormat with a pretty face.

  “Brother, dearest, I require an examination.”

  He practically throws me out the front door. “Schedule an appointment like a normal person. I’m busy.”

  Wait, is he actually not going to do it? Am I going to have to beg? Obviously, I delight in making the ladies beg, but I’m not really a fan myself. Especially not with one of my egghead brothers. I actually have to break down and tell him I might be at risk to get my damn brother to see me. It’s criminal, I say.

  Damn that sexy temptress from the bar. Any more humiliation and she might just be the first woman whose contact information I never want to use again.

  “Pee in this cup,” Griffin orders, shoving it at me once we’ve entered the exam room.

  I rather don’t like this little power dynamic that’s developing. Usually, I get to just demand whatever I want from Griffin, and he just hops to. But Griffin isn’t doing any hopping this morning.

  “What, here? Can’t I use the bathroom?”

  “No. You’ll inevitably get into trouble between here and the toilet.”

  “But I don’t want to take a piss in front of you,” I say. Gross.

  “Oh, please, and all the literal pissing contests we had as children suddenly upset you? Sure. Get over yourself. I’m not going to watch anyway. I have to get the needle ready.”

  “Whoa, hey, you don’t have to do that, my good man,” I say, throwing myself off the examination table.

  He whirls toward me. “So you don’t need any tests.”

  I can feel my face growing red. Damn it, this is embarrassing. “Well, no. I mean, I do. Maybe. I had sex with this woman, and the co
ndom broke, so—”

  He holds up a hand, cutting me off. “Please spare me the details. Just pee in the cup, okay?”

  Uh huh. I didn’t miss that evil tone when he mentioned the needle. The bastard is loving this. Not cool, bro.

  After I pee, he stabs me with the needle and oh dear God, is it horrible. I can actually feel my blood getting sucked out of me, hoovered up like some disgusting sort of medical vampire.

  To distract myself from the bloodletting, I decide it’s past time I tell Griffin about Cassie and Mike the dick getting cozy in my bar. Besides, he also needs to know what I learned from Axel last night before he got so drunk he thought fucking Andrea in my office would be a good idea.

  Axel took over our family peach farm from our father when he passed, and it turns out his foreman of nearly fifty years, Howard Dawson, just colluded with Mike to devalue the neighboring Larson farm that Axel is buying, so that the sale price would be cheaper.

  Axel’s farm has struggled the last few harvests, so he wants to buy Rory’s farm to increase production. Howard knew this and apparently thought getting a steal for the farm—whose original owners, Rory’s parents, were also his friends many years ago—would further help Axel retain profitability.

  Mike, on the other hand, just wanted to stick it to Rory for breaking up with him—and take a cushy new job at Axel’s farm that Howard offered in exchange for helping him devalue Rory’s. He didn’t care that it would hurt his former hookup’s financial situation; he just wanted revenge for his wounded male pride.

  Until last week, Mike worked at Rory Larson’s farm in a similar role to Howard’s, but when she found out about his role in the sabotaged sale, she fired his ass. My brother, Jackson, who’d been trying to repair his relationship with Rory for years and helped her uncover the plot, was more than okay with kicking Mike to the curb.

  So none of that is a surprise.

  What is the surprise is Howard’s part in it. His intentions were probably good, but none of us Kings like screwing people over, especially Rory and her siblings, who were our closest friends growing up. And, of course, technically our next-door neighbors.