She was kidding, right? She must be kidding. There was no way that this was the answer from King Industries’ board.

"Read the reply, word for word."

"‘Dear Ms. Vogan,

Please relay my thanks to your employer for his interest in our property; however, I regret to inform you that my brother, Desmond King, is currently unavailable. As the harbor you're interested in falls under the umbrella of King Construction, you will need to directly contact them. I'm attaching the direct contact details of the executive currently in charge—"

Jennifer lifted her head, and winced. "It's a new number and email address, but he's written Hester Hall's name. The reply is signed by Callum King himself."

Ed's fist clenched.

"Dammit."

"I've taken the liberty of asking around about King Industries and Ms. Hall, while you were in your meeting, sir."

One of Edmund's eyebrows crooked; the assistant might not be completely useless after all.

"Well?"

"It is my understanding that anyone currently in business with Desmond King is contacting him through Hester Hall. He has taken an indefinite leave of absence, between the upcoming elections and his wife's pregnancy."

Shit. "Then who's taking care of his business, his brothers? The board?" he asked.

When he'd enquired about the Kings, he'd been told that each specific brother was in charge of one or several of their businesses, and that they didn't step on each other’s toes, hence why he'd gone through Desmond, who owned King Construction.

"My understanding is that it's mostly ruled by Hester Hall."

He was going to get a headache. "She's his secretary."

"Not quite. According to my research, she's the highest paid employee in King Industries, second only to the King brothers themselves. It is my understanding that she's a vice president of sorts, without the formal title."

Well, that certainly changed things. Edmund ruminated on the new piece of information, making a mental note to fire whoever had done the primary findings about King Industries.

He cursed out loud. Damn sexism. If he'd read "vice president" under her name in their email correspondence, he would have acted very differently.

"Shit. We're going to have to smooth things over with her. Contact her and set up a meeting. Somewhere nice, block a good hour of my time."

He wanted a piece of property that wasn't for sale; that meant that he was in need of her, not the other way around. Ed was all for a hostile takeover, but deals like these needed a different approach. He should have flattered, cajoled, and seduced.

"Continue asking around; I want everything there is to know about Hester Hall by tomorrow."

"Certainly, sir."

Edmund eyed Jennifer curiously. First impressions weren't always accurate, apparently.

"Good job today."

Visibly surprised, she beamed.

"David, take Ms. Vogan wherever she wants to go before clocking out," he told the driver before getting out of the car.

He checked his watch; he was a little early. 

A lesser man might have postponed further unpleasantness until the next day. After the last twenty-four hours, he deserved some rest. Ed hadn't slept since Saturday night; he was restless, exhausted, and jet-lagged. But he also was an Ashworth, and Ashworths didn't let discomfort keep them from doing what they had to do.

He walked into the lobby of the hotel his secretary always booked, and strode to the receptionist. "Ed Ashworth. Have the Trents arrived?"

The receptionist smiled. "Certainly, sir. They've been shown to a conference room on the second floor. We've also received a number of suits for you; they've been brought up to your suite."

"Excellent."

"Hugo can show you to the conference room…."

"No need. The sun room, or the blue room?"

"The sun room, sir. Should we call for refreshments?"

He shook his head. "That won't be necessary. We won't be long. If you could send a steak to my room in half an hour, I'd be grateful. Blue, cheese on the chips."

"Of course, sir."

"Cheesy chips? That's on the menu?" a bewildered voice asked right behind him.

Edmund turned, mildly irritated at being interrupted. 

One glance at the woman and all annoyance fled out the window. 

Holy shit. 

She wore a cream suit, skirt and blazer, very well cut and fitted around her delightful curves. Her red plump heels were the exact color of her lipstick, and her hair was tied in a severe ponytail at the top of her head. The professional attire had no right to be quite so appealing. Taking her in from head to toes, Edmund itched to ask if she wanted to join him and share his chips. But he knew he was likely to fall asleep before he had a chance to find out what was under any of her clothes, so he didn't bother.

"No, but they have chips, they have cheese."

The beautiful blonde smiled secretively, like she'd just told herself a private joke. Ed's relatives were waiting upstairs, and he desperately needed food, then sleep. He didn't have time to find out what amused total strangers.

"Something I missed?" he asked her.

"Nothing. You just remind me of my boss."

Ed chuckled. "How so? It can't just be the receding hairline."

She beamed. "No, just the belief that the world should and would bend to your will if you only demand it."

"Because I asked for cheese on my chips?"

"Because you asked for something that's not on the menu, and took it for granted that it would be available for you."

"Which it is," he challenged.

He could have been irked by her assumptions, and her accusations, but the woman only succeeded in intriguing him. He wasn't used to being talked to like that by anyone but his family. Cici and his mother did call him out on his shit; his granddad had, too. That was about it.

"Which it is," the spitfire repeated.

"Miss? May I help you?"

The reception desk had opened a second station. The woman stepped forward.

"I have a meeting at five with William Slate."

"Of course. Mr. Slate is expecting you. If you'd follow me, Ms. Hall."

"Call me Hester."