The Best Of LK Vol. 1

by LK Collins

  Chapter 5

  Work sucked. Ross stuck me in the back of the line and put Mistee in my place, suddenly promoting her to executive chef because of my one fuck-up. And to top it off, I had to yell, “Yes, Chef” to every dumb ass thing she said, and trust me, there were about a thousand of them. Walking home rather than paying for another cab, I take my time. Enjoying the sights of this beautiful little town that I love.

  My phone rings. “Hey, Dad.”

  “Hey.” He sounds good and the positivity in his voice makes me smile. “How’s my girl?”

  “I’m okay. Just walking home.”

  “Why?” His voice is mixed with concern, and I automatically calm him down. “It’s a long story, but nothing’s wrong.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes, Dad.”

  “Okay. Hey, the street market is this weekend, if you wanna still go?”

  “Of course I do. I’d love that.” I know how much my dad loves going. This market only opens every six months. To him, it’s a day he loves, and with everything he has gone through, he deserves it. Plus, I like our time together.

  “Oh, good. Would you text me when you’re home?” he asks.

  “Of course.”

  We hang up and what would normally be a down time after a long day, when I’m all alone, I instead find myself laughing out loud imagining King on that freakin’ teal bike.

  “What’s so funny?” King asks, pulling up next to me in his ridiculous white whatever-it-is car.

  You’ve got to be kidding me.

  “Oh my God, are you following me?” I screech.

  “Never.”

  I roll my eyes. “So what, you’re just out trolling around?”

  “I’m sorry, could you come a little closer? I can’t hear you.”

  I look over at him, still wearing a suit at this time of night. Maybe this is a different one, but regardless he’s the polar opposite of me. Standing stock still in the middle of the sidewalk as his car is stopped, I look at the way his arm is hung over the steering wheel and his hand tattoo draws my eyes right to it. Then there it is, that silence, where he stares, looking at me, making me squirm inside and the feeling makes me…my thoughts trail off, not even wanting to admit to myself what the feeling does to me.

  “Good night, King.”

  “Ahh, come on. Why are you always running from me?” He creeps his car along at my pace.

  “Why are you always following me?”

  Then he does it again, he evades the question, and I ignore him, putting my ear buds in, zoning him out. As I come up to the street that I have to cross to get to my apartment, he approaches the light while I stand and try to ignore his car waiting. I don’t want to push the walk button, ‘cause if I do, I’ll have to cross in front of him. But what’s the fucking difference, if I do or if I don’t? He’s already undressed me with his eyes.

  Walking home with my head held high, the music drowns everything out. That is until I step foot on the next sidewalk and the noise of his car speeding off, going from zero to one hundred in seconds, turns my head.

  I watch his taillights for a brief moment, and then like that, they’re gone. But I’m sure it won’t be long until he’s back. Looking at the bike rack, the teal bike is gone. Thank God he got the point. Going inside, I grab my mail, and as I filter through it walking upstairs, I am stopped dead in my tracks. Parked outside of my door is a pink bike, exactly like the teal one, with another huge bow on it. There is no note or card. Only this goddamn bike. How does he know which apartment I live in?

  Looking at the thick frame, it’s so odd-shaped, nothing like what I’d pick out. There is a small logo on it that reads Stromer.

  As I go inside, I leave the bicycle alone and lock my door. My dad texts me and I let him know that I am home safely. Grabbing a beer from the fridge, I plop down on the couch and Google the bike, gawking and spitting my beer out as the ten thousand dollar price registers.

  Clicking on a link, I read about it and find out it’s actually electric. Then get lost in a barrage of YouTube videos watching how freaking crazy these things are. Couriers in New York use them all the time and tons of celebrities endorse them. Which I find hard to believe as bikes should be used for exercise, or at least that’s why I ride mine.

  Sitting back, I wonder why he bought another bike and why he’s being so persistent. Then, I think about him pulling up on the street tonight. Was he just in the area? Was it really a coincidence? And he looked so hurt when I brushed him off.

  Whatever it was, it doesn’t matter. I don’t even know who he is, not that I really care – he’s not my type. Changing into my pajamas, I get an idea to try and find out more about him.

  Just so I know what I am up against.

  Plus, his name is unusual and the public records should show his last name, if he really is the owner of the building next door.

  So I grab my laptop to see what I can find, and it’s not hard to locate the real estate transaction. It shows the buyer as King Architecture, the signer for the company is Kingsley Lennox. Hmmm. So his name is Kingsley, King for short? Like I go by Ever, short for Everly. Maybe we have one thing in common. Closing my laptop, my eyes feel heavy. But the realization that I have his name sparks me to look a bit further.

  Doing a simple Google search on his name, I am floored by the results. There are a zillion articles about him and tons of images of his work. He even has a freaking Wikipedia page. This guy is a mogul in the architectural world. I click on a link and there’s his picture in front of a huge, no…gigantic building, and reading the first few lines of the biography, I kind of have a little respect for him. Kingsley Lennox, better known as King, is the youngest architect to ever emerge into the spotlight with such a vision of creativity and passion, like none other of his caliber. Anything King touches turns to gold. He’s been dubbed a modern day genius by The New Yorker. A native of San Antonio, Texas where his parents both still reside, he’s most famously known for his work on the Marble Lux, the Glass Community, and restoring more pieces of United States history with his own money and time than anyone ever has.

  Scrolling further down, his work is gorgeous. Mind-blowing. But I can’t help but be affected by memories of his arrogant nature. Almost rude behavior from what I’ve seen, and that is not something that I find attractive. I mean, I was wrong giving him the pepper, but he pushed me to that point and never has apologized. Not for anything, the noise…nothing.

  Closing my laptop, I am now well aware of who this guy is. He is, just as he presents himself, a beautiful blend of extravagant oils. And me…I’m water. So no matter what thoughts might be conjuring up in the back of my head, oil and water will never mix. And I don’t think I want them to. He’s not the kind of person I can see myself with. We can’t even be around one another – all we do is fight and it goes sideways when we see each other.

  But I’ve made it this far in life without a man, and I will continue on, trusting in the bigger plan of the universe, the way my parents raised me.

  Chapter 6

  As I prepare to leave for work dreading the annoyance that will be waiting for me, I keep focused and remind myself to put one foot in front of the other, striving forward. But that’s hard, because sure enough, the pink bike is still parked outside of my apartment.

  Ignoring it, I emerge into the warm summer day, the noise next door is so loud, but at least it’s coming from inside the building, if I am looking at any positives in this situation. Keeping my eyes down, I go for my bike. And when it is not at the bike rack, it infuriates me.

  That sonofabitch.

  My teeth are gritted together as I try and decide what to do. What I wanna do is find him and fucking slap him. But I saw how well poisoning him with a pepper went, so assault will surely not bother him. Turning to walk in, I run smack dab into him.

  “Ooompph,” I yelp from the impact. My hands touch him, he smells like a fucking drug, and as dazed as I am being this close to him, I force myself to
quickly back away. “Did you steal my bike?” I accuse him, noticing he has another stupid ass ten thousand-dollar bike with him.

  “No, I don’t steal bikes – I buy them. So, is white the color for you? It’s what chefs wear.” He licks his lips and I want to tear my hair off my scalp.

  There is something about him that is so infuriating to me.

  “No, goddammit. No white, or pink, or teal, or any color of that dumb electric bike. It’s not for me. I ride to exercise.”

  “Okay, I need to switch the brand up.” He seems really concerned. “And no electric, could you at least tell me which color you—”

  I cut him off. “Don’t buy me another bike, or anything.”

  “Why?”

  “Why? Seriously, that’s your question?”

  “Yes.”

  I push my way around him and storm off. I need to end this conversation, no…all conversations with this ridiculous asshole – now. But he won’t let me. He’s right there, walking along with me, his shoes silent today, and I wonder if he changed them because of my comment. But it’s probably just a coincidence. He catches me staring down and asks, “Are these shoes okay with you?”

  “I don’t care what shoes you wear, King.”

  “But you do. You insulted my other ones. They were my favorite pair too.”

  Shaking my head, I ignore him. But his eyes are on me again and it makes me feel so awkward inside, all hot and bothered. “Why do you hate me?” he asks me.

  “I don’t hate you, King. I don’t even know you.”

  “You act like you hate me. You won’t even look at me.”

  I stop in the middle of the sidewalk and take in a big breath of air, looking deep into his eyes. They are the clearest blue that I have seen and I wonder if maybe I haven’t been looking at him. “What can I do to make this right? We obviously started off on the wrong foot.”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Tell me, please.”

  “You can keep the noise down until…nine in the morning.”

  “Ahhhh.” He rubs the back of his neck. “Something else?”

  “Jesus, you are such a piece of work.”

  “What?”

  Clearly, he’s fuckin’ strange. “Come on, this is a five million-dollar project, I can’t start later in the morning.”

  “Fine, apologize for the stunt you pulled at my work on my birthday.”

  “Nah, you ruined my lunch.” I glare at him, astounded that he wants to know what I want, and when I tell him, he won’t do it. He gives me a grin and I step really close to him. His breath is on my skin, his eyes are burning into my soul, and I give him a taste of his own medicine. Obviously he is pursuing me for another reason than giving me a hard time. Taking my hand, I cup his face. He closes his eyes, leaning into my touch; a low growl crackles from his throat. Rubbing my thumb gently over his plump bottom lip, I go to pull away and he wraps his arm around me, holding my body more tightly against his.

  Staying in control as I end this before it even begins, I whisper, “Don’t fucking follow me or talk to me, ever again.” Dropping my hand, I remove his from around my waist and walk away. My body is coursing with adrenaline, and I don’t think it’s because of what I just did; it’s because of what he did. Holding me like that, possessing me like I was his property.

  He kindles something inside me, something that has never awoken, and it frightens me what could happen if I let it out.

  Walking into the kitchen, I hang my stuff up and find Ross already in the office. “Morning.”

  “Hey,” he mumbles, focusing on the computer.

  “I was going to help you prep, is that cool with you?”

  “Okay, can you do an inventory first and then I’ll be out?”

  I give him a smile, trying to make up for what I did, but can sense the distance between us. I hate that I did this. My job, this place, it’s everything to me.

  Going into the walkout, I get an idea, a wild one…but it might work and get me back in his good graces, which is what I need. If I have to dread my apartment and being tormented by King every day and then come here and be as miserable, my life will slowly spiral downwards.

  Finishing up the inventory, Ross is still in the office, I pop in and tell him, “I’m gonna make a call real quick, if you’re still busy. Is that okay?”

  “Sure.”

  “Here’s the inventory.” I hand it to him and grab my phone out of my backpack, then step out back. Following my gut on this one, I do a Google search for King Architecture and call the number listed for the business.

  “King Architecture, how may I direct your call?” A woman answers the phone.

  Pulling out my best Texas twang I ask, “May I please speak with King?”

  “I’m sorry, he’s out in the field right now. Can I put you through to his voice mail?”

  “This is his aunt in Texas, and I’m calling regarding a family matter. Could you patch me through to his cell phone? I thought that’s the number I dialed, dear.”

  “Yes, ma’am, I’ll connect you right away.”

  “Thank you.”

  Jesus, the people working for him are as dumb as he is. The phone rings twice, and then he answers, “This is King.” His voice is so sexy on the phone, but I push away the thought.

  What is wrong with me?

  “King, it’s Ever, I need a favor.”

  “Oh, do you now?” He’s cocky in his response, and I’m sure it’s because I wounded his poor ego this morning. “I thought you told me to never talk to you again.”

  “Don’t be an ass. Can you help me or not?”

  “What do you need?” He sounds agitated, almost like he doesn’t like it when others ask him to do something. He’d rather rule the world and make everyone kiss his feet.

  “I need you to tell my boss that your friend called me a bitch and that’s why I reacted the way I did.”

  “And why would I do that?”

  “Because you owe me.”

  “Nah, I don’t owe anyone shit.”

  “Don’t play tough with me. Is it really that hard for you to do something nice for someone once in your life?”

  “Really? I spent thirty g’s on bikes for you, talk about being nice.”

  “Can you help me or not?”

  “Okay, I’ll do it…on one condition.”

  Motherfucker.

  “Name it.”

  “Go out with me. One date is all I’m asking for.”

  I look up at the clouds rolling by and know one date is not fucking happening. Oil and water will never mix.

  “Goodbye, King.”

  I hang up, really only pissed at myself. I should’ve known better than to think he’d actually help me and not want something in return. King is the kind of guy who’s only out for himself. I’m sure, to him, I’m only a pawn in his game of life, and because I’m a challenge, he wants to capture me.

  Chapter 7

  A week of noise, annoyance, and avoidance, that pretty much sums up my life since King bought the building next door and started restorations. Leaving me feeling more uncomfortable and confused than ever.

  I haven’t seen him since our last interaction on the street when I touched his lips, or talked to him since I hung up on him and I’m not sure how I feel about that. But I’m sure I was only a prize he was trying to win, and the feeling of defeat, particularly for a man, is hard to swallow. Especially a man like King – yes, he’s undeniably gorgeous. But other than that, he lacks normal human skills, like compassion, and respect. And for some strange reason he likes me…or acts like it. But now, I’m sure he’s off prowling the next woman that turns his head. Honestly I have no clue why I ever did.

  My phone rings, and I set down the tub of ice cream that I’m sulking my worries away into. Internally, I hope it’s him. I guess so I can hear his voice, then yell at him. Damn, I'm all over the place. But it’s Mistee. “Hey, girl.”

  “Oh fuck, Ever.” She is panicked and I don’t like it, so
mething has to be majorly wrong.

  “What’s the matter?”

  “Promise you won’t judge me?”

  I roll my eyes to myself and tell her, “I can’t make any promises.”

  “God, you’re such a snatch.”

  “Whatever. So tell me, what’s up? What’s got your panties all in a twist?”

  “Ross has my panties…literally. We fucked.”

  I tilt my head – surely I heard her wrong. “Gross, please tell me you are lying.”

  “Oh…I’m not, it happened.”

  “Why? Why would you do that?”

  “Come on, he’s cute. Plus, he’s been an über dick to you lately, so I thought we’d give him a taste of his own medicine.”

  I’m afraid to ask what she is referring to…but I have to. “What do you mean?”

  “Now you can blackmail him, tell him you know we fucked, and maybe he’ll start treating you with some respect.”

  “Are you drunk?”

  “No. Think about it, Ever. This could really work; it can give you the leverage you need.”

  “Mistee, that’s not the kind of leverage I want.”

  “Well, what ideas do you have? Because the way I see it, you’re about to get demoted to washing dishes.”

  “Do you realize how crazy your idea is? You cannot be serious.”

  “I fucked our boss; how much more serious do I need to be?”

  “You need to see a doctor and get some help ‘cause I think you’re losing it. Please, keep your dirty panties on from now on and let me handle this. I’m not the kind of person who blackmails someone.”

  “Suit yourself. It’s the last time I do you a favor. Oh and have fun washing dishes.”

  “I didn’t ask you to sleep with him, he’s old and…” I push away the disgusting image of her and Ross together. “Goodbye, Mistee.” I hang up, completely baffled by her way of trying to help. But it is Mistee I’m talking about, and she’s got a few screws loose.