Cruel Desire

by K. A. Linde

  I’d thought it was a miracle when I met Josh. He was different. He was going places. Sure, he partied with the rest of us, but he was never out of control. And he’d made me want to rise to my full potential. I had already been working for Poise, but the years with Josh was when I hadn’t just climbed; I’d soared.

  It was still hard to believe that he’d been stupid enough to sleep with Celeste. To ruin it all.

  I shook my head to clear my thoughts. I didn’t need to think about any of this. Not about the ex-douchebags or Josh or even Court. Because that wasn’t happening again with Court. I was forcing ambition on Court Kensington. It wasn’t the same thing as him having any himself.

  Court changed his outfit for the third time, and we moved into another space. This with a plain white background. Just Court and the camera.

  I’d been working through most of the photo shoot, but when he came back out in a black suit and light blue shirt with no tie, my eyes lingered longer than they should have.

  They lingered.

  And lingered.

  I slipped my phone back into my purse and watched the magic. It was unfair how attractive he was. Just unfair to the rest of humanity.

  “Okay,” Alejandro said in his thick accent. “Now, take the jacket off.”

  Court’s eyes slipped to mine. I didn’t say anything. Didn’t stop him. But my mouth went dry as he casually removed his jacket and slung it over his shoulder as if he’d done this his whole life.

  “Excellent. Now, the shirt.”

  “Wait,” I said, my throat tight. “We didn’t agree on shirtless. This is a business shoot.”

  Evelyn shrugged. “One or two couldn’t hurt. The readers will die for it.”

  Court waited. His eyes back on me. “Your call, English.”

  I frowned. I didn’t want him to do the shirtless shoot. I wasn’t sure that it gave the right appearance. That it said what we were going for. But at the same time, I wanted to see him shirtless. My mind had been wandering there the entire time I’d seen him in those suits. Who wouldn’t be wondering the same thing?

  “Just one,” I told Evelyn. “Don’t use any more than one.”

  She nodded hungrily. “All right. Just one.”

  I nodded at Court. My throat bobbed. I had to watch him unbutton each individual button on that shirt. Slow, methodical, and so, so tempting. Revealing every inch of powerful chest and abdomen.

  I shifted uncomfortably as I remembered how eager I’d been to get to that six-pack and run my hands lower. What exactly I’d wanted to do… and actually done after that.

  He stripped out of his shirt and effortlessly tossed it off to the side. I heard Evelyn suck in a breath. I already wasn’t breathing. It was an agonizing few minutes as Alejandro worked his magic.

  Then, he rose to his feet and nodded. “Perfection. We have what we need.”

  “Great!” Evelyn said. “That’s a wrap.”

  And over her short head, Court’s attention returned to mine. Our eyes said everything and nothing, all at once. Desire smoldered there. And I wasn’t sure that mine didn’t answer.

  I hated the arrogant prick who thought he could take what he wanted in that moment. And I wanted him all the same. The heat pooling in my core was enough to say just how much I fucking wanted him.

  Court broke the contact, reaching for his shirt and slinging it back on. Evelyn bustled over to him, talking in hushed tones and giggling like a schoolgirl. He righted his shirt and then jacket. But his smile was as genuine as I’d ever seen it as he indulged her. And I had to watch.

  The interview was short and scripted. She’d done exactly what she’d said she would do. And for that, I was grateful. I was still reeling from the photo shoot and the new vision I had of Court Kensington stripping in front of me.

  “Well, thank you so much, Mr. Kensington,” Evelyn said coquettishly as I waited nearby to vacate the building.

  “Please, Evelyn, call me Court.”

  She flushed. “Court. Of course.”

  “Actually, do you think I could get your number? It’d be nice to have it in case we need to meet and go over the interview again.”

  My eyes rounded in shock. Was he… asking her out? In front of me?

  Evelyn giggled again. “I think I have a business card here somewhere.” Then, she produced one so swiftly that I was certain she had been waiting for the moment to hand it to him all along.

  “A pleasure.” He dipped down and kissed her hand.

  “As always, Court.”

  Then, he smiled indulgently again and walked back over to me. “Ready, English?”

  A frown had taken up residence on my lips, and I carefully pulled it back into neutrality. “Yes. Let’s get out of here. We need to prepare for the announcement still.”

  We stepped out of the photo shoot and into an elevator. Court swiped the business card back and forth across his palm with a shit-eating grin on his face.

  “So, you think I have a chance?” he asked me.

  “With what?”

  “Evelyn.”

  I arched my eyebrows at him. “Seems too easy, if I’m being honest.”

  “You think so?”

  His eyes smoldered on me. So bright and all-knowing.

  Bastard.

  “I think we should concentrate on the announcement tomorrow. That matters more than your dating life.”

  He laughed, cool and calculating. “I think I’ll still call her.”

  “You do that,” I said, feigning indifference.

  “Unless there’s a reason I shouldn’t.”

  “Besides her being a journalist?”

  “Besides that, yes.”

  “Can’t think of anything,” I said plainly.

  He smirked. As if he knew exactly what I was thinking. And then slid the business card into my purse and not his pocket.

  13

  Court

  The office was abuzz, and yet it was all white noise. Just a whirl of activity that I couldn’t process. Camera crew setting up for the shot, lighting blinding my new desk, hair and makeup floating about, a flurry of very important people for the company chattering behind the spotlight. It all felt… surreal.

  I couldn’t believe we’d whipped all of this together in a matter of days. The photo shoot and interview that would release, following this announcement. The interior designers had practically re-created my father’s office down to the desk I stood before and the circular rug under my feet.

  It made me want to vomit.

  Had someone given them a picture? It had to have been deliberate. It was too coincidental. I suspected my mother od tampering. It wasn’t English’s style.

  The world felt as if it were dropping away under my feet. I was going to hyperventilate. I hadn’t had a panic attack in years. I’d been sober too long. I needed a drink. I needed… something.

  Then, a figure emerged out of the mayhem. Penn stepped forward and stood next to me in the glaring light. He reached his hand out. A gesture of goodwill. I shook his hand.

  “How are you holding up?” Penn asked.

  I released his hand and then straightened. I needed to leash this. I’d thought I had it under control. That his ghost couldn’t touch me.

  “Well, I didn’t ask for Dad’s desk,” I said hoarsely.

  “Mother’s handiwork?”

  “Who else?”

  “Can I ask why you’re doing this?” Penn asked hesitantly.

  I could see that my little brother thought I was insane to fall back into the Kensington mold that I’d done my hardest to avoid. He meant well. Even if it wasn’t helpful in this moment.

  I shrugged. “I’m helping the campaign.”

  “You don’t care about the campaign or if our mother wins it.”

  He wasn’t wrong.

  “Eh… maybe.”

  “But why? I can’t figure it out. It’s not in your own self-interest.”

  “Are you saying the only things I’m capable of are in my own self-in
terest?”

  Penn tilted his head. “I’m a moral philosopher. I think that about nearly everyone, but I know that about you.”

  “If you know everything already, then does it even matter? It must be in my own self-interest,” I responded blandly.

  I’d thought it would be good to have Penn at my side. We’d spent so many fucking years arguing that it was nice having a brother again. Except for this bullshit.

  “You left after Dad left and never looked back. How is this your own self-interest?”

  My mounting anxiety hit a peak, and Penn was the only one standing in its wake. “Don’t pretend you know or care what I went through after Dad died,” I responded low and feral.

  Penn took a step back at my anger. “Ah… so, you’re still in there.”

  “You’re the one bringing up the past like you always do.”

  “Some people find the past illuminating for the future. I guess I should have as well,” he muttered. “I’m heading off to the Hamptons for the weekend with the crew. Good luck with this madness.”

  Then, before I could respond, Penn strode straight past the camera crew, our mother, and out the door. He’d never had much tolerance for me, let alone Kensington Corporation. Apparently, I’d hit the max for him.

  “All right,” English said. She strode toward me with her fake business smile plastered on her face. “Good to go?”

  “Sure.”

  She kept that smile on her face, even as her eyes softened. “Everything okay with Penn? That seemed kind of intense.”

  “You’ve met my brother. All conversations with him are intense.”

  “True. Are you still feeling confident? You seem a bit… pale.”

  I wanted to tell her. It was my father’s desk. I didn’t want his desk. But what the fuck could she do about it at this point? She wasn’t going to cancel everything we’d set up because the desk was familiar.

  “Just a lot of lights,” I lied.

  She frowned and then leaned forward, turning us so that no one else could see what we were saying. “Court, are you sure you want to do this?”

  “Yeah.”

  Her face was deathly serious. “That is not very convincing. I can stop this right now. No questions asked. I told you that we’d only do it if you were comfortable.”

  “Comfort is a degree,” I threw her words back at her.

  “Tell me if you want an out.”

  “We already did the interview… and everyone’s here.”

  “So?” she asked with a straight face.

  “This is going to help, right?”

  “Yes,” she said automatically.

  “And it’s not permanent or forever.”

  “No job ever is.”

  I nodded, feeling some of the weight come off of my shoulders. “I’ll do it.”

  She nodded. Confirmation enough for her. “All right. Then, it’s showtime.” She nudged me with her elbow and smiled brilliantly. A real smile this time. “Show them that Kensington charm.”

  I watched her ass until it disappeared in the burning lights. Then, I straightened my tie and waited for my cue.

  Twenty minutes later, my announcement was over.

  I was officially working for Kensington Corporation. I’d shackled myself to my father’s legacy. Bound myself to this life, as if signing a contract with the Devil himself.

  Afterward, everyone congratulated me as if I’d done something heroic. Instead of just rejoining a company that I’d avoided like the plague for the last five years. We might be spinning the story to say that I was some golden boy or that I’d returned to my destiny. But I didn’t believe in destiny or fate or any of that nonsense. If I did, then I probably deserved to be six feet under, just like him.

  My mother reached for me as soon as it was over. She patted my shoulder. It felt like her version of motherly affection. “Congratulations, Court. What a great speech.”

  My mouth went dry, but I stood strong and imperious. “It was time to take back the mantle.”

  It was a lie. We both knew that I was only doing this because of Jane’s trial. But I seemed to be the only one who remembered or cared.

  “This will be a wonderful new direction for the company. I look forward to seeing the budding future,” she said.

  English slipped through the row of sycophants and to my side. Her hand grazed mine in comfort and acknowledgment. She put herself between me and the rest of them. Even between me and my mother. Something my mother noted with clear disapproval. But this was what she’d hired English for. To make me look good and to protect me. My mother had probably never envisioned that English would be there to protect me from her.

  “What a great announcement. So excited that this is going to be out in the world,” English said smoothly. “Now, I’m going to get my client out of here. He’s had a long day.” She whirled on me. “Court.”

  I nodded. “Yes, it’s time.”

  I shook hands with the few closest men. I smiled at my mother, who looked like she wanted to shake me, tell me that I had to stay and schmooze these men and then hopefully knock some sense into me. But English was giving me an out, and I had every intention of taking it.

  Neither of us spoke. Not in the hallway on the top floor of the company. Not in the elevator or through the lobby or out the front door. She didn’t say a word until we got into the black car she’d secured for the last few days.

  “It worked,” she whispered. Her perfectly straight-backed posture evaporated, and she sighed in relief. “It worked.”

  “Don’t you think that’s yet to be seen?”

  She had her eyes closed and was slouched back in the car. She shook her head. “No. I can just tell.”

  “How?”

  “Years of experience,” she murmured.

  “Well, that’s a relief.” I loosened the tie at my throat and then pulled the damn thing off, chucking it across the car. Next came my jacket. I tossed it onto the floor without care. Then, I popped the buttons of my sleeves and began to roll them up to my elbows.

  English’s eyes were open now and watching me. Those bright blue eyes scouring my skin.

  “What now? Are you dropping me off at my place?” I asked her. “What are you doing for labor day weekend?”

  Her lips pulled down at the question. It made me think that she must have originally had plans with that cheating douchebag husband of hers before it all came out.

  “Nothing,” she finally said. “Lark said I could meet them in the Hamptons if I wanted, but I think something serious is going on. Something with the crew, and I don’t know all about it. I’m welcome, but I’m not welcome.”

  “So, what are you going to do?”

  She shrugged and pushed back into a respectable seat. “We are going to go get a drink.”

  I arched an eyebrow. “We are, huh?”

  “Yes, after everything we just went through, I think we could both use a big fucking drink. Like giant house margaritas.” She tipped her head back. “Fuck, I used to go to this place down the street from my place in LA when I was underage. The place made the best margs this side of Mexico. Tequila and cocaine and lots of stupid, stupid behavior.”

  I laughed. I couldn’t help it. “You did cocaine?”

  She grinned sheepishly, her eyes meeting mine again. “Well, I wasn’t a saint. Gave it up around the time I started working for Poise. But sometimes, it’s still hard around clients. It was a way of life. Drugs, sex, and rock and roll. A total cliché. I was so Hollywood.”

  “Little Miss Anna English,” I said in disbelief. “I never would have guessed.”

  “I’m an enigma. I bet you still do cocaine,” she said with no accusation in her voice.

  “Sometimes. The Upper East Side has its drugs, sex, and rock and roll, too.”

  “No cocaine,” she said with a sigh. As if she could still taste the euphoric high. “I hear it’s addictive.”

  I snorted. “I have heard that before.”

  “Just a drink.
A few drinks. You in?”

  Was I in?

  “Fuck yes, English. I know someone who is having a party tonight. We could get drinks out and then head there.”

  She nodded, coming back to herself, as she seemed to just realize that she’d opened up to me. “I’d like that.”

  14

  English

  We found margaritas.

  And tacos and chips and salsa and guacamole.

  Court insisted it was his favorite place in town. But the boy had clearly never been to a real Mexican restaurant in Southern California. Because while it felt like comfort food, it was nowhere near as good as home.

  But they poured their drinks strong, and after three of them, I was definitely tipsy enough not to care that the tacos were subpar. At least they were tacos. Tacos were life.

  I came back from the restroom to find that he’d already paid the bill. I swatted at him. “I was going to pay half.”

  He quirked an eyebrow. “I’m a gentleman.”

  “No, you’re not,” I told him, poking his rather firm chest. “Next time, it’s on me.”

  “You seem to be uncomfortable with the idea of me doing things for you.”

  I stepped back a step. “I’m… well… I am. You’re a client.”

  “Yes, and you do enough for me,” he said evenly. “I was raised that a man holds the door open, gives the girl his jacket, and picks up the tab. Not because we’re not equal. But out of courtesy. And I’m not going to stop doing it for you, Anna.”

  I swallowed, heat coming to my cheeks at the way he caressed my name. He hadn’t called me Anna since that night in the green room. I hadn’t realized that I’d missed it.

  “All right,” I said finally. “Then… thank you.”

  He smiled, all charm, and then pulled the door open to the restaurant. “You’re welcome.”

  I might have hesitated before, but this time, I just strode through it and into the awaiting car that whisked us to his friend’s party. The car pulled up to an innocuous building on Park Avenue nestled between a bakery and a designer handbag store. A doorman stood at the ready when we appeared. Court flashed him a smile as if he knew the man and then beelined for a set of elevators.