by May Sage
Ryn blushed, voicing a weak “thank you.” They were being nice, that was all.
"Have you approached any galleries?" Tori asked. "Or I know a photographer who can help take professional pictures to display your stuff online, if you'd prefer to go that route."
She shrugged. "I literally have one finished painting—on paper, not canvas. And he stole it, anyway," she reminded them, pointing to the man sitting next to her. “I'm not ready to display anything."
"Well, when you are, remember that option. That piece isn't just good, Ryn, it is a soul piece. Something that will talk to most people. If you paint everything with this level of emotion, your work needs to be displayed. And sold. For millions."
Bryant was exaggerating, but it was nice to hear all the same, so she thanked him again.
"All right, what is it with you and compliments?" Tori asked.
Ryn frowned. "What do you mean?"
"Your lips say thanks, but your eyes, and the rest of your face, clearly express 'I don't believe you, you're just being nice'. Don't deny it, I've done it. For years. Like, most of my life. Until Bryant helped me recognize that I was deserving of praise. My problem was a shitty parental figure who constantly criticized me. What's your deal?"
Ryn bit her lip.
"That might have been a little too intrusive. Remember, we just met Ryn, luv," her husband reminded her.
Tori shrugged. "And I like the girl, so I wanna know. You can tell me to fuck off, though, Ryn."
The woman was so direct, Ryn could only smile.
"I don't have anything against praise per se, I just..." she trailed off, before finding a good example. "Okay, so you work in advertising, right? You present proposals to your prospective clients and they decide if they want to go with you."
The couple nodded. "That's the gist of it."
"Well, imagine if an intern walked into the firm on Monday morning and started to put proposals together, although they have little experience in the field. They do it for fun, and to practice until they get better. But they wouldn't be ready to present to big-shot clients."
Tori said, "Fair, I guess. But that painting doesn't look like it was put together by an intern."
"Maybe. But I still think I can do better."
To her surprise, everyone around the table nodded.
"Okay. You can have your draft back," Desmond said reluctantly. "But you'll paint something for me, won't you? A commission. I won't even steal it."
She grinned victoriously, wondering who could boast ever having changed Desmond King's mind.
Three cocktails later, Ryn noticed that the Earth was spinning when she got up to head to the restroom.
"Dammit. The fruity cocktails deceived me, leading me to my doom."
She was drunk, or at least tipsy and well on her way to being drunk. "There, there, I got you," said Tori, holding her arm and letting her hang on.
"How are you still standing up without help?" Ryn asked her, somewhat offended. "You had as much as I did!"
"The bartenders here know I want single shots of vodka. Five cocktails isn't very much. The standard is a double shot, though. We should have asked them to make yours weaker, too. Next time. Come on. One foot in front of the other, left, right. We'll get there."
They did, although it took a lot of effort. By the time Ryn was sitting in the toilet stall, she wished she could just take a nap on it.
"Tori?" she asked the girl peeing next door.
"Yeah?"
"You're beautiful, and kind, and gorgeous, and deserve everything you have. And I'm jealous. I want a Bryant."
Someone who looked at her like her smile was the only thing that he needed in life; not air or water, just her.
"You don't want a Bryant, Ryn. Bryant and I work because I'm me and he's him. But you have a soulmate somewhere out there, too. Desmond King, or the man who'll come after, or maybe the woman after that."
She wanted to believe that.
"Desmond King can't be mine. I think he likes you," she told her, pouting.
Tori laughed like it was a quip.
"He does!" Ryn insisted. "He's so relaxed with you, and he looks at you like he wants to take a bite. You weren't paying attention."
"Well, one of us wasn't paying attention. It certainly wasn't me."
They came out of their stalls and went to wash their hands.
"One word of advice? Men in general, and Doms in particular, are shy as fuck. Especially the good ones. They'll only act if they see an opening they can't possibly misread. Oh, they're happy to take charge once you show them you want them to. But there are too many beasts in this world right now, so nothing short of an explicit ‘please take me’ is going to work. Talk to Des."
Ryn frowned, storing those words in a corner of her alcohol-addled brain. She was still playing them in her mind when they returned to the table and carried on chatting about random nonsense. The words kept her awake long after Des took her home in a cab and accompanied her to the entrance of her building.
The next day she woke up with the hangover from hell, but after a greasy breakfast, tons of water, and some vitamins, they came back.
Talk to Des.
And say what, exactly? Desmond King didn't strike her as the kind of guy who waited to be approached. And yet, Ryn suspected Tori's words were true, particularly in her case. Shit. If she wanted him, she'd have to let him know. It hadn't occurred to her until now, but there was no way around it; given her past, it was natural that he wouldn't pursue her, regardless of his inclination.
Only one issue: Tori and Callum could be right, but there was still a chance that he wasn't interested. Then they'd lose the friendship that had pulled her up every time she'd so much as started to trip for over a month.
Was it worth the risk?
30
From One King to Another
He was so screwed.
His mind, body, and instincts had been somewhat cheated into believing that Ryn was his for one night. His to kiss on the cheek, his to care for, his to laugh with. If she hadn't been drunk, he might have thought that she was his to fuck, too.
Ryn was a cute drunk, bubbly, adorable, and funny. She was also very tactile, touching his sleeve, his chest, drawing closer to him. Torture. Desmond would have switched from beer to something a lot stronger to put up with that shit had he not been conscious of the fact that they might both end up naked if he was also drunk. And she'd regret it. So would he.
When he woke up that morning, Desmond stared at his phone, his thumb hovering back and forth between two names. Maverick. Callum. The easygoing one or the conniving one.
Owing a favor to Callum was never a good idea. Besides, Maverick had been MIA for years, leaving his two brothers to care for their father. He owed them.
Desmond sighed, remembering that Maverick was taking Lexi to Paris this weekend. He ended up having to disturb the evil middle brother in the end.
"King."
Stupid greeting, yet Desmond replied, "King."
"What can I do for you?"
Straight to business, then.
"I need tomorrow off. Are you visiting Dad?"
Desmond and Callum had alternated their visits so that their father saw one of them every other day at the very least, but the unspoken rule was that Damian never spent a Sunday alone. The Kings weren't religious, but as far back as he remembered, they'd treated Sunday as family day in their household. It was still the case now; they went to see their father together whenever they could, but at the very least one of them called on him.
"I wasn't planning to; I'm on call at The Tower tonight. But I can swing by."
They generally took the old man out for breakfast; Callum would sleep less than a handful of hours to make it work.
"You're sure? I can ask the cousins."
“It's fine, I'll go even if Dmitri and the others show their faces,” Callum said, referring to the oldest of their cousins. “Doing anything nice?”
He hesitated. Desmond w
asn't one to hide his movements, justify his choices, or care about judgment. He also wasn't stupid. Callum had been playing some angle with Ryn earlier. The last thing he needed was more of his brother's interference. Desmond was lost enough as it was.
"I'm heading to the island now that the rainfalls are mostly over. The weather looks good for tomorrow, so I'll head out after the McNamara’s do tonight and stay the day. Let Camilla feed me patties, flying fish, and coconut drops."
Callum groaned. "All right, stop talking or I'll change my mind about covering for you. Can you let me use the place next weekend?"
"You got it, if you can actually bear the thought of not working for a whole day."
His brother laughed. "It's not like I don't know how to disconnect and play when I want to. Tell Camilla to expect me Saturday, with company."
"How many?" Desmond asked.
Not that it would change his answer: his brother was welcome to bring a hundred guests if he pleased. Desmond just needed to let the housekeeper prepare, and employ temporary staff if need be.
"Just a plus one. Listen, I gotta dash. I may pop by the gala before heading to The Tower tonight. See you then, Des."
Desmond had a routine on his rare Saturdays off, a routine he followed religiously: gym first, then a swim, and a protein shake before heading out to the theater. He watched a movie, went out for lunch, and ran in Central Park in the afternoon, before watching a play on Broadway in the evening. As he had the gala tonight, the last part would have been problematic, but he could have done everything else.
He didn't.
Desmond started his day by playing on the instrument in his living room, a piano that would have gathered dust by now if not for the careful attention of Owen, his housekeeper, who always remembered to have it tuned twice a year. His fingers were awkward at first and stiff after an hour, but he played, letting his mind find peace. Desmond had performed a time or two over the last few years, in front of business partners mostly, but it had been decades since he'd just played for the sake of it, for himself. Some people said running cleared their minds; Desmond ruminated his problems and endeavored to find solutions whenever he jogged. The one time when his mind wasn't actively working on a million things at once was when he played piano.
He needed it today, because left to his own devices, he was thinking about, itching to talk to, and analyzing his every interaction with Kathryn Woodrow.
He looked at his watch when his arms and fingers begged for relief. Ten in the morning. He'd dropped Ryn at her place at two, eight hours ago. He didn't doubt that she'd crashed relatively soon after, so she'd awaken soon, if she wasn't up already.
Heading to his breakfast table, he grabbed his phone and sent her a text.
"I hope your head isn't hurting too much this morning."
The answer was almost immediate. "It is. Vodka is the enemy."
"Truer words have never been spoken. Still up for the gala tonight?"
"I don't know, will there be vodka?"
"Potentially. I'll protect you from its clutches if need be."
"Chivalrous. Yeah, sure, as long as my head doesn't feel like it's about to explode by then. And if I can fit in the dress. And tame my hair."
She could go in jeans and with the wild curls he'd seen her adopt when she'd joined him at Sarabeth’s, for all he cared.
"Great. Picking you up at six?"
"Sounds good."
He had eight hours to distract himself before then. Desmond knew just how he wanted to spend them.
"Uncle Marvin!"
He smiled at the old man. Obviously, it wasn't one of the good days, but Desmond didn't care too much. What did it matter what Damian called him?
He held a bag of grease and sugar up to his eye level. "I come bearing gifts."
"Is that doughnuts I smell?"
"Indeed. You get the chessboard ready, while I prepare tea and coffee?" he proposed.
His father went to his task with the delight and enthusiasm of a child.
Halfway through the first game, he was back to being Desmond, and by the third one, he had become Marvin once again. Damian won twice anyway.
"So, son, how is it going with that girl of yours? The one you were talking about last time."
The memories always came and went.
"Woman, dad. They like to be called women these days. 'Girl' is condescending."
"Sure can be, when it's meant as an insult, but your mother was my girl at nineteen, and she was my girl at forty-three, too."
"Different times. And Kathryn is complicated. A lot has happened to her. She's been hurt, badly. You know me. I may not be right for her."
Damian laughed. "Spoken like someone who isn't called Desmond King. If she’s right for you, and she likes you? You make a damn effort, son.”
31
The Snake
"I'm so glad you called, Kathryn."
Ryn smiled, patting her mother's hand as they sat down at a café. She'd been going crazy in her apartment, so she'd called Diana. Her mom told her she could meet her for coffee right away, David was busy—another word for passed out drunk, no doubt.
"Me, too. It'll be nice to catch up. How have you been doing?"
"Well, honey, the kids went back to college last month so I have more hours at the diner. Oh, and I've started to go to a reading club. There's all sort of people, from all ages. You might actually enjoy coming, too. Although it's in Brooklyn. I think Bex said you moved to the city?"
"Yeah, my new job came with an apartment close to work. It's nice. I'm not sure my schedule allows time for a book club right now, though."
A frown of concern wrinkled Diana's forehead.
"Are they working you too hard, honey?"
"Yes." No point in lying. "And I wouldn't have it any other way. I'm new, and I want to prove myself. Besides, I like my boss."
Most of the time.
"Glad to hear it. I meant to talk to you about something important, but I never catch you at the right time, and it's not an email conversation. I've been saving up a little money, hon. I want to help with Bex's care."
Ryn winced. Even without taking into account her father's bad habits, Diana didn't make very much at the mom and pop diner where she worked.
"It's all right, Mom, I can take care of her."
Diana sighed. "It shouldn't have been your responsibility at all."
True, but life sucked, and Ryn had gotten used to it a long while ago.
"I love Bexley. If the situation was reversed, I'm also quite certain she would have taken care of me."
"She would have," Diana said with a smile. "You and Bex...you're very special. So is Nat, in her own way."
Ryn stiffened. She hadn't heard her mother say her sister's name for quite some time, and she'd liked it that way. They were sisters, they shared the same blood; and even now Ryn could recall some childhood memories that had been happy. They only served to enrage her more each time she thought about what Natalie had done. Gone to Wallace. Nat had completely ruined her life. Three years of her life. Abuse—physical and mental—rape, and other things; she'd been an accessory to crimes because of that woman. The backstabbing bitch could die in the ditch where she'd buried herself for all Ryn cared.
Their drinks arrived. Ryn sipped her tea without a word.
"Have you heard from her, honey? She reached out to David just last week, you know. I haven't heard anything yet, but I hope she's doing better now."
Ryn highly doubted that.
"Mom, I'm not going to go into details here, but let's just say that Natalie has done things that I will never, ever forgive. I haven't heard from her. I won't ever hear from her. And I don't want to speak about her again."
She'd never used that tone with her mother, not even to talk about her father's antics. Diana's eyes widened in surprised.
"Oh, honey, I didn't know you'd clashed. David told me she was asking about you. Maybe she wants to make up. You're sisters, after all."
She was as
king about you.
Just last week.
This was no coincidence. Natalie hadn't talked to her or her parents for years, but just weeks after Wallace was incarcerated, she was sniffing around again? She was after money, or worse.
Shit. Shit. Shit. She should have taken Cal's offer and moved overseas. Maybe it wasn't too late.
Her heart was racing in her chest and her hands trembled. What now? What could she do?
One solution presented itself. A single word. Desmond. Her heart and mind screamed his name in unison. The thing she could—should—do right now was to call Desmond, explain the shit she was in, and ask him to help.
But what then? What if he knew about the video and used it to his advantage? Wasn't that how it had all started, with a powerful man finding her weakness and exploiting it? She should stop to consider everything...but Ryn found that she didn't actually need to. She trusted him, and that was that.
How had they moved from casual acquaintances to this in so short a time, she wondered.
"Hello, Earth to Kathryn?"
She smiled weakly. Her mother must have tried to get her attention a bunch of times.
"Sorry," she said, while getting to her feet. "Something came up. I have to go, but I promise I'll call again."
"Oh, of course, honey. Anything I can do to help?"
"No, I don't think so." She wasn't putting her mother between Natalie and her; Diana would just try to appease everyone, make them kiss and make up.
She grabbed her wallet and left money to cover their bill, plus a tip, on the table.
"I can pay for a coffee, you know, honey."
"I know. I'd rather you spend what you can spare on you, though, Mom. And don't worry about Bex's bills, really. It's manageable with my new salary. I'll see you soon?"
"I'd like that very much."
Ryn had her phone out of her pocket and was dialing Desmond's number by the time she'd passed through the doors of the café.
"Calling to cancel on me?" he asked.
Was she? She most definitely didn't feel like attending any kind of fancy party right now.