King's Ransom (Oil Kings Book 2)

by Marie Johnston

  Like Dad asking Mama, You think you could’ve changed him, Sarah? There was a reason you were single when we met.

  Mama’s wry reply of I was eighteen, Gentry, not exactly an old maid always made my heart ache like I’d lost her yesterday.

  Or the one time I’d overheard Mama talking to Grams. I feel guilty spending this money. It shouldn’t have all been ours.

  Eva interrupted my thoughts. “You don’t even know my last name.”

  I’d have a complete background check performed before the end of the week. “Tell me whatever you’re comfortable sharing.”

  Her eyes narrowed for a heartbeat but she reclined in the chair and crossed her arms. “Eva Chase.”

  “Nice to meet you, Eva Chase.” It was the highlight of my week. Hell, of my month. “Do you want me to show you around?”

  “I haven’t said yes yet.”

  “Where are you working now?”

  I didn’t think she was going to answer me, but when she did, she rolled her eyes like she couldn’t believe she was either. “I’m a server for Silver Eats Catering and I bartend at Nellie’s.”

  Quickly calculating her current monthly wage, even accounting for the generous tips I didn’t think she got at a place like Nellie’s, I scribbled a counteroffer on a King Tech–embossed notepad.

  “Take some time to think about it. The offer is good for twenty-four hours.”

  “I’d hate for you to withdraw your offer.” The vitriol in her voice was startling.

  “My terms are always clear.” The first thread of indecision wiggled into my conscience. What was I doing, offering to marry a stranger?

  She scowled at the sheet, then directed her perplexed gaze at me. “This much for four months?”

  “I do have actual assistant duties for you, so no. That would be monthly.”

  Her eyes widened, color draining from her face. “That’s crazy.”

  “I’m hardly asking you to fill a nine-to-five position. I work around the clock.”

  “What if I don’t know how to use basic computer programs?”

  Shit. I hadn’t thought of that. “Do you?”

  “Some,” she said warily.

  “But you can learn.”

  “Sure.” Her eyes narrowed as if she was rating my sanity.

  This was adding up to the most fascinating encounter I’d ever had with a woman. The fat monthly salary on the paper in her hand hadn’t been enough to change her salty attitude toward me, nor was the promise of half of a giant trust fund should she marry me.

  She waved the small sheet of paper. “What do you even do again?

  “King Tech invests in the present with an eye on the future. Right now, that’s apps. My people and I scour the globe for talented developers, then evaluate their programs. If they make the cut—”

  “The people or the programs?” Her lips were thinned and her eyes challenging.

  At my level, I was used to my methods being questioned, but her reaction seemed more critical, more personal, than others. “Both. I want to know who I’m investing my money with, especially since my employees are scattered all over the world. That gives them more autonomy and control than most other investors would allow, but the risk also allows me to keep a small workspace and allows them more flexibility in their schedule. If I trust them, I can give them tasks and a due date and know they’ll get it done.”

  “But you keep your assistant in an office with one window?”

  Part of my pride shriveled a little. She sounded less than impressed with my surroundings. The window she’d mentioned was behind me. Where she’d sit—or my next executive assistant—there was no view but the expansive hallway.

  “The other tenants were already here. When I want wide-open spaces, I go to my mountain cabin.” Or home, but I wasn’t pining for dusty, manure-scented air. “I’m usually just here for board meetings.”

  Flicking her finger up and down my length, she asked, “What would the dress code be?”

  Form-fitting jeans and another sweater just like she was wearing were fine with me. “Business casual.”

  “Yeah, about that. I only have casual.”

  “What do you wear to your other jobs?”

  “This, or an outfit that would have all your clients asking what organic gluten-free options are available on the menu.”

  My lips twitched. “How about anything that’s not jeans?” She still didn’t look convinced, but I pressed. “Is that a yes, then?”

  Her shrewd eyes narrowed on me. “If you really want to me to quit both of my jobs to do this, then I need half the first month’s wages up front.”

  “How do I know you won’t take the money and run?”

  “Would you really notice the loss?”

  Of her? Yes. Of the money? It wouldn’t make a dent in my wallet. A ping came from my phone. “There’s that meeting I mentioned. Wait here.” I went to the empty reception desk that would swallow Eva whole—lucky desk—and grabbed a pen and notepad. “Leave your email. I’ll send the forms. Get them back by the time the bank closes and you’ll have the money.”

  She scribbled her email in curt, blocky handwriting. Straightforward, like her personality. “This is risky, Mr. King.”

  Blame it on my ranching background, but I hated formality. “Call me Beck, and yes, it is.”

  But I didn’t take risks. My brothers had called me Gooder for half my life, short for Do-Gooder. My success came from diligent planning and research. I calculated odds at every turn and bailed when numbers were too low, too high, or too in between, depending on the situation. I’d been known to cut and run when unsavory details about those I was negotiating with came to light. That type of behavior didn’t make friends, but it had made me rich. Without the oil money.

  “All right, Beck. I’ll be here bright and early in the morning. For administrative duties.”

  “Looking forward to it.” I could fill in the blanks. Discussion of the fake marriage would come later. She didn’t realize that she held all the power. I might have to pay out to get her to work for me, but if she left and never returned, I was out a hundred million dollars.

  Chapter 5

  Eva

  “Where the hell are you going dressed like that?” Adam rubbed his bloodshot eyes like he was afraid he was hallucinating.

  He very well could be. What was this, hour twenty-six behind his controller? One day he’d ferment into the sofa.

  I jingled my keys to the apartment deadbolt. “Someone has to pay rent.”

  “Yeah. I’m gonna apply to some places today.” His dead tone promised otherwise.

  “Maybe get some sleep first.” I hoped that the fear of our electricity being cut off would get through to Adam. But I also feared what he’d do left inside his own mind once the batteries in his phone, Nintendo DS, and iPad died.

  I left him behind and locked the door. As I breezed outside, cool autumn air tickled my hair. Yesterday, I hadn’t styled it, but today it was slicked up to a peak in front and a little off center. My sides were short but not buzzed.

  What would Mr. King say? I doubted his other assistants had my style.

  Stopping to feed Kitty, I checked on the kittens. She lifted her head and blinked at me.

  “It’s the good stuff today.” It’d be canned food for the next four months. I’d bought two cases and almost herniated myself carrying it all home until I realized I had enough money to order a ride.

  Leaving her with a little extra, I walked to catch the light-rail to downtown. My bank account might have enough for another ride, but getting food home was one thing. Wasting it on my everyday commute when the light-rail was so much cheaper was another.

  My new knee-high boots creaked with each step. By the end of the day, I might have blisters, but I couldn’t help the purchase. Mr. King—Beckett—Beck—had come through with the funds so I could wear more to the office than skull-print leggings and a T-shirt with a rainbow marijuana leaf. That shirt had been on clearance, and I hadn�
��t been about to turn down a three-dollar top.

  What I was wearing now hadn’t been three dollars. The sweater was a pale pink cashmere that made my eyes glint like a wolf. It fell past my ass to midthigh so only a small swath of my chocolate-brown leggings was showing.

  This was the nicest outfit I’d ever worn. Even when I’d gone to prom with the crew of delinquents I hung out with at the time, I had worn a powder-blue tux in defiance of the man.

  Now I was going to work for the man like the proper little executive assistant I was.

  Fiancée. I snorted and the guy next to me on the light-rail gave me a how ya doing nod. Like my noise had been a pickup line. I ignored him, my thoughts returning to the previous day.

  I couldn’t quit thinking about him—it. I couldn’t quit thinking about the situation. Pretending I was going to marry the guy who had turned my brother into the couch-bound zombie I’d just left behind? Crazy.

  Almost as insane as scoping out his workplace with nothing more than ten bucks in my pocket and my phone. This was fate telling me to go get him. Learn his weak points and bring him to his knees.

  Figuratively, not literally.

  Imagining him on his knees did naughty things to my body. A hot flush was already spreading, and damn my light complexion, I was probably blushing. If we did the most outrageous thing I’d ever heard of and got married, what would he expect?

  He said it’d be fake, but in order to pretend to his family, we’d have to spend time together. I assumed that meant more time than me asking him if he was free to schedule a three o’clock meeting next Tuesday—or whatever my assistant duties were.

  Stepping off at my destination, I strutted to the Midland Office Tower. The place my new boss and possible future fiancé owned.

  And he’d taken the smallest office in the place.

  How was that for a start on dirt gathering? Tech entrepreneur and oil heir buys tower and gives up entire floor for a hole-in-the-wall office.

  Scandalous.

  The guy had to have something in his past. Or if he was squeaky clean, maybe in his future?

  For once, I blended with the milling of office drones power-walking to their cubicles. Stilettos clicked on the pavement around me. Men in suits, cropped haircuts, neatly trimmed beards, and mirrored shades zipped by me. I hoped none of these people were executive assistants. Otherwise I was severely underdressed.

  But Beckett had hired me in Toms, so…

  My stomach fluttered as I strode through the main door to the tower. Each step I took confirmed that yesterday hadn’t been a doped-up dream. I didn’t smoke pot, snort, inject, or inhale anything else, but there’d been no other explanation for this ridiculous scenario.

  Marry Beckett King. In name only, for a year, but still. The more I researched him online, the more I thought I’d need every minute spent together to build a case against him. His reputation was spotless. But he’d pissed enough people off in his short career that it wouldn’t be hard to find ears to listen to my woes, so I had that going for me.

  If only I could do it before Adam forgot to eat breakfast, lunch, and dinner for three days in a row and landed himself in the hospital. Again.

  As soon as I stepped foot in the office, Beckett appeared around the corner, carrying a clipboard.

  “For a tech guy, you use a lot of paper.” Perhaps this was the time to filter my speech. What an impossible task.

  His gaze went from my face to my hair, then drifted down my body. “And you said you didn’t own business casual.”

  “I didn’t before last night.”

  His brows lifted in surprise. Had he seriously not believed me? And he’d still seen me as potential fiancée material. Was he trying to piss his family off?

  “I like the physical act of writing and checking items off.” He shot me an ironic smile. “And that the paper can be shredded.”

  “Once online, always online.”

  “Exactly. It’s amazing what I can find out about someone with a few keystrokes.” His words made my heart stop. He knows who I am.

  But he just set the clipboard down on the reception desk. “Go ahead and get settled. We’ll go through my typical monthly schedule.”

  As my heartbeat returned to normal, I took a seat. Beckett wasn’t in a suit today, but he was no less compelling. Softer, maybe. He wasn’t all done up in trendy pastel fitted slacks. His pants were charcoal and his sweater maroon. The material wasn’t cashmere, but it looked just as soft.

  The image of me curled against his massive chest filtered through my mind. I cut it off and summoned my last view before leaving home. My brother, unshaved and unbathed, on the couch. Listless and lifeless, thanks to this asshole. I owed Adam. He was my older brother and he’d always taken care of me. It had cost him everything when it shouldn’t have.

  “Your background check came back.”

  I crossed one leg over the other and faced him, forcing myself to breathe normally. My lungs wanted to seize until I ran outside for fresh air. “And what did you find out about me with a few keystrokes?”

  “Admittedly, not much. You’re a Denver native, you didn’t finish college, and you’ve no criminal record.”

  Thanks to Adam. “That’s me. Squeaky clean.”

  I was turning to check out the computer when he said, “And you? What did you find out about me?”

  I couldn’t stop my smile as I tore my gaze off a computer system that would make Adam drool. Between the tower and two huge monitors, I bet it cost close to five grand. Because there was no way Beckett didn’t have top-of-the-line gaming capabilities in all his equipment. Did he expect his assistant to test out the programs he was interested in? I had more experience with that than coordinating meetings and travel.

  No doubt he assumed I had gone home and researched him all night. Little did he know, I’d done that already, and for far more than a single night. Punching the on button, I spoke while waiting for the computer to boot up. “Born and raised a country boy.” I slid my gaze to him, then down to the Oxford shoes that were the polar opposite of cowboy boots, then back to the computer. The screen was bigger than my fucking TV, but not Adam’s. His was a remnant from the days before Beckett had destroyed him. “Princeton grad. Self-made millionaire, but oddly, nothing about the trust fund.” Grams must’ve had the women she sent sign nondisclosure agreements. There had been one waiting for me in my packet.

  “What else?”

  “Is there something else?” His dating life was quiet and drama-free, but I had my suspicions. He’d been linked to an heiress from New York, a social media darling turned self-help “expert,” and a local TV news anchor who was so gorgeous it had hurt to look at her picture. She’d been a part-time anchor, but dating Beckett had gotten her on the evening news. Was it Beckett’s notoriety or her talent that had gotten her up the ladder that quickly while she’d been seeing him? I hoped it was her talent, but unfortunately, the world didn’t always work that way around people like Beckett.

  “There’s always something else.” He perched on the counter next to me. If I looked over, I could revert to my juvenile years and check out how much of a tent his manhood made and start guessing widths and lengths. But I didn’t plan to get that close to him. “Don’t be afraid to tell me about the negative stuff you read. I know it’s there and I know what they’ve said. Many have said it to my face.”

  If he wanted honesty, I’d go for it. “Your competitors think you’re a heartless bastard with an eye for the bottom line, not the people behind the product. They think it’s because of your age and your lack of attachments. When your supporters argue that you’re tight with your family, the haters challenge them to produce recent photos of you with your family. Or of you at home in Montana. They can’t, which leads them back to heartless bastard who doesn’t care about people.”

  Beckett’s expression went colder with each word. He was going to bust some teeth soon. It wasn’t as satisfying as it should have been. I wanted to know more.


  “And then there are your exes, but I have a strong feeling that due to NDAs, what they can say is restricted. But that heiress? ‘Let’s just say, previous relationships have taught me to expect more out of a real man.’ She’s good at throwing shade. Like expert level.”

  The corner of his mouth twitched. “She also has exceptional aim with solid objects.”

  I couldn’t see Beckett dodging vases and phones and whatever else was in the luxury condo of a professional party girl. I could see him clenching his jaw, spinning on his expensive heel, and marching out without a word.

  “Well, I hope she doesn’t visit,” I said as I pointed to the login screen. The backdrop of a mountain lake looked like the sort of wallpaper that came preinstalled on computers the world over, but there was something different about this photo. The blue sky came alive above snow-peaked mountains and the lake glittered like it was rippling across the screen.

  “Is this photo real? I mean, like one where you grew up?”

  Beckett leaned over to open a screen where I was prompted to set my own password—in the highest definition possible. It was going to be hard to get used to real life when I looked at more pixels than God had intended. “Yes. Near our family’s place.”

  His tone lacked inflection, most definitely not the pride I’d expected to hear. The scenery in this picture was crazy beautiful. I might be a Denver native, but I’d rarely left the city’s limits. Mom used to take us to public parks, and she and Dad had discussed big plans to camp in Yellowstone “someday.” Someday hadn’t arrived before the accident.

  No more was said about the picture. He led me through setup and customizing my desktop—which I could’ve done myself, but him leaning next to me wasn’t something I wanted to shoo away—then he disappeared into his office. The rest of the morning was spent combing through apps and familiarizing myself with the various companies under the umbrella of King Tech.

  There were so many. I didn’t recognize three-quarters of the names, but they ranged from tiny one-person operations that Beckett had a use for inside King Tech, to complex programs that millions of people had on their phones and computers. One title I recognized from a billboard for a security firm in front of my apartment complex.