Would Be King

by Kim Karr

  As soon as I step through the large main door and find myself once again beneath the arches of the building, I notice a slew of reporters. For a second, I wonder what they are doing here. Dismissing them as they seem to be everywhere lately, I pull my raincoat on. Just as I do, a man in a uniform and chauffeur’s cap approaches me. “Miss Gatsby?”

  Pushing my hood onto my head, I respond, “Yes.”

  Very formally, he tips his hat. “I’m Oscar, Mr. Montgomery’s new driver. He’d like me to inform you that you’re to follow me. He will be delivering you home this evening.”

  Astonished by the word choice, I blink.

  Inform me.

  Inform me?

  How about ask me?

  And seriously—delivering me?

  What? Am I a package now?

  Employee or not, I think I need to set a few ground rules of my own, and one is congeniality. Shoving my hands in the pocket of my coat, I smile at the older man. “Please tell Mr. Montgomery I don’t need to be delivered anywhere.”

  “Are you certain? The rain is quite terrible.”

  “Yes, I am, but thank you for the offer.”

  Declining the ride is a stupid thing to do.

  I know.

  But the truth is, manners or no manners, Max is my new boss, and I can’t be alone with him. Especially in the confines of a vehicle. The chemistry between us is just too insane. Besides, that heart-stopping kiss is still fresh in my mind, and my lips want to tingle that way again way too much.

  “As you wish, Miss Gatsby,” the driver responds, tipping his hat before starting off for the corner and then swinging around the building. More than likely that’s where the car is parked, as well as the very arrogant Mr. Montgomery, who, obviously, couldn’t be bothered to come out in the rain and make the offer to me himself.

  Heading in the opposite direction, I pass 8th Avenue and continue toward the southbound 7th Avenue in hopes that a really nice bus driver will take pity on me and allow me aboard with the promise to pay the city back next time.

  Ignoring the fact that my feet are sloshing in the puddles because avoiding them is impossible, I attempt to remain as snug to the buildings as I can. Unfortunately, it isn’t helping keep me dry with the trajectory of the rain. Wrapping my arms around my body to help keep the wind from sneaking up my skirt, I curse to myself when I step in the biggest, deepest, blackest puddle and feel my feet soak right through.

  Oh, balls.

  Considering the height of my heels and the fact that my feet are wet, I make decent progress for the next few blocks. Fifty-Sixth, Fifty-Fifth, Fifty-Fourth. Three down, a bit more than forty to go, and still no sign of a bus.

  Damn Saturday schedules.

  I’m consoling myself with the promise of a hot cup of cocoa and maybe, just maybe, something sweet, when suddenly a horn beeps and scares the living daylights out of me. I should be used to that sound by now, but I’m just not.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I can see a black Escalade has come to a stop near the sidewalk I’m standing on while waiting to cross the street, and I have a feeling I know who’s inside.

  Casually glancing over, I watch the heavily tinted window go down. And sure enough, there he is, my new boss in all his gorgeous arrogance, glaring at me. “Get in the car, Gigi.”

  Because it’s a Saturday, and due to the weather, there aren’t as many people out and about as there normally is walking on the sidewalk, so pretending not to hear him or see him won’t work.

  Sashaying over to the vehicle, I bend toward the window, but not too close. “I already told Oscar I don’t need to be delivered anywhere,” I inform my boss, and then notice the blinking ‘WALK’ sign, and do just that.

  My heart is pounding by the time I cross Fifty-Third Street and then it beats right out of my chest when I spot the shiny black Escalade pulling over…again. This time, though, the back passenger door flings open and Mr. Max Montgomery himself briskly heads my way.

  I keep walking, picking up my pace.

  “Gigi.” His voice isn’t loud, but it is sharp and gruff, and it’s lined with absolute authority and coated in steel.

  Oh boy.

  I inhale sharply but don’t stop.

  “Gianna,” he calls.

  What the hell?

  He knows my real name?

  Ignoring the sudden weakness in my legs, I twist my head while slowing my pace. “Yes, Mr. Montgomery?”

  Oh God! The sight of him all wet and dominant striding in my direction with determination is enough to bring me to my knees right here.

  This man is what my best friend Ava calls a magnet. Someone every woman is drawn to. It could be his Prince Harry resemblance or the way he carries himself or just the undeniable fact—HE IS HOT.

  HOT.

  Whatever the reason, I have this crazy primal urge to rush toward him and rip his shirt open, and then, as the buttons scatter along the sidewalk, run my fingers over that shredded six-pack. And I have never had any such type urge before. I’m a quirky, fun-loving kind of girl.

  Not at all the sex kitten type he’s turning me in to.

  Breaking me out of my semi-daze is his hand going to my elbow and turning me to face him. “Get in the car.”

  “No.”

  “Get in the car, now. You can’t walk all the way home.”

  My lips are dry, so I lick them before responding. “That’s where you’re wrong. I can, and I will.”

  In his extremely expensive suit, he stands all calm and confident in the rain and totally ignores the water dripping from his hair to nose and then lower. “You’re being stubborn for no reason.”

  Although I maintain eye contact with him, I really want to look away before I cave in. Only, I can’t. For some strange reason, I feel drawn to him. It’s as if a rope has been tied around my waist, and he is slowly, mercilessly pulling it in his direction. Finally, I force my brain to stutter back into gear. “I’m being realistic, not stubborn. You’re my boss, and I don’t think being alone with you is a good idea.”

  Lightning flashes overhead bringing with it crackling rolls of thunder. The rain gets in his eyes, making him squint as he steps closer. God, he smells like soap even in the rain, so fresh, so good. His hands are on his hips like he doesn’t know what to do with me, and he stares down at me all commanding-like. “We won’t be alone. Oscar is with us.”

  “I doubt that matters to you.”

  “What are you afraid of?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Worried if you get in the car with me you’ll want to rip my clothes off and have raw, primal, sheet-clawing sex?”

  “What did you just say?” My mouth drops open in shock and I’m drooling over the thought at the very same time; yet, I still manage to shake my head no.

  “You heard me.”

  “I…I—” I’m struggling for words, for the right way to tell him we can’t be together. That his no fraternization policy forbids it. But then he shrugs like he’s over me, and I feel something in my gut and wonder if it’s disappointment.

  Why? I have no idea.

  With his face slick and reflective of the city lights, his gaze flickers over me. “Have it your way,” he says, and I think the conversation is over. So when he bends, I don’t realize the reason for his movement until he has the backs of my knees in his grip and he’s tossing my body over his shoulder like a sack of flour.

  Shock overtakes me as my blood ignites. I’m not a violent person, but this is over-the-top maddening. “Put me down. This is grounds for harassment.”

  His shoes squeak from all the water they must have absorbed as he strides toward the parked SUV. “Technically, you aren’t my employee until Monday, so it’s not,” he hisses, striding fast and then swinging the door open and setting me in the open door of the Escalade.

  “Whatever!” I shout.

  The instant he slams the door closed, the large limousine-style SUV doesn’t seem so big. Especially when, moments later, the driver’s side b
ack door opens and his not-so-subtle hard body occupies the already shrinking space of the luxurious interior.

  I close my eyes, my hands clenching into fists at my sides.

  “A heads-up,” his deep voice washes over me. “Closing your eyes isn’t going to make me go away.”

  My chest rises and falls with rage. “You are such a condescending—”

  “I’d watch what I say if I were you. Soon-to-be new boss and all.”

  That scowl on my face only deepens because yes, he is right. Even if he technically isn’t my boss until Monday, calling him a condescending asshole probably isn’t a good idea.

  At the sound of his warm laughter, my eyes pop open, and I narrow my gaze at him. “FYI—you can’t just manhandle me whenever you please.”

  After turning the heat on, he removes his wet suit jacket and tosses it on the bench seat across from us. “Oscar, we’ll be delivering Miss Gatsby to her home, after all.”

  “Yes, of course, sir.”

  Begrudgingly, I give him my address, but then I notice he’s already driving and wonder if he already knew it.

  “And Oscar,” Max says ruefully, “take your time driving to Miss Gatsby’s apartment. She and I have a few things to discuss.”

  “Yes, sir,” Oscar responds.

  Max then closes the privacy window, and it’s only the two of us in the enclosed space.

  Just what I was hoping to avoid.

  He’s wearing the same white button shirt from the shoot, the one that shows off the size of his biceps with my lipstick stain on the collar. My lipstick stain.

  Satisfaction washes over me but is soon replaced by something darker, more sinister. Lust. With his tie removed, the flaps of his shirt are partially open and reveal a smooth expanse of tan freckled chest that does funny things to my pulse.

  He settles in, all comfortable like, and then smirks at me as the heat fills the space, warming me, warming us.

  Like we need that.

  “You’re wet,” I mutter, pulling my hood down.

  “And so are you.” The innuendo is there, bright and bold for all the world to hear.

  “What are you doing?” I glare at him through my lashes, trying not to let the quaking of my body look like desperation, especially when his eyes slide down the length of me and turn to liquid fire as they do.

  Not even bothering to look away, he grabs a water bottle from the console across from us, cracks it open and takes a swig, his eyes never leaving mine for a second. “I’m giving you a ride home.”

  That warmth blows on my feet, and I have to admit, it feels good. “Yes, but why?”

  His expression is intense. “Because I’m being nice.”

  “Right,” I scoff, and then his expression softens and all of a sudden I feel a little warm and gooey.

  The way his jaw tenses is a dead giveaway that he’s doing his best to navigate me, and hey, I get it, I’m acting like a bitch for no reason at all. Well, that’s not entirely true. I do know why. It’s because I want him and my job and I already know the saying. You can’t have your cake and eat it too.

  Even in the dim lights from the city, his sky-blue eyes glitter at me enigmatically. “I am. You live more than fifty blocks away, have no money for transportation, and it’s raining outside.”

  Suddenly feeling overheated, I unsnap my raincoat. “I would have managed. I don’t need a knight in shining armor to ride his horse through the rain and rescue me.”

  This puts a huge smile on his face, and I feel the corners of my lips tugging up. While grinning mischievously, he reaches for another water bottle, extending his arm to offer it to me. “I’m sure you could have managed just fine but contrary to what you might think, I am a gentleman and I never leave a damsel in distress. Although, I do believe my horse is actually an SUV, and my armor is a bit tarnished.”

  When I take the bottle, he lounges back, confident-like, and the sight of him all long and lean shifts my mood from furious to something else. Something I can’t explain and it unnerves me. “Is there a fee attached to this ride?” I ask, with a bit of sarcasm in my tone.

  “Only if you want to offer one,” he responds, his smile fading, his mood aloof.

  Sipping my water, I huff a dry laugh. “That would be no.”

  “Come on. How about another song?” He smirks wickedly, almost naughty-like.

  I set the bottle in the cup holder and shake my head no. “I think I’ll save my singing for karaoke nights. Thank you very much.”

  Holding back his laughter, his brows rise with the sexiest mirth I’ve ever seen. “Then let me suggest another kiss to show your appreciation.”

  Saying nothing to that, I quickly glance out the window to avoid seeing the lustful look on his face.

  He’s so intense.

  So formal.

  Even when he’s joking, there’s a fortitude about him that accompanies a glaring hint of arrogance. I swear it clings to his every word. It really sets me so off balance.

  Makes me so hot and bothered.

  When the vehicle comes to a halt at a light, he effortlessly moves and sits on the bench across from us. Out of the corner of my eye, I can see him facing me, but thank God, he’s caddy corner, therefore still a good distance away.

  And he’s staring at me with those half-lidded bedroom eyes of his.

  Don’t look.

  Don’t look.

  Don’t look.

  “You do know you aren’t technically an employee of Bombshell until you’ve met with HR and signed the paperwork. Right?” he asks, low and deep.

  My stomach does a cartwheel. Flips. Bounces. Crashes.

  Pulling my eyes away from the New York streets, I hesitantly glance over at him and then full-out look his way. “Yes, I’m aware of that.”

  “Then you know what we do until Monday morning is simply between two consenting adults,” he continues.

  “I suppose that’s true,” I agree, ignoring the kicking and fluttering in my belly and the innuendo in his tone.

  “No, not suppose. It is,” he reassures me.

  Out of nowhere, goose bumps appear on my legs. It must be the plastic of my raincoat trapping the dampness, so I shrug out of it and inform him, “But on Monday, it won’t be that simple.”

  As I set the yellow rubber ducky coat beside me on the fine leather bench seat, he sips his water, his eyes scanning me, my face, my neck, my chest, my hard nipples protruding through the fabric of my top. “Are you cold?” he inquires, with a hint of a smirk.

  “No, I’m fine.”

  “Are you sure? I could turn the heat up?”

  Turn the heat up? All of a sudden, it feels like it’s already ninety-five degrees in here. “No, that’s not necessary. It’s just the lingering dampness of my coat giving me a chill.”

  That does nothing to pacify him.

  He knows why.

  And he knows I know why, too.

  Great.

  As the vehicle travels through the streets of New York and the night settles on the city, I ponder what to do about this spark between us.

  Light it or douse it with water?

  Then I remember my last relationship with my brother’s best friend. Troy. Sweet, nice, Troy who wants to be an actor. He lives in L.A., so he told Dima he’d show me around and look after me. Screwing my brains out while he had a girlfriend he never told me about was not the kind of looking after my brother had in mind.

  Luckily, I didn’t tell my brother the whole story.

  So yeah, that two-month relationship was shallow and so unsatisfying. And it’s that dissatisfaction that has me considering having sex with my soon-to-be boss.

  Yes.

  No.

  Oh, I just don’t know.

  Glancing up at the sky, I wish for a sign. Something to tell me what to do and the flash of lightning crackling across the sky illuminating the interior of the SUV like a flash from God is not it.

  Or is it?

  It’s quiet for a beat. Nothing but the
rain and the sound of our breaths in this small, enclosed space, that is getting tinier by the second.

  Unable to stand it, I lift my gaze. He’s drinking from his water bottle again, but as soon as he catches me staring, he sets it down. Then, using a long, thick finger, he points at the seat across from him and bobs his chin. “Sit over here.”

  He’s the big bad wolf in Little Riding Hood giving me his let me see you my pretty so I can eat you all up look.

  My heart begins to pound as I find myself, for absolutely no sane reason, sliding across the seat. As I inch closer to him, our knees touch, and I swear it feels like I’ve been struck by that bolt of lightning.

  I inhale sharply, hyperaware of him.

  All of him.

  From head to toe.

  Mr. Soon-to-be Boss of Mine bites back a smile as he reaches out to touch a lock of my wet hair. I want him to touch more of me. Touch me everywhere. He twirls the strand between his fingers. “Are you sure you’re warm enough?”

  Shivering, I admit, “Yes, I’m sure. Those tremors you’re seeing are from the way you’re looking at me.”

  His voice goes low. “And how is that?”

  “Like you want something.”

  He leans even closer to me and grips my bare thighs with his big palms. “I do. You.”

  His words are fire against my already heated skin. I gulp, swallow, look at him with his body so close, and lick my lips. “Do you want me to sing for you again?”

  He shakes his head. “You know exactly what I want, and it isn’t a song unless it’s my name you’re singing.”

  “Sorry, I’m drawing a blank when it comes to songs with your name in the lyrics.”

  His growl is loud, and before I know it, he’s got my hips in his hands and he’s hauling me onto his lap. “I’ve had enough of listening to your smart mouth,” he tells me, sliding his hands up to my face and using his thumbs to caress my lips. “Now, I want it on mine.”

  Breathless, I stare down at him and decide yes, I want this. Placing my hands on his square shoulders, I dip my head and whisper in his ear, “Maybe I want to put my smart mouth on more than just your lips.”