by Angel Devlin
She drags her phone from her pocket, and I watch as her fingers glide across the screen.
“That’s why I’ve heard of him.”
I take the phone from her and bring it up close. Oh. Now I see why.
Piercing blue eyes, and I don’t mean they stand out on a photograph ‘piercing’; I mean you feel like you’re being X-rayed through the phone screen. Blonde sun-kissed hair that kisses his forehead and almost reaches those eyes. Tanned skin, soft-pink plump lips. He smiles to the camera on this headshot revealing perfect white teeth. His white shirt sleeve is rolled up displaying my weakness, a well-defined forearm. He’s tattooed from his wrist, the stories on his skin disappearing under the sleeve. The photo makes him look like he was reluctant to have his picture taken but they coaxed him. But that’s not the guy in the headlines below the photo.
Deacon King. Is he B.A.D.’s biggest bad boy?
My night with the King.
The headlines are much the same and I thumb through reading about the person I’m about to go meet in a bar in Mayfair. A devastatingly handsome guy who leaves broken hearts in his wake. In fact, not just broken, it looks like he crushes them so hard he obliterates them. Hmmm, intriguing.
“See, you’re interested now, aren’t you? And you’re beautiful. He’s bound to want you. That’s why I wanted to go first.”
“Oh for heaven’s sake, Karla. I’m not interested. I’m doing my interview and leaving. He sounds like a complete jerk.”
“I know, right. Gotta love a bad boy...”
I roll my eyes. “Look. In all seriousness, I just broke up with Archie as you well know. I don’t want anything to do with the male species for a while. It’s bad enough they’re going to make us fake some relationships for the show.”
I still had serious reservations about being in this show, but Karla had pleaded, and once she’d said it was a way to get my independence from relying on family funds, I’d signed on the dotted line. At least then I might be known in my own right, rather than Mia Hamilton, daughter of Anna-Maria Hamilton, the ex-Miss World who married a music manager before he was killed when I was just eighteen months old. I’d had the luxury of wealth all my life, but I needed something to aim for, some ambitions and plans of my own.
“Can you believe that soon we’re going to have cameras following our every move? God, it’s going to be so exciting. We’ll be the new hot topic in town; everyone will want to be us.” Karla gets off the bed.
“Where are you off to?”
“I just remembered something, sweetie. Have a great time with Deacon. Not too great a time though and I’ll see you later.”
With that she’s gone. I grab my bag and call my driver.
As I walk into The Waggle Bar in Mayfair, I’m greeted by a member of staff who asks for my name. The bar isn’t usually open at this time. Today, Mr. King has booked it just for our interview. I take in the warm walnut tones of the place with its cherry red seating. Brass light fittings and accessories along with amber lighting make a large space look comfortable. The main noise comes from the kitchen where it sounds like they’re prepping for lunch.
“Mr. King isn’t here yet, so please take a seat. Would you like a drink?” The waitress asks me.
“I’ll just take a still mineral water please.”
I walk around to a booth in a corner and slide myself onto the firm leather seat. The woman brings my water, placing it on a paper mat, and I quickly take a sip. My mouth is dry. Jesus, I need this over and done with. The photoshoot part isn’t until tomorrow. Let me get this done and then I’ll have a well-deserved glass of champagne.
The door opens and in walks a demi-god. What I saw in a photograph was like comparing a Monet to a painting done by a two-year-old. It’s like he has some kind of other-worldly essence that radiates off him. He smiles that coy smile at the woman greeter, but I don’t fail to see the split-second where it leaves his face, and for a moment, it’s like he becomes someone else: hard, cold, distant, and then the smile is back up as he comes to greet me.
He holds out a hand. “Deacon King. You must be Mia Hamilton.”
“I am.” Great going, Mia. Knock him out with your charm. I’ve not been able to rise from my seat being in a banquette and he towers above me as I reach my hand up to his. His skin is cool from being outside. It’s a brief polite shake and then he slides into the booth opposite me. As his eyes meet mine, I’m not sure I can look him directly in the face for the course of this interview. His gaze is too intense. It should be illegal to be that attractive.
The waitress asks for Deacon’s drinks order which thankfully has him looking at her instead. He rubs the pad of his thumb over that soft bottom lip as he thinks. I am not surprised women fall at his feet. The waitress has adopted a more girly tone and keeps flicking her hair. God, sometimes we women are pathetic, but I’m tempted to do the bloody same.
“I’ll take a scotch and a black coffee. Mia? Anything else? We can do better than water on the company’s hospitality expenses.”
“Erm, I’ll take a glass of champagne then please. Any variety.”
Deacon gives her a well-known brand name, the cost of which takes my breath away. I would never have asked for it. He can obviously see I’m about to protest.
“Mia. Enjoy it. I’m not giving a beautiful woman like you anything less than what I think you’re worth.”
The waitress’ face stiffens as he calls me beautiful, and that’s when it happens. When my instant infatuation with Deacon King comes to an abrupt halt. Because although, my god, he is sex incarnate and I already imagined myself with his lips on mine on my way here after seeing that photo, the words that just came out of his mouth were like a finely rehearsed theatre play, or in his case flirtation play. I have no doubt at all that had he said this to Karla, she’d have lapped it up and giggled while looking up at him through her false lashes, but it leaves me cold. Archie was full of shit. Been there, done that.
“Thanks. And yes, you can call me Mia if you like. Would have been nice to be asked first though, Mr. King.”
Those blues of his narrow a fraction before he smiles again. He raises his hand, fingers knocking his fringe from where it now falls slightly across his eyes.
“My apologies. I just felt instantly at home when I met you. A connection. You sure you’re okay with my calling you Mia? I can call you Miss or Ms. Hamilton no problem. In fact, I’d like to call you full stop. Can I give you my number?”
He laughs when my face must show how I’m feeling.
He puts out his hand and touches my wrist. “I’m just playing with you. So sorry. How about we start again?” He edges back out of the bench seating and walks back over.
“Deacon King, B.A.D. magazine.” He holds out his hand.
I take it and shake. “Mia Hamilton. Nervous interviewee,” I confess. And the touch of his hand at my wrist and now clutching mine is not making my nerves settle at all. Thank God for the champagne currently being brought to the table. I lean back in my seat as Deacon returns to his seat opposite mine. His knee touches my own under the table and I move my leg quickly.
“Please call me Deacon,” he says.
“Okay, call me Mia.” I pick up the champagne and savour the chilled bubbles as they fizz and explode on my tongue.
“So, Mia. I’m here to get to know you a little better, given that although you are currently an internet sensation, the general public hardly know your name, though they know your mother well enough. I’ve managed to get a little inside information on your upcoming TV appearance and I firmly believe that’s all about to change.”
He takes a large swig of his scotch and doesn’t even flinch at the burn.
“So the question is.” He smiles that innocent looking but wicked smile of his. “Are you ready for fame, Mia Hamilton? Or did you just make a deal with the devil?”
He raises his glass to mine and as I chink I wonder if actually I’m sat with him right now.
Chapter Three
&nbs
p; Deacon
I spent the afternoon on a conference call. I meant to look up the lovely Ms. Hamilton, but time ran away with me. I’m sure there’s not all that much interesting about the rich girl from Park Lane. The worst that’s probably happened to her is a broken Jimmy Choo or her favourite colour of lipstick being discontinued.
I booked The Waggle Bar for a reason. It has good scotch. If I’m going to have to spend the next few hours listening to this ‘It’ girl telling me how hard life is because the designer breed of dog she wants doesn’t fucking exist then I’m going to seriously need a glass… or ten.
I’m late. On purpose, of course. There’s nothing like a woman who’s pissed because she’s been made to wait, especially when said woman thinks the world owes them something. I might want to end today inside Ms. Hamilton, but fuck if I’m allowing her to think it’s because she deserves it. If she’s lucky enough to be on the right end of my cock, then it’s not because of who she is or what she stands for.
I do a quick Google search in the car on the way, mostly to remind myself of what she looks like but also for a last-minute bit of research.
I mentally note what I find, but there’s not all that much. Famous mother, dead father, recently split from boyfriend, going on this shitty reality show that seems to be all the buzz around the office, and posts pretty pictures of herself on Instagram for a living. How that’s a fucking job these days, I’ve no fucking clue.
If she’s a total airhead like I’m expecting, then at least she’ll be nice to look at.
The second I see her, I realise that the images online don’t do her any justice. She’s fucking stunning, and I’m pretty sure it’s not the expertly applied make-up that does it. Her blonde hair hangs in loose curls around her shoulders, her green eyes sparkle with something that makes me want to know more even from here, and her pink lips… man, they’d look good wrapped around my cock.
She’s nervous, that much is obvious when her trembling, slightly sweaty hand slips into mine, but that doesn't stop her giving me some sass. Usually, I’d rip my hand away, but I find myself holding on to her a little longer than necessary.
Okay, so maybe I was wrong about her being an airhead. My day has just turned around.
I take a seat as she attempts to rip me a new one for assuming I could call her by her fucking first name. It’s cute, and she only gets hotter as she gets fired up.
I take a few seconds to study her and it only confirms what I already know. I need to be inside this woman and as soon as fucking possible.
“Are you ready for fame, Mia Hamilton? Or did you just make a deal with the devil?”
She squirms in her seat at my question and my lips curl into a smile that only makes her discomfort worse.
Women are so fucking easy to play. She might try to sidestep my charm, but I always win. I always get what I want.
“So tell me about your mother? Are you still close?”
“Yes and no,” she says after taking an extra-large sip of her champagne. Drink it down, girl. It’ll help loosen you up. “She doesn’t want me doing this show. She thinks it’ll just bring drama to her door. Affect her life of obscurity.”
“Fair enough. So what made you sign up?”
She chats away about wanting to carve her own future for herself and not relying on her mother’s money. It’s really pretty fucking dull shit.
“Could we get another round, please?” I ask the waitress, when she comes back in an attempt to catch my eye. On a normal day, maybe she would, but while Ms. Hamilton is sitting in front of me I barely even register what the staff look like.
I wait until Mia’s drained her first glass, hoping the alcohol is starting to take effect. Shifting my legs, I ensure I run my foot up her calf and delight in the fact she almost jumps out of the booth at our contact.
“Okay, so I saw online that you’ve just parted from a fairly long-term boyfriend. Tell me about that.”
She groans, rolling her eyes at the mention of him.
“Do we have to? He was a dick, end of.”
“It’s my job to find out everything about you, Mia. The public, your fans, want to get to know the real you; not just the girl who makes herself look pretty on Instagram. This is your chance to connect with them. Forget that I’m here doing a job, just talk to me like I’m a friend.”
She’s silent for a few moments as she considers my words.
“Fine. Okay.” The new drinks arrive and she practically inhales hers before resting her elbows on the table. The move pushes her tits together and I get an excellent shot of her cleavage. My mouth waters. I bet she tastes so fucking sweet. “Deacon, my eyes are up here,” she snaps and my cock swells at her fierce voice. I find her eyes and nod for her to continue. I refuse to apologise for looking at something that’s right in front of me. “Archie and I were together for almost three years. We met through a friend of a friend and I stupidly thought we wanted the same things.”
“What happened?”
She laughs, but it’s bitter. “Honestly, I’ve no idea. People started asking more about when he was going to propose, if we wanted kids, all that kind of stuff, and he freaked out. Next thing I know he’s screwing his best mate’s little sister and claiming that he’s in love with her and has been all along.”
“Wow, what a wanker.” In truth, I don’t give a shit, but acting is part of my job so the lie easily falls from my lips. “How d’you find out?”
“Someone ensured I saw them together. I’ve not spoken to him since.”
“What are your hopes now you’re single? Are you looking for an Archie replacement? Or just enjoying your freedom?”
She drains her glass, pushing it to the edge of the table in the hope the waitress notices and refills it.
“I don’t want a replacement, that’s for fucking sure. Shit,” she says covering her mouth. “I didn’t mean to swear.”
“It’s fine. I want you to be you, swear words and all.”
“Just thinking of it makes me so angry. I thought he was my future, you know?”
I nod, sympathising like I could have experienced something similar. Not a fucking chance, but she doesn’t know that.
“I just want to be single now. I want to go out with my girls, have some fun. If I meet someone then, yeah, maybe I’ll go for it, but he’s going to have to be someone extraordinary for me to want to bother.” She looks at her watch. “Would you excuse me? I need to use the ladies.”
Worrying that she’s about to call time on this, I reach out and brush my fingers against her wrist. “It’s okay to want to have some fun, you know? You deserve it after what he put you through.”
I expect her to smile but instead her eyes narrow. “I’m aware of that, Mr. King.” Pulling her hand from mine, she takes off across the bar. I watch her arse sway in her skin-tight jeans and wonder just how many glasses of champagne it’ll take for me to get inside them.
Her trip to the bathroom seems to sober her up a little because when she comes back, her shoulders are squared like she’s ready to fight.
Don’t make this hard on us both, sweetheart. We both know how it’s going to end regardless.
We chat away about the upcoming TV show. She tells me how anxious she is about it, giving me the opportunity to stroke her ego a little by reassuring her how good she’ll be, but she doesn't fall for it, proving one thing to me. Mia Hamilton is not the kind of woman I was expecting. It’s going to take a little more effort than usual to get what I want.
Eventually the bar opens to the public and the booths around us start filling with customers, making it harder to question her properly.
“Are we done?” she asks when there’s a lull in our conversation.
I’m not sure I have any more questions—not that I had many in the first place—but I’m not prepared to let her go just yet.
“Work’s done. But how about we continue? The food here is incredible. Will you eat with me?”
She opens her mouth, wanting to ref
use, but as she looks into my eyes, I know she’s finding it hard to deny me.
“Okay, but only because I’m hungry and the smell from the kitchen is too tempting.”
I summon the waitress over and request two menus along with two new drinks. She disappears off to get them when someone else walks up to us.
“Well, well, well, if it isn't Deacon King himself.” Turning towards the woman, I narrow my eyes slightly. She’s familiar, but I’m pretty sure I’ve never fucked her before.
“Karla, what are you doing here?” Mia fumes as Karla slides into the booth beside me as if she’s got an open invitation.
“Deacon, nice to meet you.” She holds one hand out for me to shake while the other grips onto my bicep and squeezes. “I’m Karla. I’ll be starring with Mia here in Park Lane Princesses. My interview isn’t scheduled until tomorrow, but I was passing and thought I’d stop by.” Mia splutters out a laugh as her friend slides so close to me that she might as well just place herself on my lap.
Where Mia seems to be indifferent to my charm, her friend is overly keen to lap up my attention.
“So… how’s it going? Mia was so nervous about being interviewed but I assured her that she was in very capable hands with you.” She runs her fingertip over my knuckles, her eyes zeroing on my lips, but I don’t miss Mia tense in front of us.
Turning to her, I find her staring daggers at her friend and I begin to wonder if her indifference is just an act.
“I can’t wait to have my one-on-one with you,” she purrs beside me, but I can’t drag my eyes away from Mia.
“I’m not doing your interview, Carly. Mia’s the only one for me.”
Mia blanches at my words, her cheeks heating once she realises she’s under my stare.