Chapter 5

David

“Shit. David, your day is packed,” Charles says to me while he rummages through some papers on a clip board.

His tone is dry, but I can tell he’s hesitant to elaborate.

“Fuck, really? What in the hell does she have me doing?”

I don’t like it when people tell me what to do, and this is the first time we’ve had to deal with a broad like Vivienne. Charles and I never had to answer to anyone or follow anyone’s fucking schedules, even though he’s the one who organizes and puts all the shit together.

I wouldn’t say that he planned my pussy rendezvous, but I also wouldn’t say that he didn’t, if you catch my drift.

He’s been my right-hand man—or assistant, whatever title suits you—since fucking forever. Or at least, since I can remember. It’s one of the reasons why he calls me David.

He’s been with me through the thick of it and never wavers, staying with me through each tragedy or bullshit circumstance. He’s a solid lad, and I trust him with my life.

But enough of that sappy shit, we apparently have shit to do.

Charles starts listing everything we have to get done today.

“Lord Frankfurt wants to meet at noon to discuss foreign diplomacy, so be ready.”

“You mean, Lord Fuckface? The man whose wife I’d like to fuck.”

“Luckily, she won’t be there. Just keep your dick in your pants—at least, for the meeting,” he jokes, feeling proud of that little dig of his.

“Ha, clever Charles. So, what else is there? Do I have to go to a fucking gala as well?”

“How’d you know?”

He grimaces and immediately looks down, trying to avoid eye contact.

“Are you fucking serious?”

“At least it’s for your Dad’s charity, Locking Hearts.”

“Uhhhhhhh fuck me!” I lean my head back on the chair. “Why did we hire this woman?!”

“Because you look like a straight up asshat, King. Unfortunately, your reputation proceeds you beyond the glossy pages of the tabloids.”

He’s fucking right. And I hate it. It pisses the fuck off me.

But now I know that something’s being done about it, hence the fucking bombshell of a woman sashaying around my manor in those tight ass dresses and five-inch stilettos. Oh, and telling me what the fuck to do.

I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again. My advisors are fucking stupid.

If they know me at all, they should realize that they just sent a fucking lethal cocktail to an AA meeting, and I’m the fucking addict. I have no willpower when it comes to a woman like that.

I squirm in my chair, trying to hide the bulge growing at the thought of her.

“What is Vivienne doing all day?” I ask Charles, genuinely interested.

He gives me a stern look and arches his eyebrow. His curiosity is now peaked, but it’s mainly concern in his expression.

“Why do you care?”

“I’d like to know what my employee is doing. What’s it to you?”

I’m not interested in what she’s doing. Regardless of whether she’s busy or not, she’ll be going to that gala with me. It’s her fault she planned it in the first place.

“I haven’t checked with her. Should I?” Charles asks, his tone still cautious.

I stay silent for a second, thinking about how I should approach this.

She made it clear to me that we have a strictly professional relationship, which in her world, means no fucking. So, I see no reason why bringing her as a date would be a bad idea. What harm will it do?

“No. Don’t check. Just tell her she’s going to the gala with me.”

I don’t look at him directly because I feel him glare at me.

I know from experience. It’s a look that makes you think twice about a questionable decision. It’s a mixture of shock and anger, and I almost want to say fear.

Obviously, I avoid looking directly at it. Though, I do feel a little bad for him because it won’t be easy to break the news to her, that’s for damn sure.

“You’re joking, right? You’re not actually going to take her to the gala? As like a date or some shit?”

“Does it look like I’m joking?”

I push my hands behind my head and spread my legs out, straightening my face and removing any expression from it. It’s a common tactic of mine, spreading myself out, so my body can show off its overwhelming presence. I’m tall and broad, and I can intimidate the fuck out of anyone; it hasn’t failed me yet.

“How do you think you’re going to persuade that woman to go? She’s strict about this being only a working relationship.”

“What? This isn’t work?” I smirk at him, feeling very assured of myself.

He rolls his eyes and sits down in the chair in front of my desk.

I can tell he’s getting annoyed, but I don’t give two fucks. I pay him well, so he has to deal with my bullshit. And this is tame in comparison to what I’ve put him through.

“Go buy her a pretty dress and some nice heels. I want sky high stilettos. Oh, and make the dress slutty as fuck. I want to see every inch of that tight ass body twitch when I touch her,” I instruct him while getting distracted by the image I’m drawing up in my mind.

“You really think that’s going to work? Buy the pretty lady a dress, and she’ll just give in like that? This isn’t ‘Pretty Woman.’”

“Oh, she will. And Charles, do you really think she can resist me? I’m the King, not some rich business man. And I’ll be in a fucking tuxedo. No one in the history of man could deny that.” I wink at him.

“You’re a pompous ass.”

“Tell me something I don’t know.”

I place my arms on my desk and clasp my hands together as if I’m contemplating something. But there’s only one thing on my mind.

“It’ll be nice to have some arm candy for a change. I’m just hoping that I’ll be able to get a taste.”

“I thought you’re on a ‘no sugar’ diet.” He laughs, mocking me.

“Don’t be an idiot. Once we sweeten the deal with the dress and shoes, I bet you, I’ll be lathering in her juices. Possibly, even before the gala begins.”

“I’d never bet against you, but I still think you’re a fucking ass for trying. Isn’t she supposed to be fixing your image, not tarnishing it?”

“Well, she has the polish to fix it, right? That’s why she’s fucking here anyway.”

He gets up and makes his way to the door while eyeing whatever he scribbled on the piece of paper on the clipboard.

“David, she’s not a toy or a game you can just play with. She’s working for you.”

I smile, excited for the day ahead now. I can’t believe he thinks whatever he’s saying will change my mind. He’s not my fucking mother.

“I know that, Charles,” I emphasize his name in a condescending tone. “But it also never stopped me before. This is one of my favorite types of games to play. You know this.”

“Well, as your pawn piece, I’ll see to it that she has a dress and shoes ready for tonight. Wish me luck convincing her. And I hate you for this. Don’t forget about your meeting at noon.”

He leaves, slamming the door behind him.

Ugh, fuck.

Well, at least, I can distract myself with thoughts of Vivienne writhing underneath me while I expertly work her over with my tongue. It’ll be a lot better than dealing with Lord Fuckface all afternoon.

And for the time being, I’ll revel in my devious plans.

But seriously, how can you blame me for wanting to try? This game is too fucking tempting not to play.