by Katee Robert
His low laugh rolled down the line, making her stomach twist painfully. Elliott could be vicious, but he’d always been his scariest when he laughed. It was often the only warning they got before one of his creative games. The kind that ended in visits from the doctor the family had on retainer.
“Check your contract. You’ll find it’s perfectly legal.” He paused meaningfully. “I’m sure you have nothing to worry about. It’s not as if you’re damaged goods and in danger of snapping under pressure. What could a shrink possibly find that would make them declare you unfit?”
Her mouth worked, but no words emerged.
Elliott didn’t seem to need an answer. “I look forward to seeing your report on internal operations by Friday.” He hung up.
She turned to Anderson. “He’s going to try to oust us.”
“It’s looking like that.” He took out his phone and started scrolling.
“What are you doing?”
He met her gaze. “We might not individually hold the majority of shares in the company, but if all of us stand against him, we might be able to at least slow this down until we think of a more permanent plan.”
Journey pressed a hand to her chest. It took everything she had to force out the next words. “If we told…If we told the truth, they would declare him unfit.”
“Jo, no.” Anderson crouched in front of her and took her hands. He waited for her to look directly at him to keep speaking. “We have no evidence. No hospital records. No witnesses. Even if we could prove that he’s a sadistic monster, the statute of limitations comes into play. It’s been damn near twenty years. All telling the truth would do is reopen old wounds for the sake of his amusement. We’ll find another way. I’ll fucking kill him before I let him make victims of us again.” His steady tone gave lie to any fiction she might spin about him bluffing.
Anderson never bluffed.
She gripped his hands tightly. “Don’t you dare. You promised me you wouldn’t.”
“Fuck, Jo, I was nine. Of course I promised you then.”
Anderson might cover up his scars better than she did, but times like these put them on full display. The wildness in his blue eyes was a look she hadn’t seen in decades, the one that told her he didn’t see a way out of this. She couldn’t let him kill Elliott. Their father liked to use Journey to control Anderson, and time apparently hadn’t changed that particular playbook of his.
As much as she hated dancing to her father’s tune, she wouldn’t let her brother throw away his life. Not now, when they’d worked so hard to do more than survive. She squeezed his hands harder. “You. Promised.”
He hesitated for a long moment and finally exhaled, his shoulders dropping an inch in defeat. “Jo—”
“If you go after him, you’re playing right into his hands. Think, Anderson. You know he has some kind of contingency plan ready in case you try to hurt him.”
He released her and stood. “We’ll fight this, Jo. We’ll win.”
She wished she believed that. Journey watched her brother walk out of her office and then sat there for a long time, thinking. Anderson would fight until his dying breath to ensure their father didn’t win. If things started looking dire, he might do something he couldn’t take back, promise or no. He’d throw away everything he’d worked so hard for. For her. For Bellamy. For Eliza.
She couldn’t let him.
She stared at her phone. She’d been the victim, the helpless little sister, the one in need of being protected, for as long as she could remember. Journey had never been strong enough to fight her own battles. She wasn’t sure she was strong enough now.
But she couldn’t sit back and do nothing while Anderson went to war for them yet again, taking all the risks so no one else had to shoulder that burden. Elliott was focusing on her because she was the weak link, but the second he decided Anderson was more trouble than he was worth, he’d cut her brother’s legs out from underneath him.
She couldn’t let it happen.
Journey dialed before she could talk herself out of it. As soon as the line clicked over, she spoke in a rush. “I changed my mind, Frank. If your offer still stands, I…I need help.”
* * *
Few things surprised Frank these days. People were nothing if not predictable, and he’d made his fortune being able to guess their moves before they made them. He hadn’t expected Journey to call. He sure as fuck hadn’t expected her to request his help less than twelve hours after he’d brought her to orgasm on his office floor.
He strode through the front doors of the Lotus, the restaurant he’d set as their meeting location. It was a little Greek place he’d scooped up right around the time he made his first million. The owners had been the same family since he was a child, and the recession hit them hard. They would have lost everything, so Frank had quietly bankrolled a face-lift and some key advertising for the place. He let them maintain independence for the most part, but they had meetings once a quarter to ensure the restaurant was following the trajectory he wanted for it.
Mira herself met him at the hostess stand. She looked like he imagined mothers were supposed to look—soft and curvy for excellent hugs, laugh lines from a life well lived, and a wardrobe of dresses in some of the strangest patterns he’d ever laid eyes on. Today, tiny cats danced across a minty background, setting off her brown skin and curly dark hair. “Mr. Evans! Let me look at you, let me look at you.” She took his hands and held them out to the side, surveying his body critically. “Have you lost weight?”
“How could I, Mira? You send your son around once a week with your cooking.” He pressed a quick kiss to her cheek and disengaged their hands. “The gyro on Monday was wonderful.”
“Flatterer.” She smiled. “You’re here to meet the young lady?” She waggled her dark eyebrows. “Is it serious?”
He shook his head. “Sorry to disappoint, but it’s business.”
“This is disappointing. You won’t be young forever.” She shooed him. “Go to your meeting. I’ll send the boys over with today’s specials in a bit. Wine?”
He glanced at his watch. “It’s ten in the morning.”
“Iced tea, then.” She didn’t wait for an answer, which was just as well.
Frank gave himself a full ten seconds to enjoy the fond pestering. Before she died, his mother had been more occupied with escaping her pain in any way she could than she was with asking him about his life. It gave him a whole lot of freedom as a teenager, and he’d never felt the lack until he met Mira. She was what a good mother looked like.
No point in going over this yet again.
He made his way to the little table tucked into an alcove of sorts near a stained-glass window that overlooked the street. The morning sunlight shone through, turning Journey King into a piece of art, color washing over her blond hair and pale skin, painting her in reds and oranges and blues. She glanced up as he approached, but she didn’t smile. She also didn’t look like she’d gotten much sleep.
Frank thought over the information Mateo had provided this morning. Journey King wouldn’t be the first person to have two shitty parents, and her lazy-ass father coming back to Houston couldn’t be a pleasant thing. As best Frank could tell, Elliott Bancroft was a playboy who liked spending money more than he liked working to make it, and between his wife and his family, he never went without despite showing no evidence of working a day in his life. If he was back in Houston and meddling with Kingdom Corp, he had some kind of ulterior motive.
Journey eyed him as if she expected him to come across the table at her. Skittish…edging straight into terrified. What the fuck is going on? He didn’t have all the puzzle pieces, and the lack of information grated. Frank carefully leaned back, giving her the illusion of more space. “Considering how last night went, I didn’t think I’d hear from you.”
“You mean after the pity orgasm you gave me?” She lifted a single shoulder, as if she begged men to touch her—to fuck her—every damn day. “That’s just sex, Frank. This
is business.”
Liar.
“I’m not petitioning for sainthood, Duchess. I don’t dole out orgasms to brighten people’s day.”
Anger flared in her hazel eyes, pushing them closer to a true gold than a brown. Her tremors stilled, and she leaned back and draped an arm over her chair, giving him a lethal stare. There she is. Journey thinned her bright coral lips. “Could have fooled me.” Another of those one-shouldered shrugs, as if last night hadn’t meant shit to her. “It’s irrelevant. The offer was a onetime thing. It’s not my fault you didn’t take me up on it.”
Realization snaked through him. I damaged her pride. It was the only logical reason for her chilly attitude despite the fact that she sought him out today. He shook his head. “You were out of your mind with fear last night. I don’t play the pity-fuck game, and I sure as hell don’t get off on the knowledge that I’ll be someone’s regrettable decision when they wake up and realize what they’ve done.”
“Frank Evans, so logical and cold.” She laughed softly. “Who would have thought that the only time you warmed up was when you had your hands all over a woman?”
They could go round and round like this for hours and get nowhere. “You said you need my help.”
Mira strode up with a tray of iced tea and water. She took one look at Frank’s face, chose to silently place them on the table, and strode away. He’d have to apologize later, but he was too fucking frustrated in that moment to worry about it.
Journey picked up her tea and took a cautious sip. “You deal in information as well as real estate.”
“That’s hardly a secret.” He hadn’t gotten to where he was simply by being good with money and knowing which properties were worth investing in and which should be cut loose. In any business deal, the person with the most information had the power. It didn’t matter who the players were outside of that deal, or how long their family had been in power in the city, or how large the number in their bank account. Information was the ultimate equalizer, and Frank used it ruthlessly. He’d paid too high a price not to learn that particular lesson.
The tension bled back into her body, starting at her shoulders and morphing her into a woman-shaped statue. Brittle. So fucking brittle. If he didn’t know better, he’d think Journey King had a twin and that was who sat in front of him, rather than the gregarious woman he’d met months ago over a potential business deal. To see her fire doused so effectively…It made him want to bundle her off to anywhere but Houston until she brightened back into the woman he’d been so damn drawn to.
She wasn’t his business—not if she wasn’t prepared to offer something in exchange for his help. He had to remember that.
Journey reached for her drink and then seemed to think better of it. She folded her hands in her lap and met his gaze directly. “My father fully intends to remove me as COO of Kingdom Corp—and then I expect he’ll go after my brothers’ positions as well. If he succeeds, he’ll run the company that my mother sacrificed everything for into the ground within five years. Sooner, more likely. I can’t let that happen.”
On the surface, it made sense, but it didn’t line up with how hard she clearly fought to keep her expression placid. The company was something all Lydia’s children loved to one degree or another. He understood wanting to fight for it—to do what it took to prevent an intruder from removing her and her brothers.
I could be misreading the situation.
He could be…but Frank didn’t think so. “How does your father plan on removing you?”
“By declaring me incompetent.” She gave a mirthless smile. “He’s handpicking a board that will have the power to make that call, along with a pet psychologist to dance to his tune.”
He studied her, considering the facts as he knew them. It sounded like the truth, but it still didn’t shine a light on the greater picture. Journey King had plenty of resources if she chose to use them. More so, Anderson King was not an idiot, and he had to know that getting into bed with Frank was a calculated risk that might not go in the King family’s favor. Anderson didn’t have the same racial and status hang-ups of most of the people who held power in this city, but he also wasn’t stupid. Frank held no love for the Kings, even if his attraction to Journey defied logic. Pinning this deal on hope that his desire to get her into bed would outweigh his business plans was a fool’s decision.
Which led him to exactly one conclusion. “Your brother doesn’t know you’re here, does he?”
“Bellamy isn’t concerned with my movements.” She said it so primly, he almost smiled.
Frank leaned forward, reclaiming the space he’d vacated earlier. “You know damn well I’m talking about Anderson.”
She shifted, as if she couldn’t decide whether to close the distance or put more between them. “Anderson can’t know. That’s part of the deal.”
Interesting. “What, exactly, are you asking me for?”
“I need my father gone.” She glanced around as if there were recording devices hidden in the room. “I mean, gone as in out of Houston like my mother is gone out of Houston.” When he didn’t respond, she sighed. “The usual scandal stuff won’t work. He’s been a scandal since he could walk—he’s immune to it at this point. Old news. None of the cheating or alcohol or drugs will be enough. The Bancrofts are too established—and their pockets are too deep. They’ll just pay someone off to sweep it under the rug. It has to be the right leverage, and I don’t have the ability to find it on my own.”
Why not? No one could get close the way family was able to, even family that was hated and untrustworthy. For better or worse, blood bonds bypassed all manner of things that should be deal-breakers—especially when someone was talking about a King or a Bancroft. Journey was both. He took a slow drink of his iced tea, letting her stew. “And in return?”
Another of those infuriatingly uncaring shrugs. “What do you want?”
You.
He stomped down on the completely irrational knee-jerk reaction. No matter what kind of bastard Frank was, he had a line he wouldn’t cross, and that response jump roped right over the line. Repeatedly.
Elliott Bancroft’s presence threatened to disrupt the power structure in Houston, as well as within the oil industry. While Frank didn’t give two fucks about the oil industry, he did care about Journey’s cousin, Beckett. Beckett’s competing oil company would also be affected by any bold moves Kingdom Corp made with an unknown factor at the helm. All of it added up to bad news, and there was little Frank loathed more in this world than someone rocking the boat he’d spent years building and steadying. He would have moved against Bancroft the second he heard about this development, with or without Journey asking for his assistance.
But she was here, and she was willing to bargain.
He met her gaze steadily. “Two conditions. Kingdom Corp owes me a favor of my choosing down the road, no questions asked. It won’t be anything that acts against the company’s best interest, but it won’t be comfortable, either. You also will reach out to your cousin and take him up on the offer he’s repeatedly extended since things fell out with your mother.” Beck wanted the King family reunited and the sins of the past put to rest permanently. So far, Lydia’s children had resisted his overtures.
“You’ve got to be kidding. You’re advocating for my cousin now?”
“My reasons are my own.” He permitted himself a smile. “Never show how desperate you are when bargaining, Duchess. My conditions are perfectly reasonable. It’s not as if I demanded you in my bed for the duration of our deal. We both know I could have and that you’d be more than happy to oblige.”
Apparently he was twice the bastard everyone thought he was, after all.
Chapter Four
It took everything Journey had not to throw her iced tea in Frank’s face. She’d expected him to demand a favor. Tit for tat and all that bullshit. She shouldn’t have been surprised that he’d negotiated on Beckett’s behalf. They were best friends, and Frank had risked a lot to ens
ure her cousin came out on top when he went toe-to-toe with Journey’s mother. A couple of months wasn’t long enough to combat nearly three decades of being told that the other side of the King family was the enemy, but Journey could envision a time when she took Beckett up on the olive branch he’d extended. He was dating Samara, after all, and if he was good enough for her best friend, then he probably wasn’t a total piece of shit.
Reaching out to Beckett on Frank’s terms?
No fucking way.
Easier to focus on that than on his non-threat about commanding her into his bed. She might not know him well, but their encounter in his office at Cocoa’s was more than enough to get a read on him when it came to sex. He wouldn’t make it part of the terms, and he damn well knew that she knew that.
Knowing the truth didn’t make her want to wipe that smug look off his face any less, though.
She moved her hand away from her drink and linked her fingers in her lap. She would be calm. She would be controlled. She sure as hell would hold her temper because she needed his help. “What on God’s green earth would make you think I’d put myself on the bargaining table for this?”
“Won’t you?”
Two little words that sounded a whole lot more like a challenge than a question.
Her mouth dropped open. Frank gave her an arrogant smile that made her want to scream. “You forget, Duchess—you’re not in a position to do anything but take my offer. You called me. I don’t need this deal. Your father might be the scum of the earth, but he’s nothing I can’t deal with should I choose to. So far, I have no indication of how he’ll conduct business, which means moving against him creates an enemy where I had none before.” He propped his elbows on the table. There might still be a solid foot between them, but he seemed even bigger than he was up close. His cologne teased her, something subtle and yet startlingly male.
He smelled like the best kind of fucking.
Journey dropped her eyes, fearing what he’d see in them. “I understand that.” She couldn’t dredge up resentment, because he spoke nothing but the truth. He had the power. She had none.