King's Rule

CHAPTER FOUR

Poppy

‘YOU COULD JUST sleep with him,’ my mother said as she picked up her favourite red lipstick and began to apply it. ‘Men are simple like that. It’s easy, quick, and if you’re good they’ll give you anything you want.’

I was sitting on her bed, watching her get ready for dinner with one of the partners from a multi-billion-dollar tax firm. Listening to her hand out advice on what I should do to handle Xander and the internship problem.

It wasn’t something I wanted to discuss with her, but she’d asked how the meeting had gone and so I’d given her the unadulterated truth. Which naturally she put her own spin on.

That was my mother’s answer to everything. Sleep with the dude and he’ll shower you with gifts. It had worked so well for her, after all.

At least up until the day her sure thing had gone to prison.

‘I’d rather sleep with Satan than Xander King,’ I said, my fingers picking at the flocked fabric of the cheap quilt.

Mum gave me an irritated look in the mirror. ‘Well, I can’t sleep with him. That would be a step too far, even for me.’

I gave an inward shudder at the thought. ‘God, Mum, I’m not asking you to.’

‘But you said you wanted that internship.’

‘Yes, I do. But sex isn’t the only way to get it.’

She frowned at her reflection as she put the finishing touches to her lipstick. ‘I don’t know why you persist in doing everything the hard way, Poppy. You’ve got the looks. Why not use that to—?’

‘No,’ I interrupted, not wanting to have this argument again. ‘I’m not doing that and that’s final.’

Conversations with my mother always ended up with her telling me I was beautiful and that she didn’t know why I didn’t use it to my advantage more often.

She didn’t mean it as a compliment. Her own looks had got her everything she’d ever wanted in life and she didn’t understand why I insisted on doing things like study and actual work. Even when I’d waved my architecture degree in her face she’d simply given me a puzzled look and asked why I was bothering with university. Money could be got easily enough if you put on a short skirt and batted your eyelashes at the right guy. Why was I working so hard at something I didn’t need?

I knew I shouldn’t blame Mum for the way she was. After my father died, leaving us with nothing, she’d had to do something to keep us afloat and she had no schooling to speak of. So she’d got back into the stripping she’d used to do after she’d left school and before Dad had come along, and there she’d met Augustus King—crime boss extraordinaire.

He’d promised her security and she’d grabbed it with both hands, not caring that he was the dodgiest of dodgy criminals, throwing herself into the lavish lifestyle that came with him. Then it had all ended when he’d gone to prison, leaving her with nothing but debts.

In her mind she had no choice about how she was going to pay them off—she needed to find another man to help her. Even though she was already married. But then vows didn’t matter to my mother, only survival did.

‘If it’s pride getting in your way then you might want to rethink that.’ She straightened and dropped the lipstick back in her handbag. ‘You can’t afford it. Because even if you were to get this internship, how are you going to get to London? I certainly don’t have the money for you to get there, let alone live there.’

There was that. Details I thought I’d handle if and when I ever got the internship. But I was going to have to think about them, wasn’t I? Because I had no money and since getting fired with no references from my last job I had no expectations of getting another any time soon.

Xander did say he’d pay you well...

I gritted my teeth, trying not to remember what had happened in his boardroom. How he’d slowly paced towards me, long and lean and fluid as a panther, dark eyes full of fury. And how I’d been unable to stop myself from retreating, something inside me wanting to give way before him.

Then I’d found the door against my back and him right in front of me, his tall, broad figure blocking everything out, the blackness of his gaze mesmerising. He’d been all darkness and heat, the force of his fury like a storm front, and I’d become breathless with a strange combination of fear and excitement, tinged with an odd satisfaction.

That somehow I’d got a rise out of him. That I’d made him lose his precious temper. That underneath his cold, uptight front was something else. A black fire that burned very, very hot.

Seeing that and feeling my own response to it was bad enough.

Him nearly recognising my excitement had been worse.

I shouldn’t have pushed him. Shouldn’t have touched him at all, but it was either that or have him discover what a turn-on I found his fury, and there was no way on earth I was going to let him know that.

I’d got angry at him, using my rage to cover the fact that my heart was racing and I felt hot—that there was an ache between my thighs that wouldn’t go away.

‘You should just fuck and get it out of your system,’ Ajax had said and I hadn’t been able to get that thought out of my head.

What would have happened if Ajax hadn’t come in?

I’d been so mad at Xander I’d seriously considered punching his stupid beautiful face, and what would have happened if I had? He wouldn’t have let me hit him, no way. He might have grabbed me, put my hands behind my back. And then maybe he would have forced me to kneel before him and—

‘If you think I’m going to ask Richard to pay for a trip to Europe for you, you’ve got another think coming,’ Mum said. ‘I’ve got too many other debts that need to be paid first.’

My face felt hot. Shit, I needed to stop thinking about...that. About him. Now.

‘I wasn’t expecting you to,’ I muttered, trying to force my attention back to what she was saying.

‘Well, you need to do something to help out, Poppy. I can’t do this all on my own, not again. What about that waitressing job?’

My gut clenched. I didn’t have the energy to tell her I’d been fired because I wouldn’t let the boss cop a feel. I knew what she’d say already. She’d get that angry, disappointed look and then tell me that I should have sucked it up and taken the money. Because we needed it and how could I put personal feelings of discomfort ahead of our survival?

The problem was, she wasn’t wrong.

My stepdad had given Mum an allowance before he’d gone to prison and it had been a generous one. Xander had continued the allowance after Augustus went to jail and it was enough to live comfortably on. But it wasn’t enough for Mum. She always spent the entire thing on stuff she didn’t need and then complained when we didn’t have enough money for rent, hence her having to find a new sugar daddy and me having to keep working to cover our costs.

I should have told her to stop spending or just let her get herself out of the hole she’d dug. But I couldn’t. She’d never wanted children and when I came along—her little accident—she hadn’t been glad. She’d been pissed off. Then she’d sucked it up and cared for me, and now it was my turn to care for her.

It wasn’t her fault Dad had died. It was mine.

‘It’s fine,’ I lied about the job.

‘Good. Because we’ve got another bank payment due and I don’t have the cash myself. I might see if I can get anything out of Richard, but don’t count on it.’

Crap. So she’d burned through her allowance for this month. Again.

You know what the answer is.

Double crap.

There were too many reasons why working for stupid Xander King would be a good idea. Not only would I get that internship, but I could earn some money to get me to London and ensure Mum’s debts were paid off as well.

All I had to do was suck up my intense personal dislike of him.

The thought made me tired, the stress of the past few years suddenly bearing down on me. All I’d done since earning my degree was go from one crap job to another, earning nothing, getting nowhere. I should be trying for jobs at architecture firms, but I hadn’t been successful so far. And I knew why that was.

The people in the industry knew of my association with the Kings and they didn’t want to employ anyone who’d had anything to do with that family. Especially not some woman with the name of a burlesque dancer and less than stellar marks. No, if I wanted to get any kind of architectural career, I was going to have to leave the country. Hence the internship.

Stop being such a baby and suck it up.

My gut clenched tighter.

I was going to have to accept working for Xander as the price of getting what I wanted, wasn’t I?

Great.

‘Well?’ Mum was looking at me in the mirror now. ‘Why are you looking like that? There is an easier way and you know it.’

Yes. By attaching myself to a man and letting him do things for me. I hated the thought. That might have worked for my mother, but I’d never wanted it for myself. I’d wanted to do things my way, using the things I was good at, such as drawing and design, not because I happened to be beautiful and good at giving head.

At that moment my phone started buzzing in my pocket. Weird—who’d be calling me? I had a few friends, but they only ever texted.

Digging the phone out, I slid off Mum’s bed and went into the hallway, ignoring her frowning after me. The call was from a number I didn’t recognise, which instantly made me suspicious. Hopefully it wouldn’t be the debt collectors already.

I hit answer anyway. ‘Hello?’

‘Poppy.’ The voice was deep, dark and cold, scraping deliciously over my nerve-endings, making me shiver helplessly and sending my heartbeat into the stratosphere.

‘Xander?’ I couldn’t quite believe it was him calling, but it was; I’d recognise that voice anywhere. ‘Wh-What the hell do you want?’ Hating the sound of my stutter, I moved into the tiny lounge of the apartment and went over to the big sliding window that let out onto the even tinier balcony. It was hot outside but Mum had bat ears and I didn’t want her overhearing.

There was a pause down the other end of the line.

‘I wanted to reiterate that the job offer is still open,’ he said at last.

Well, that was unexpected.

I pulled shut the sliding window then leaned back against the hot glass. ‘So, after backing me against a door and intimidating the hell out of me, you’re saying you still want to employ me?’

Another pause, even longer that time.

‘Yes. I was...out of line.’

I blinked in surprise, staring at the dusty expanse of cheap infill housing laid out beneath the balcony, but not seeing the ugliness of it this time.

‘Please don’t tell me this is an apology.’ I couldn’t quite keep the shock from my voice.

‘All right, I won’t tell you,’ he said stiffly. ‘But I lost my temper back there and I shouldn’t have done what I did.’

Holy shit. It was an apology.

For a second I didn’t know what to say. But I was saved from having to, because he kept on talking. ‘Still, I don’t take manipulation well, and I didn’t like you using a private promise to get me to do what you wanted.’

Ah yes, that.

A little wash of shame went through me. Okay, I shouldn’t have used that to get what I wanted, not when it was something my mother might have done, but...well... I’d been angry and frustrated, and not thinking straight. Which was totally his fault.

Really? His fault?

‘How was I to know that was important to you?’ I said defensively, ignoring the thought. ‘But...’ I took a breath, then forced the rest of the words out ‘... I guess I shouldn’t have said it.’

An awkward silence fell.

I gripped the phone tightly. If he wanted anything more from me, he was shit out of luck. That was as far as I was prepared to go.

‘Does that mean you’ll take the job?’ he asked finally.

I didn’t want to. I really didn’t want to.

‘What’s the salary?’ I tried to make it sound like a question and not a demand.

Another pause. Then he named a sum that nearly made my eyes pop out of my head. Jesus, that much for answering phones and getting coffee? Really?

‘That’s...’ I cleared my throat ‘...not bad.’

‘Are you going to take it? Yes or no?’

I closed my eyes against the bright sun, trying to ignore the feeling of foreboding that curled inside me, along with an excitement I didn’t want to acknowledge.

‘I’ll think about it,’ I said, unable to help digging at him a little.

‘No, you won’t think about it.’ His voice was flat. ‘I need an answer now.’

A shiver snaked down my spine at the demand in his tone.

Oh, God, why did I like that?

‘Fine.’ I tried to sound casual. ‘I’ll take it. I guess it won’t be—’

‘You start at eight-thirty tomorrow morning,’ he interrupted. ‘Don’t be late.’

Then he ended the call before I could say a word.

CHAPTER FIVE

Xander

POPPY WAS LATE.

I stood by the windows in my office, looking down at the view of the street far below and the entrance to the building. The stream of people flooding into the offices had slowed to a trickle, just the late arrivals now, rushing towards the doors.

By God, one of them had better be her.

I shouldn’t be surprised that she wasn’t here yet but somehow I was and now my temper was straining at the leash.

Maybe she wouldn’t turn up at all.

Maybe she’d been playing with me when she’d said she’d take the job. Certainly she’d done enough of that as a kid. When I was supposed to be looking after her she’d suddenly disappear, which then involved a frantic search for her, only to have her turn up, sometimes hours later, in her bedroom or somewhere innocuous, looking all innocent.

Or when I was busy with study and needing quiet, she’d come into whichever area I was studying in and start playing loud games. Or sing. Or play music.

Even in my bedroom I wasn’t safe since her room had been next to mine. She’d put her music on and turn the volume up, the bass thumping through the walls. And when I politely told her to turn it down, she’d ignore me.

She seemed to live to drive me crazy and it looked like nothing had changed.

Turning from the window, I went back to my desk and tried to finish some last-minute tasks I had to tie up before I could get stuck in to my project. But as the minutes ticked by I found it harder and harder to concentrate.

Insanity. I’d never had this problem before. Normally the issue tended to be that I got so consumed in work that I lost track of time, not that I couldn’t concentrate in the first place.

Eventually, I shoved my chair back, got to my feet, pacing like a caged animal to get rid of the impatience that burned in my blood.

Fifteen minutes late and counting.

Was she doing this deliberately? Didn’t she understand what a ‘good reference’ meant? Yes, she might have got caught up in traffic or missed the bus, or train, or whatever transport situation she had to contend with, but at the very least she could have texted me that she’d be late. That would have been the courteous thing to do. Then again, when had Poppy ever been courteous?

Never. Not even the first day she’d arrived at our house. I’d been all set to welcome her, to try to be the kind of big brother figure my own brothers had been for me—someone she could count on to protect her, to take care of her. But she’d responded to all my attempts at friendly conversation with silence. Her chin had been set, her gaze hostile, and nothing I said or did had made any difference.

She seemed hell-bent on hating me right from the get-go.

If she knew what you’d done she’d hate you even more.

The thought insinuated itself in my head, snide and sharp. I ignored it.

Pacing over to the windows, I glanced at my watch yet again.

Nine o’clock.

Half an hour. She was fucking half an hour late.

I was on the point of reaching for my phone to call her and demand where the hell she was, when I heard my office door open.

There was only one person who entered without knocking and that was Ajax, and I wasn’t due for a meeting with him.

I turned round sharply to find Poppy sauntering in, leaving the door wide open behind her.

‘Hey,’ she said casually, coming to a stop in front of my desk. ‘Well, here I am.’

For a second words failed me. Because not only was she half an hour late, she was in black skinny jeans with rips in the knee, a tight-fitting black shirt that strained the button right between her beautiful tits and a pair of black basketball boots.

She looked like a high school student ready to go to class, not a twenty-five-year-old woman about to start a new corporate job.

Jesus. Did she really think that what she was wearing was appropriate? Or had she done that deliberately to annoy the shit out of me?

‘Sit down,’ I ordered, my tolerance for games at an all-time low.

Instantly her straight dark brows arrowed down. ‘You don’t need to—’

‘Sit. Down.’

A flare of anger turned her golden-brown eyes molten. Her mouth opened and I readied myself for a fight. But then she suddenly shut it again and smirked instead, wandering over to the chair opposite my desk and making a big production of sitting in it. Then she leaned back like she was sitting on the sofa at home, crossing her ankles and generally pretending not to be fazed by my order in the slightest.

Little witch.

I didn’t speak immediately, letting her sit there as I strode to the door and shut it. Then I came back to my desk, but didn’t sit. Instead I stood in front of it, crossing my arms, staring down at Poppy. Letting her see in no uncertain terms just how pissed off I was.

‘You’re late,’ I said flatly. ‘I told you to be here on time.’

She shrugged. ‘I had a problem with—’

‘And your clothes are inappropriate.’

‘Yeah, well, I don’t—’

‘One chance, Poppy.’ I kept my voice cold. ‘One chance is all you get and already you’re blowing it.’

The smooth golden skin of her cheeks reddened. ‘If you’d let me finish, then maybe I could give you an explanation.’

I didn’t want to hear her explanation. Not that I could focus on it anyway because that damn button on her shirt kept pulling every time she breathed in, drawing my attention inexorably to the shape of her breasts. To the fullness of them. To the delicious curve of them under the faded black cotton.

‘I was late because Mum ran out of her meds and I had to go to the pharmacy to get her prescription.’ She took another breath, that damn button pulling tighter. Some of the threads had broken. Christ, it wouldn’t take much for it to simply pop off.

You should probably not be looking at it.

No, I probably shouldn’t.

With an effort I dragged my gaze from her shirt to her face. ‘Your mother can’t get her own prescription?’

‘My mother can’t organise her own bank accounts let alone go and get her own medicine. Not that I’d trust her to do it herself anyway.’

It was true that my father had done everything for Lily before he’d gone to prison, and she’d let him. I’d thought it was because Dad was a control freak, but maybe it hadn’t been that. Maybe Lily had been more than happy for him to do everything for her.

Knowing that didn’t lessen my annoyance and frustration one iota, however.

‘You should have texted me,’ I said curtly. ‘I won’t tolerate lateness, which you should know since I’ve already told you that at least twice.’

Poppy opened her mouth, no doubt to protest, but I hadn’t finished.

‘Your clothes, though, are unacceptable, not to mention inappropriate for a corporate environment,’ I went on. ‘You’re going to have to go home and change.’

‘Seriously?’ She stared at me as though she’d never heard of anything so preposterous. ‘If you want me in pencil skirts and nice little blouses with pussy bows you’re shit out of luck. I don’t have any.’

‘Then go and buy some. There are plenty of shops out there that stock them.’

Her smirk disappeared and something else sparked in her gaze. ‘You specified that I wasn’t to be late. You said nothing about what I had to wear.’

‘I also specified that you were to fulfil any tasks I set you and if I want you to go out and buy some appropriate clothing then that’s what you’re going to do.’

That lovely mouth hardened, anger glittering in her eyes. ‘If my clothing is so important I’ll find something else for tomorrow, but today you’re going to have to suck it up.’

My own anger began to rise, thick and hot, unwelcome and unwanted. At her for arguing with me about something so pointless and at myself for being unable to let it go. For being unable to tear my attention from that fascinating button between her breasts.

The shirt was faded, the fabric cheap and the button hanging by a thread should have made her look tacky and slutty. Not my type at all. I liked a cool, poised woman. A woman who dressed well, who could hold a rational conversation without descending into sarcasm and snark. A woman who didn’t argue with me in the bedroom, who let me run the show the way I liked to.

The complete opposite of Poppy, in other words.

‘No.’ I attempted to keep hold of both my temper and the rising need to flick that button off, part the fabric, get a glimpse of the perfect curves of her breasts cupped by her bra. ‘You’ll go down to the department store and you’ll buy yourself a work-appropriate outfit and you’ll do it now.’

Anger flared in her expression. ‘Go to hell, you arrogant bastard.’

I moved before I could stop myself, taking one step over to the chair where she sat. Then I put my hand on the back of it, leaning over her then bending down, so my face was close to hers.

Her eyes widened and she went very still, the sweet scent of jasmine surrounding me. This close I could see how her golden-brown skin glowed, burnished by the light coming through my office window, and how delicate and silky-looking her lashes and eyebrows were. How vulnerable her lovely mouth seemed.

You goddamn idiot. What the hell are you doing? You know getting close to her is a mistake.

I did know. But I couldn’t stop myself. I wanted her to do what she was told without argument, because her fighting me was getting me angry and hard, and that simply couldn’t happen. My control was excellent but, as it turned out, not limitless when it came to her.

I wanted to intimidate her, quell her, make her stop pushing me for once in her goddamn life.

‘Do as you’re told,’ I said softly, letting a note of menace bleed through.

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