Page 17 of Reckless King

I take the elevator down to the fortieth floor, where the lawyer’s offices are located. If I know Mark, he hasn’t had lunch yet either. It’s been a while since we’ve spent any time together. Our jobs keep us both busy. Not to mention that he’s been with the same woman for the last year, so our occasional post-work alcohol-fueled catchups have dwindled.

I find him in his office as usual. His door is open, and when I walk in, his serious expression lightens into a grin. “To what do I owe the pleasure of a visit from on high?”

“We all know the pleasure is dubious at best,” I say, dropping onto the small sofa in the corner of his office. “Feel like grabbing lunch?”

He turns in his chair, his brows rising. “Taking a break for once?”

“Hey, a man’s got to eat occasionally.”

With a smirk, he leans back, crossing his ankle over his knee. “That’s what I’ve heard. Not sure I believe it though.”

I laugh. Mark’s almost as much of a workaholic as Roman. I’ve known him since we were roommates at Harvard. The guy was there on a scholarship and busted his ass every day. I respected that about him, even if I was more inclined to enjoy the full range of college experiences. But on occasion, he’d take time off from studying, and we’d get drunk together.

I’ve confided in Mark in a way that I haven’t with anyone else. We’d share a bottle of whiskey, and he’d talk about losinghis mom when he and his sister were kids and how hard his dad worked raising them on his own. I’d tell him about my family, about how I was a part of it, but not really a part of it. I skirted the truth, even then, but he knew enough about my family’s dysfunction that I joked that I’d have to hire him as a lawyer so all my secrets would be covered by attorney-client privilege.

And as soon as he passed the bar, I hired him to work for the King Group.

“I was planning to go to the coffee shop and see Violet,” he says, glancing at his watch. “You want to come along and grab something to eat?”

“Violet’s back in New York?” The last I’d heard, Mark’s little sister was living in Maine. Though I suppose that was a year or so ago.

He stands and grabs his suit jacket off the hook on the back of his door. “Yeah. Didn’t I mention it?”

I stand too. “No. What’s she doing now?”

“She came back to take over managing True Brew after the previous manager screwed things up.”

I grin as an image of Violet forms in my mind. I haven’t seen her in years, not since Mark and I graduated. While we were in college, she would visit him now and then and stay the night at the apartment we shared. The thing I remember most about her—apart from her fresh-faced prettiness that was hard not to notice, even if she was my roommate’s little sister—was that she was not impressed with me at all. Granted, our first meeting didn’t go as intended. I’d forgotten she would be visiting, and I’d come back late after a night of partying—and not alone.

Mark, being the caring big brother he is, had let his sister have his bedroom while he slept on the couch. Unfortunately, his bedroom shared a wall with mine. So before even meeting me, Violet was subjected to the high-pitched screams of a woman begging me to fuck her hard. Not my finest moment, I admit.And the horrified expression she couldn’t hide when I walked into the kitchen the next morning, half-naked, with not one, but two women in tow, told me exactly what she thought of me.

Of course, the only reason I’d been drunk enough to forget about her visit and to end up with two women in my bed was because of the news I’d received that morning. But since I hadn’t told anyone about it—not Mark, not my brothers, and definitely not my parents—I wouldn’t use it to justify myself to a woman I didn’t even know.

I did try to work my way back into her good graces, considering she was my friend’s sister, but she proved to be immune to my charm. And after a while, I realized I enjoyed the way she turned her nose up at me. So much so that after that discovery, I made a point of being extra cocky when she visited, just so I could see the sparks flaring in her eyes when I got under her skin. Immature, maybe. But strangely addictive, nonetheless.

After all these years, will she still look at me the same way? The possibility is more appealing than it should be.

“How’s the coffee shop doing?” I ask as we make our way to the elevator.

He hesitates for a moment, his brows pulling together. “Violet’s still working on building up the customer base again. I’m hoping things are improving. She’s stretched pretty thin right now—physically and financially.”

I stop short and regard him with surprise. “You’re hoping? I thought you’d be keeping a close eye on her.”

He winces, and his shoulders tense. “I’m trying very hard not to bethatguy. I think half the reason she went to college out of state was because Dad and I were a little… overprotective while she was growing up. Now that she’s back, I don’t want her to think I don’t believe she’s capable.”

“So you’re not helping out at all?”

The sigh he lets out is one of defeat. “She’s pretty adamant about doing this on her own. She’s determined to prove she can handle it without her big brother waiting in the wings to bail her out.” He grimaces. “Not that I can do much anyway. The next step is probably selling unfortunately.”

“If finances are an issue, has she considered getting a loan?”

“We did discuss it. But even if we could get a loan, Violet doesn’t want to saddle the shop with more debt. She said it would be like trying to put out fire with gasoline. But she’s smart and determined, and she’s a hard worker.” There’s a mixture of pride and concern on his face. “There’s no reason she can’t bring the coffee shop back to its previous standing on her own.”

I nod, leaving it there. He’s overprotective, just like he said. I knew it the first time he mentioned his sister. But from what I recall, their dad left the place to both of them. It seems strange to me that he wouldn’t at least look over the coffee shop’s numbers.

With a small shake of my head, I dismiss my thoughts. I don’t know what it’s like to have a sister, and I’ve never been close enough with another person to feel the need to protect them—not as an adult anyway. I’m the last person who should be questioning him.

Once we’re settled in my town car, Mark gives directions to my driver, Jeremy. Twenty minutes later, he drops us off outside a small coffee shop in Brooklyn. Most of the front window is covered in a sign that readsTrue Brewin large blue outdated script.

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