by Laura Lee
His fingers flex around the side of my waist. “If you tried, you’d best believe I’d hunt your ass down.”
I ignore the sudden throbbing between my thighs and, instead, give him a wry look. “I have no doubt, Caveman.”
I continue scanning the ballroom until I stumble upon Charles and Preston, chatting with a couple of people. Mr. Davenport’s attention wanders as if he can sense someone watching him. My skin crawls when our gazes collide, and his eyes take a leisurely stroll down my body and back up again. Preston smirks when he comes back to my face and sees the shade I’m throwing. If I didn’t already know he prefers submissive women, I’d swear the bastard actually likes my attitude. Like, legit gets off on it. Thankfully, only a moment passes before his notice returns to the people in front of him.
Kingston’s hand tightens around mine when he sees what’s snagged my attention. Or who, rather.
“Relax, Jazz. He can’t touch you.”
“Cool as a cucumber over here,” I bluff.
“What are we talking about?” Ainsley asks, her confused gaze flicking between her father and us. “Who can’t touch you?”
Fuck. I forget there’s one person in our party of five who has no idea what’s going on.
Kingston answers before I get the chance. “There’s a good chance the guy who attacked Jazz is here tonight. I was reminding her that he won’t have a chance to get to her because one of us will be with her at all times.”
Shit. Is that true? I don’t know why I didn’t think about it before, but it’s absolutely possible. We already know he’s a student at Windsor, and he knows Peyton, which means he’s part of a wealthy family who runs in the same circles. Why did I agree to come to this thing again? Oh yeah, nailing sick fucks to the ground. That thought helps strengthen my resolve.
I straighten my spine, jerking my head to the patriarchs. “Any idea who they’re talking to?”
“My parents.” Bentley inclines his head toward the couple.
I startle, not expecting that answer, although now that I’m really looking at them, I can see the resemblance. Bentley’s dad is a light-skinned African American man, and his mom looks kinda like a Polynesian Heidi Klum. Both are absolutely stunning, which is no surprise considering how attractive their son is.
“Well, that solves the race equation. Sort of.”
“What?” Bentley laughs.
“You’re racially ambiguous, like Dwayne Johnson,” I explain. “Surely that’s not the first time you’ve heard that.”
“Never in those exact words,” Bentley says. “If people want to know, they usually just ask.”
“Eh.” I shrug. “It doesn’t really matter—I was just curious. I’ve always known I was biracial, but I think never meeting my father until recently made me naturally inquisitive about other mixed-race people. I know how annoying that question can be, though, so I would’ve never asked.”
Bentley swings his arm over my shoulder, much to Kingston’s annoyance. “Well, to satisfy your curiosity, my little kitty cat, my dad’s half Irish—hence, the Fitzgerald—and half Black, and my mom’s half German, half Hawaiian.”
All four parents look like they’re discussing something serious. “What do you think they’re talking about?”
Bent shrugs. “Probably VC stuff. My dad owns a firm.”
“What the hell is a VC?” I scrunch my nose.
“Venture capitalist,” he explains.
“Ah.” I nod my head in understanding.
“Should we take our seats?” Ainsley asks. “They should be serving the first course anytime now.”
Kingston knocks Bentley’s arm off my shoulder and takes my hand, leading me to the head table. However, before we can get there, Charles calls my name, motioning to join him.
“Fuck,” I mutter. “Looks like it’s showtime.”
“You guys go ahead. We’ll be right there.” Kingston’s fingers tighten around mine. “I’m right here, Jazz.”
Bentley, Reed, and Ainsley continue their trek across the ballroom, while Kingston and I veer left to meet with the sperm donor.
“Ah, there’s my beautiful daughter now,” Charles boasts. “Jasmine, I’d like you to meet some people.”
I stiffen when Charles wraps his hand around my shoulder, and his grip tightens in warning. “William and Lani Fitzgerald, I’d like you to meet Jasmine.”
I pretend not to notice the tension between Kingston and his father as I exchange pleasantries with Bentley’s parents. Mr. and Mrs. Fitzgerald seem like genuinely good people, but it’s difficult to relax considering Kingston and I are currently bookended by his father and mine. Preston is standing slightly behind the Fitzgeralds, so they’re oblivious as he pins me with a blatantly lascivious stare.
I know Kingston’s trying to ignore the bait, but the rigid set of his jaw and the slight shift of his body to shield me from his father’s gaze gives him away. Preston’s lips curve into a smile as if he’s pleased by his son’s actions. Or, more likely, he’s pleased with himself for getting that reaction. Kingston’s dad looks positively gleeful when Charles pulls me back, nearly causing me to stumble. What the hell? It’s as if Sperm Donor is trying to widen the space between Mr. Davenport and me. Kingston and I exchange a quick glance, and it’s obvious he’s just as surprised by that move as I am. You know who’s not surprised?
Preston Davenport.
I think he’s intentionally goading Charles and Kingston right now. But why? It’s not like Charles has any actual parental instincts that would demand he protect me at all costs. I’m sure that thing he did a few seconds ago was a one-off. This has to be about control. I’m pretty sure I’m standing smack dab in the middle of a power struggle between Kingston’s father and mine. Awesome.
Not.
When Bentley’s parents excuse themselves to find their seats, Preston turns to me.
“Jasmine, you’re an absolute vision in that dress,” he practically purrs. “Remind me to thank whoever picked it out later.”
“Preston...” Charles says in warning.
“Dad,” Kingston grits out at the same time, shifting his body again so he’s blocking me even more.
“Relax. It was a compliment—I meant no harm. Although, it seems my son hasn’t gotten the memo. He’s practically pissing circles around her right now, isn’t he?” Preston’s greedy eyes are fixed on me the entire time, and I have to put some serious effort into not gagging.
Screw it, if Preston really wants to do this in front of all these people, game on, motherfucker.
I straighten my spine and step forward so my shoulders are flush with Kingston’s. “Why would he need to do that? It’s not like there’s anyone here who poses a threat. I mean, I share DNA with this one”—I jerk my head back toward Charles—"and the only one left is you.” I take a moment to look Preston up and down, my disinterest clear.
Kingston’s fingers tighten around mine so hard, I wince. He immediately loosens his grip, but the warning is clear. I’m not stupid; I know Preston Davenport is a lot more dangerous than he looks on the surface. But guess what? He’s not the only one.
Mr. Davenport’s cheeks redden. “You certainly are spirited, aren’t you?”
I pop a brow. “Your point?”
He pastes a fake smile on his face. “No point. Just an observation.” Preston slaps Kingston on the back. “Wouldn’t you agree, son?”
Kingston is practically vibrating with rage as he shrugs out of his father’s hold. “It’s one of the many things I appreciate about her.”
“I bet.” Preston laughs. “I’m sure she keeps things... interesting.”
“Can you not talk about me like I’m not standing right in front of you?”
Preston’s eyes narrow, but before he can say anything else, Charles speaks up.
“Enough,” Charles commands. We’re all careful to keep the volume of this discussion down, but I don’t miss the anger in his tone. I thought his ire was due to my insolence, but my father’s g
lare is fixed on Kingston’s father when I look up. “Preston, didn’t you mention you wanted to speak with a certain supplier before dinner? They’re about to start serving, so you should probably go do that now.”
Preston brushes imaginary lint off his sleeve. “Yes, of course. Thank you for reminding me.”
Charles nods.
When his father walks away, Kingston clears his throat. “We’re going to get some fresh air before dinner.”
We don’t bother waiting for Charles’ response; we just walk away. Once we’re outside on the balcony, Kingston yanks me into a darkened corner and wraps me in a bear hug.
“Fuck.” He takes a few deep breaths before pulling back to frame my face with his hands. “Are you okay?”
“Are you?”
He shakes his head. “Doesn’t matter.”
“Like hell, it doesn’t!” I argue. “It looked like you were two seconds away from knocking your father out cold.”
Kingston presses his forehead against mine. “That’s because I was.”
I sigh. “Kingston.”
“I couldn’t stop thinking about the video.” He pulls back to look me in the eye. “I can’t unsee that shit.”
He turns his face into me as I run my finger along the length of his eyebrow. “Me, either.”
Kingston looks around to ensure we don’t have any possible eavesdroppers. “I thought I could handle it; that it’d be just like any other day I had to put on the front. But when I saw the way he was looking at you, I wanted to fucking kill him, Jazz. Right on the spot, no concern for witnesses. I was envisioning bashing his head into the floor until brain matter was seeping out of his skull.”
I cringe from that disturbing—yet, also strangely satisfying—visual. “We can’t let your dad get to us, Kingston. He’d win, and that’s not an option.”
“Agreed, but it’s not going to be easy. Suspecting my father wanted you was one thing. Knowing he’s fantasizing about you while fucking someone else? That he sees you as a barrier between him and ten billion dollars? It’s an entirely different ballgame, especially when you’re within his reach. I don’t want you anywhere near him, Jazz.” Kingston blows out a breath. “Logically, I know he wouldn’t have actually touched you in front of all those witnesses, but it’s like my brain short-circuited. That crap he just pulled? He wouldn’t be so brazen if he wasn’t confident in his ability to win whatever game he’s playing.”
“Speaking of games... is it just me, or did it seem like he was goading my sperm donor? Do you think he knows your dad is sleeping with Madeline?”
“Maybe.” He shrugs. “Shit’s definitely going down between them, but my gut is telling me it’s bigger than an affair.”
“Like what?”
Kingston shakes his head. “Add it to the list of things I don’t know.”
“So, what do we do now?”
He leans down and pulls my lower lip between his teeth. “We go in there and play nice. Completely act like that entire encounter never happened. After we eat, I make my rounds, then we can ghost this place.”
“Pretending that didn’t happen is easier said than done when we have to sit at the same table. Just thinking about that look your dad gave me makes me want to vomit.”
Kingston tilts my chin up. “Don’t give him the satisfaction of knowing he rattled us. You’re the strongest person I know, Jazz, and my near freak-out back there was just a blip. I wasn’t prepared for his aberrant behavior, but I am now. We just have to remember nothing’s off the table when it comes to Preston Davenport. And you and me? We’re a team. If anyone can do this, it’s us. Don’t let him fucking win this round, Jazz.”
“I won’t.” I throw my shoulders back, steeling my resolve. “We won’t. If your dad wants to fight dirty, let him. We’ll just have to show him what badasses we can be.”
Kingston smiles. “There’s my girl.”
CHAPTER THREE
KINGSTON
The head table is one of those rectangular ones that’s set apart from the other guests. I frown when I see place cards, indicating where each person should sit. There’s a total of eight place settings, with—surprise, surprise—our fathers in the middle, lording over everyone. Madeline and Peyton are seated to Charles’ left, and my sister and Reed are to my father’s right.
Ainsley must’ve specifically requested Reed’s spot because neither my dad nor Charles are considerate enough to think of something like that. The place card bearing my name is directly next to my dad’s, so this should be interesting, to say the least. Since Jazz and I are the last two to arrive, we don’t really have the option of rearranging the cards. Switching to another table defeats our objective.
“Assigned seating?” Jazz whispers. “Seriously?”
I lean into her ear. “It’s bullshit, but the one good thing is you’re three people removed from my father.”
“I’m not sure Peyton’s much better,” she mumbles. “They’d better be serving mashed potatoes, or I’m staging a goddamned riot.”
I laugh and lean into Jazz to kiss her cheek before she takes a seat.
“Whore,” Peyton mutters under her breath.
I glare at my ex-girlfriend, but Jazz doesn’t let it get to her. She simply raises an eyebrow and says, “Aw, what’s the matter, Peyton? Jealous much?”
Peyton huffs and turns to Madeline while Jazz averts her attention back to me.
“Behave.” I wink. “I’m right on the other side of the table if you need me.”
She makes a shooing gesture. “Yeah, yeah. Go sit down. I got this.”
Neither one of us misses the attention we’re garnering from all three parents—and I use that term loosely. Jazz and I share a knowing look, silently acknowledging that we’re on display. The second I sit down next to my father, he starts interrogating me.
“Son.” He eyes me as he slowly takes a sip from his wine glass. “I was beginning to think you weren’t going to join us.”
“Why would you think that?”
A waiter swoops in, so I watch as he fills my glass with some kind of merlot. Once he leaves, I take a leisurely sip from my glass—even though I can’t stand this stuff—before turning my gaze to the left, waiting for a reply.
“You and Jasmine seemed rather... upset earlier.”
I lean over and lower my voice so only my father can hear me. “You’d have to work a lot harder than that to upset Jasmine, old man. She’s a tough nut to crack, remember? As for me, it’s all part of the job Charles tasked me with, which you made quite difficult earlier.”
When I pull back, my father’s gaze is shrewd. Assessing. I can tell he’s weighing the truth of my words. I think back to what he said to Peyton in that video—how he knows I’m in love with Jazz, how he expected it to happen. Shit, I don’t even know how to explain what I feel for her, but he seems convinced, which means I need to persuade him that he’s mistaken. That it’s all part of the act.
“Is that so?”
I lift an eyebrow in challenge. “Have I given you any reason to think otherwise?”
My dad’s eyes shift down the table in Jazz’s direction before coming back to me. “I—”
“Dude.” Ainsley nudges my shoulder with hers. “When are they going to serve up the food? I’m starving.”
“Me too,” I tell her.
Putting up with this dinner every year is only tolerable because the feast is spectacular. I smile to myself when I think about the mashed potatoes, more specifically, how much Jazz will love them.
My father is irritated by the interruption, but I’m grateful to my twin. “We’ll continue this conversation another time.”
“Sure thing.” My tone is dismissive, which aggravates him further, but I pretend not to notice. I simply turn back to my sister and engage her and Reed in conversation.
After the final plates are cleared, people resume socializing, which I take as my cue to work the crowd. Charles is making his rounds with Jazz, treating her like a prized possess
ion as he introduces her to several business partners or acquaintances. My girl looks miserable, but I don’t think anyone else can tell. She knows I need time to gather information, so she’s taking one for the team. I ensure Bentley has an eye on Jazz before I seek out the man I’m looking for. Unsurprisingly, Alexander Ivanov—one of my father’s suspected associates—is standing next to my dad off to the side, deep in conversation.
Both men straighten as I approach.
“Kingston! It’s good to see you again.” Alexander extends his hand. “Preston and I were just talking about you.”
My grip is probably tighter than it should be as I shake his hand. “All good things, I hope.”
Alexander chuckles. “Of course, of course.”
“Alexander was just telling me about a holiday party he’s hosting in his home,” my dad says. “He was encouraging me to invite you and Jasmine to the festivities.”
“You don’t say. That’s awfully kind of you to think of us.”
Fuck, I hate this schmoozing shit, especially with pompous assholes like this.
“Of course I’d think about you,” Alexander assures me. “You are the heir to Davenport empire, after all. So, what do you say? It’s next Saturday.”
“I’ll have to check with Jasmine and get back to you.”
Going to this dickhead’s house is probably one of the last things I want to do, but it could be fruitful, even I have to admit. That doesn’t mean I want Jazz anywhere near him, though.
Alexander flashes a confused look in my father’s direction.
“I’m afraid my boy here has his hands full with the Callahan girl. She’s not exactly keen on taking orders. Yet.” My dad laughs conspiratorially. “I doubt she’d be... receptive if Kingston accepted an invite on her behalf without consulting her first.”
My father’s not wrong, and I fucking hate it that he knows that about her. Hell, I hate it that he knows anything about her.
Deep lines form around Alexander’s beady eyes as he grins knowingly. “Ah, she’s a bit of a wild mustang, huh? They’re a bitch to tame, but that makes owning them that much sweeter, right?”