sixteen
MR. KINGMAN, WE’RE so excited you could join us for our event.” Leah, the young, auburn-haired session organizer for the Boutique Hotel and Lifestyle Conference scooted to the edge of the navy couch in the living room of King’s Virginia Beach hotel suite. She picked up her padfolio from the glass coffee table in front of her and flipped open the cover. “You’re scheduled to go onstage at ten o’clock. The attendees can’t wait to hear you speak.”
“I’m happy to do it.” King leaned over from where he sat in the beige chair next to the couch and placed his china cup and saucer on the coffee table. The perky woman exuded a level of enthusiasm that his morning jog on the beach or the espresso he was drinking during their meeting had failed to provide him with.
The organizer swiped a finger over the screen of her computer tablet inside the folio. “Our media coordinator is double-checking the setup now.” Her expression turned puzzled. “I have a note that your assistant, Ms. Jordan, wanted to review the stage. We’re an hour out from the presentation. Is she arriving soon?”
“She was delayed at the office.” Or she’d decided not to show at all. King smoothed the sky-blue tie he’d paired with his white pin-striped shirt and charcoal slacks. The sound of waves crashing in the ocean view in front of him, visible through the French doors, drew his attention.
For some reason, when he’d come back from his run, he’d spotted the tie in his luggage and felt compelled to wear it like a good-luck charm. Surprising, considering it was hard to believe Sophie’d wish him good fortune. Yesterday after she’d confessed what happened, she’d left him standing in the lobby of the Ivy Gate Hotel. Since then, she hadn’t returned to the office or spoken to him.
The organizer stood. “Between our media personnel and the resort staff, I’m confident everything is fine, but I’ll still swing by the main ballroom.”
“Thank you.” He escorted her to the door.
Her smile widened as she walked into the hallway. “I’ll check in with you thirty minutes prior to go time. Should I call your cell or your room?”
He followed her gaze to the phone on the light marble-countered breakfast bar, in front of the galley-style kitchen in the far corner. “My room phone is fine. I’ll be here.” He’d turned off his cell. Aiden had already left two messages asking if he’d read the updated report from their acquisitions advisors. He hadn’t.
“Talk to you then.”
King closed the door and loneliness engulfed him. Sophie usually attended major meetings and engagements with him. If she were there, she would have been hyped up on caffeine, eating one of her favorite muffins.
A vison arose of her sitting on a stool at the breakfast bar.
She had the ability to complete a million things at once, including making sure he was good. Which he wasn’t. Before the accident, he’d memorized information easily. Now he was relying on a stack of notes.
He went out the French doors that opened onto the balcony. The smell of ocean brine teased his senses. It was a perfect day to escape. If only he could ditch the presentation and trade in his suit for a pair of board shorts and a few days on his boat. He hadn’t been out on the water since last summer.
For a fleeting moment yesterday, he’d thought of leaving so he could claim a few hours for himself. After Sophie’s revelation, he’d needed space. Instead, he’d finished the meeting at the Ivy Gate and gone back to the office, where he’d narrowly avoided a talk with Aiden, who’d wanted to hear the details about his lunch with the hotel staff. After that, he’d headed home and tried to work on the presentation, but had ended up treating himself to a grueling weight lifting session in his home gym instead. Not that physical punishment had helped. All he could think of was Sophie’s face, and the hurt in her eyes.
King gripped the top of the dark, metal railing. Had he really asked her to walk it back and pretend they’d never slept together, then promptly moved on to someone else? Sure, on occasion he’d stacked women back-to-back, but with Sophie in the equation, it sounded wrong. Remorse twisted inside of him. He could learn to live with her leaving for a new career, if that’s what she really wanted. But what he couldn’t accept was her resigning because he’d hurt her.
The hotel phone rang on the breakfast bar.
He went inside and answered it.
“Mr. Kingman!” The session organizer’s zeal had risen to a new level. “It’s not time for you to come down yet. I’m calling because someone I know you’ll be happy to see is headed to your suite. Oh, and if you want them to handle your introduction, let me know.”
A knock sounded at the door.
Sophie. She must have stopped by the ballroom to check on the setup before coming to him. Tension eased out of him. What had Sophie noticed about his introduction? “I’ll get back to you on that.” He hung up. Screw changes with the presentation. At this point, he just wanted to get it over with so he could work on mending things with Sophie.
He swung the door open. “I didn’t think you were showing up.”
Gerard Kingman strode in. “Something tells me I’m not the one you were expecting.”
King’s surprise quickly dissipated to irritation. Why was his father there to see him? They hadn’t spoken since Gerard had called last year demanding to know why he and Aiden had supported their mother’s move to London.
King shut the door. “What do you want?”
His father, fit and sporting a natural suntan, unbuttoned his blue suit jacket and lowered into the side chair. “To wish my son well, of course.”
“Spare me.” Compassion wasn’t Gerard’s strong suit—flexing his ego was.
“I’m serious.” Gerard raised his brows and shrugged innocently. “After all, I am the reason you’re here. The conference organizers wanted me. I was too busy, so they settled for you, but then I heard you were in a plane crash. Are you sure you’re up for the task?”
“I’m still standing.” King went to the breakfast bar, where his notes were spread out. He stacked them on the counter. “I have work to do. Unless you have something relevant to say, you should go downstairs. Network. Make yourself feel good by telling everyone how you almost ended up presenting.”
“I could, but how you’re about to lose the Ivy Gate deal is a more entertaining story.” Gerard laughed wryly as he adjusted the gold cuff links in the sleeves of his white dress shirt. “Especially since you’re being billed as some type of guru when it comes to investing in hotels.”
Push all the right buttons. A classic Gerard tactic. “Is there a point to this conversation other than you being annoying? I really don’t have time for your usual bullshit.”
“Fine. You want to be blunt? Let’s go there.” Gerard’s smile disappeared. “You and I have the balls to do what it takes to be successful, and Aiden doesn’t. Everyone knows you’re the engine running that start-up you call a viable operation, and that he’s simply holding on for the ride. Stop wasting your talent. Come back and work for me. Learn from me.”
Divide and conquer: another one of his father’s favorite strategies. “Class ended with you a long time ago. Kingman Partners is operating in the black, and even if we weren’t, I wouldn’t lower my standards to work for you again.”
“Not lower your standards?” A spark of indignation flashed over Gerard’s face. “You have a lot of nerve condemning me. When you fucked up all those years ago, I showed you mercy. I was the one who saved you from disgrace.”
The memory from King’s past struck like a snake, injecting fresh guilt into old wounds. Allowing Gerard to pull him out of the fire, in exchange for not revealing his father’s infidelity, had led to his mother being hurt and humiliated. Back then, he’d told himself he’d done it to spare his mother and Aiden pain, especially since Gerard had sworn to recommit himself to his marriage. Over time, he’d come to accept that burying the information for his father had been about preserving his own selfish pride.
King swallowed the bitterness lodged in his throat. Atoning for that mistake now was out of his grasp, but he’d go to hell and back before he’d team up with Gerard again. “I don’t owe you a damn thing. I earned my place, along with every dollar in my bank account.”
His father stood. “When I arranged for you to get this speaking gig, I saw it as an opportunity for us to meet and talk like two grown, successful men. Out of all of you, I thought you were the smartest, but all you are is a weak, watered-down version of me with no balls or ambition.”
As King advanced on Gerard, the papers for his presentation fell from the counter. The contempt he spotted in his father’s steely blue eyes was mutual. “Keep fucking with me and what’s mine, and you’ll get a taste of exactly what I’m made of.”
His father leaned in. “Do it, you ungrateful son of a bitch.”
The lock disengaged.
Sophie entered the suite, talking on the phone. “I want the podium moved to the middle of the stage. Yes. Thank you. We’ll be down in thirty.”