by S. M. Soto
I’m just about to head straight for the elevator banks and explain this all to Mackenzie when the automatic glass doors in the lobby slide open and Marcus walks in. I’ve known the guy almost all my life, and the expression on his face has my spine going ramrod straight.
His brows take a nosedive as he closes the distance between us. “You got a sixth sense for bad news?”
“Got stood up, actually.”
Marcus tosses his head back and laughs at my expense. “That’s a fucking first.”
“And the last. Hurry up and start talking. I have a woman I need to talk some sense into after this.”
“He’s doing it again,” Marcus starts the second I shut my office door. I settle into the winged back chair, preparing myself for whatever bad news Marcus has.
“When isn’t Vincent doing something he’s not supposed to be doing?” I say drily.
“There’s a video and picture evidence this time. If we don’t take care of this now, it’ll ruin everything. The reputation of Kings will be shot to shit, and chances are, it’ll blow back on the restaurants and resorts, too.”
To prove his point, Marcus pulls his phone out and hits play on the screen. My back teeth gnash together and the muscle in my jaw clenches as I watch Vincent put his hands on the woman he’s been seeing. He often gets caught up in drugs and other domestic disputes. The anger issues he had as a kid have only gotten worse over the years.
After the video is over, Marcus swipes, revealing the victim’s face after the brawl. I heave a tired sigh, rubbing at my temples with vigor as I feel the migraine looming.
“Apparently, he was drunk and snapped. She said one minute he was fine, and the next, he was wailing on her. She wants money, or she’s pressing charges and leaking everything to the media outlets.”
My hands curl into fists, and I bang them on the edge of my desk in frustration. I’m too old to be dealing with this shit and cleaning up Vincent’s messes. If it’s not him, it’s Zach, and if it’s not Zach, it’s fucking Trent. Those three together are the goddamn bane of my existence. Part of me wants to cut them loose—God knows my business and I would be better off without them. But the other part of me, the part that grew up as an only child, sees them as my brothers—albeit, my fucking idiotic brothers, but still family, nonetheless. Blood doesn’t make us family. The Savages were formed years ago, and that’s a bond that refuses to be broken.
“He’s never going to learn. He’s never going to stop if we’re always here to keep him out of trouble. Hell, after the way he put his hands on her, I say let her press charges. The fucking bastard deserves it.”
Marcus sighs, shaking his head. “You know we can’t do that, man. All of our names and reputations are tied up in Kings. I refuse to let Vincent fuck that up. For any of us.”
“Fucking hell. I knew going into business with any of them was going to be a mistake.”
And I did know it; yet, I still went along with it because the guys are my family. After so many failed ventures among the three of them, they came to me for help. They came to me to make the possibility of Kings a reality. I should’ve said no.
“I told you this would happen, Baz. Just let me know how you want me to handle it.”
I scratch at my chin contemplatively. I don’t condone violence, least of all violence against a woman. Vincent should be paying for that, but the risk of that is blowback on my businesses and everything I’ve worked for. There’s not a fucking chance in hell I’m letting Vincent fuck that up.
“How much for the settlement?”
The skin around Marcus’s eyes tightens. “She wants four million.”
I grind my molars together so hard, I can practically feel the enamel grating off. “Do it. And transfer all of Vincent’s shares over to me for the time being. He’ll be paying for his sins with his own money, that’s for damn sure.”
Marcus drums his fingers on the edge of my desk as he pushes to his feet. “I’ll get on it. Oh, and here’s the cash. Three stacks were all you needed?” He digs into his jacket pockets and drops the stacks of money onto my desk.
“Yeah, that should be enough to pay him under the table.”
Marcus shakes his head, grinning at me as he heads toward the door. “The media is wrong. I think you do have a heart in there somewhere.”
I roll my eyes. “What was I supposed to do? Let him and his family get deported? He’s a good guy. He deserves to have a good life.”
“Fucking saint Sebastian, I’m telling you, man,” he taunts on his way out.
“I’m the furthest person from a saint,” I mumble as I set the money aside and lock up behind me, heading for Mackenzie’s room.
I never chase after women this way. If this was anyone else, I’d shrug it off and call it a day, but this isn’t anyone else. For some reason, Mackenzie gets under my skin. From the moment I saw her on the phone in my restaurant when there was a sign strictly forbidding entrance, I was drawn to her. Completely enraptured and ensnared in her trap. She’s like a siren, calling to me. Her voice and body are so majestic, I have no other option but to get closer.
I want to know her. I want to know what makes her tick, what kind of home she came from, and what her likes and dislikes are. I’ve never cared to learn any of those things, but with Mackenzie, she’s one of the only women capable of holding my attention. It’s not often I let people in, showing them the real me, and every time I’m near her, I have this inane need to bare myself to her. It’s a battle I wage not to. Instead, I let the ice settle in my chest and remain as unaffected as I can. I pretend she’s just like the rest; it’s easier that way.
Outside her door, I rap my knuckles against the wood, giving her the impression she has a choice whether to answer. In reality, she doesn’t. I own this entire building and all the land surrounding it. She’d do well to remember that.
I hear her soft footfalls on the other side of the wood. They stop just in front of her door, and a long pause ensues. She’s likely waging her own battle, deciding if opening this door is a good idea. It probably isn’t. She’s probably better off with a man like me out of her life, but I don’t care. I’ve always been a selfish man, and with Mackenzie? That’s no different.
After some time, she opens the door, and though her shoulders are squared, giving off the impression she’s unaffected, she’s not. I can tell by the anxious look in her eyes and the sheepish set of her features. A part of her feels bad for leaving me hanging, and I’m sure the other part of her feels justice is served for bailing on me.
“Did your clock suddenly stop working?” I ask, working to keep the smile from spreading across my face. I don’t know what it is about Mackenzie that I find so amusing. She plays a good game, trying to stand strong, but little does she know, I can see through it. I can see through her and past all those walls she’s tried to build. I want to peel her back, layer by layer until she’s stripped down bare to her core.
She clears her throat, her gaze dropping down submissively to her feet for only a second before darting back up. “No. Actually, I decided going out for dinner tonight wasn’t what I really wanted.”
The smile I’ve been fighting breaks free. It spreads across my face slowly, like a puppeteer gently tugging on the strings with finesse.
I tsk. “Such a shame. I had plans for you, dirty girl.”
She rolls her eyes, her own smile playing at the corners of her lips. “Oh, I’m sure you did.”
“Can I come in? Or is that not what you want either?”
Her slender throat works a nervous swallow. Without words, she takes a hearty step back, widening the door for me to enter. With my grin still in place, I step inside, taking in the familiar layout of the suite. I worked tirelessly on the design and layout of each floor, working with a designer on every painstaking detail.
Mackenzie leads us into the entertainment area that’s outside the bedroom and purposely takes the chaise opposite of the couch I’m lowering myself onto.
“So, m
ind telling me the real reason you didn’t show up?”
Her eyes flash to mine. “I told you already. I just … I just didn’t feel like going out.”
Resting my forearms on my knees, I lean forward, challenging her. “I call bullshit.”
Mackenzie rolls her eyes. “You don’t even know me. How can you call bullshit?”
“Oh, I think I do. I think you were scared. That’s why you didn’t show up. You were angry and scared.”
Her lips press together in a thin line. “Why the hell would I be angry and scared?”
I lean back on the couch, confident grin in place. “That’s easy. You’re angry because of the other night, which I don’t fault you for. And you’re scared of this,” I say, gesturing back and forth between us. “You’re scared of how easy it is for you to give yourself over to me. For whatever reason, you’re scared of letting go.”
Mackenzie quickly darts her gaze down to her lap, telling me I’m right. She licks her lips, her hands fidgeting in her lap as she likely tries to find an excuse, some kind of rebuttal.
“Can you blame me?” she utters quietly, glancing up at me through her lashes.
I feel the effects of it pierce me in the center of my chest. I shake my head, raking my fingers through my hair. Her hazel eyes are a startling honey in this lighting with bright flecks of emerald brightening them. If a look could have a color, this one would be a muted shade of redwoods in the forest. An affair of golden honey and midnight green. It’d be so easy to get lost in her right here, right now. She makes it easy. That’s just the pull Mackenzie has—the power she wields.
“No, I don’t blame you. But there’s an explanation for what you saw the other night. The woman who walked in on us was my former assistant.” Her lips purse, and I immediately know where her thoughts are headed. “I’ve never slept with her, if that’s what you’re thinking. That’s not why she was there so late. I let her go for being unprofessional, so it shouldn’t be much of a surprise that she’d show up to my penthouse to ask for something as insignificant as my friend’s number. That was all that was.”
She nods slowly as if she’s processing the information. Her eyes shutter, growing guarded as she asks her next question.
“And what about the others? All the women I’ve seen you pictured with over the last few weeks. Was that nothing, too?”
My brow quirks. “What is it you’re asking, Mackenzie? Are you asking if I fucked anyone while you went back to New York?” I shrug. “I’d be lying if I said I didn’t. I had no idea I’d ever see you again.”
She doesn’t like that answer. A raging inferno brews in her hazel eyes. It causes the green and honey to brighten as if they’re entities of their own.
“How many of those women did you fuck without a condom?”
That’s an easy answer. I lean back, getting comfortable.
“None.”
Her brows dip, and the rest of her face scrunches into a questioning frown. She doesn’t believe me.
“Bullshit.”
“Want the truth? You’re the only woman I’ve fucked raw. I never fuck without a condom. Ever. But with you, it’s different. You consume me to the point where I don’t think rationally when I’m near you.”
Surprise alights her features, leaving her slack jawed. I have to fight the urge to reach across this coffee table and pull her into my arms. I have a bad habit of not keeping my dick in my pants when I’m near her.
My phone vibrates in my pocket, and with a sigh, I pull it out, glancing at the screen. It’s Marcus again, which means more bad news.
Fucking joy.
Hitting ignore, I push upright and circle the coffee table, stopping just before I reach Mackenzie. She looks up at me, all doe-eyed and innocent, and it does something to me, something that fucks with my head.
“The truth is, there is no one else. There’s no competition. No nothing.” I drop to my haunches, leveling our gazes. “Tomorrow at four, what do you say?”
She continues staring up at me, searching my eyes for answers to her inner questions. With a slow nod, she concedes. My mouth quirks into a crooked grin.
“Dress comfortably and meet me in the lobby.” Leaning forward, I slide my hand around the back of her neck, taking her lips with mine. She gasps into my mouth, and I flick my tongue inside hers, tasting her, getting lured into her song once again. When I pull back, her eyes are heavy, and her chest is heaving. “Try not to leave me hanging this time. I don’t know if my poor ego can handle it.”
Her face splits into a beautiful grin that’s a shot to the heart. I feel the effects of it pressing down on my chest.
Not wanting to linger, I leave her suite and pull my phone out, dialing Marcus back.
“What is it?” I sigh.
“There’s a problem. Meet us at the club.”
I grit my teeth together.
Son of a fucking bitch.
It turns out, wearing whatever you want isn’t as easy as it sounds. I’ve been standing amid the mess of clothes on the floor for far too long, trying to decide on what to wear tonight.
After our encounter in the gym, then leaving him hanging on the night of our dinner, I need tonight to work in my favor more than ever. That’s the issue about being near Baz. One second I feel like I have everything all figured out, but with one look, one smirk from him, it has the capacity to change things.
I thought for sure he was just another asshole, using me, fucking countless other women while he was with me, but after his visit yesterday, I don’t think that’s right. Maybe Baz isn’t the guy I had him pegged as. Maybe there’s more to the man with the perfectly tailored suits and delicious shiver-inducing smirks. I want there to be more because the way Baz looked at me last night? No one has ever looked at me like that.
There is no one else. No competition. No nothing.
My insides quiver just thinking about it.
I finally decide on a simple, comfortable outfit that has just enough sex appeal to remain stylish and not hoboish. I opt for a pair of distressed skinny jeans that hug my curves to perfection and a pair of heeled booties that will give me enough height to feel like I’m on level ground with him—not really, but the added height gives me an illusion of power, which I need in his presence. My top is an off-the-shoulder blouse with buttons down the middle. All together, it’s a casual ensemble that doesn’t look like I even spent a fraction of the time I did trying to figure out what to wear.
By the time I’m finished getting ready, with my hair braided messily over my shoulder after my shower, I keep going for that “not trying” look. With minimal makeup and tousled pieces of hair framing my face from the braid, I think I achieved it. I’m only a little surprised when I open my suite door and find Dan there, waiting patiently. Ever the gentleman, his eyes don’t roam over my body, taking in my attire. Instead, they remain fixed on my face.
“He’s waiting for you downstairs in the lobby, Ms. Williams.”
With an unsteady nod, I place my hand over my belly, which is roaring with butterflies, and follow him toward the bank of elevators. The entire ride down is a repeat of last time. I can already tell Dan is going to be a tough cookie to crack. His loyalty is an issue.
“Have a good night.” Those are his parting words as the doors slide open, revealing the pristine lobby. My booted heels thud against the marble floors, and my brows dip as I glance around in search of Baz, but I don’t see him anywhere.
Why didn’t Dan tell me where the hell Baz was going to be?
My grip tightens around my clutch as my gaze flits around, and I stand like a confused idiot. I suddenly stop breathing, my heart making a ruckus in my chest. My steps still while I take him in. I’m exponentially grateful that he hasn’t noticed me yet. It gives me enough time to ogle him in peace as I catch my breath, all while he’s none the wiser. With his body turned at an angle, I can clearly see him leaning against the column, just near the entrance. I don’t know how I missed him before. And looking at him now?
It makes my mouth go dry, and my breathing becomes fast and labored.
Fucking hell.
With a casual, bored pose, Baz is leaning back, ankles crossed, hands stuffed in his pockets. He’s wearing black slacks and a thin gray sweater with the arms slightly pushed up, giving me, and everyone else, a view of the watch on his wrist and the protruding veins in his hands and forearms.
Naturally, he looks incredible; whereas, I look like my form of “casual” doesn’t come easy.
His face is just as it always is. That same sharp jawline, same deep cerulean blue eyes with green specks, same rough stubble, and a tight, no-nonsense glint in his eyes all complete the look. The view accentuates the strength of his jaw and the sharp angles of his face. He’s handsome as all hell, and it’s starting to drive me crazy.
As if sensing someone’s overheated gaze on him, Baz glances in my direction. No emotion registers on his face—no surprise—or even an inkling of enjoyment at the fact that I’m here. He just watches me, his intense orbs trailing up and down my body, lingering on my jeans.
I swallow the golf ball sized lump in my throat, forcing my brain and muscle receptors to react. Move, one foot in front of the other. Perfect. There you go. With each step closer, I feel the air thickening, my heart pounding harder, and my breathing turning more ragged by the second. And by the time I’m standing in front of him, I’m holding my breath and counting to ten in my head, trying to pull myself together.
“You look great.” My voice sounds raspy and strained, probably from the riot of emotions inside me, so I clear my scratchy throat. My sweaty hands tighten around my clutch again, holding on to it like it’s a lifeline.
Baz’s upper lip twitches as if he wants to smile at the praise, but instead, he reaches his hand out to me, palm up. I pause for only half a second before placing my hand in his. An electric shock travels from our point of contact through my arm and seems to burrow into my veins. When I glance up at him, his brows are drawn together as though he felt it, too.