Page 5 of Guarded King

When I raise a brow, he shakes his head in mock dismay. “It’s Friday night, man. You’ve got to take a break sometime.”

“What do you think the last two hours have been?”

“For you? Work.”

He knows me too well. But considering how little I sleep, I’d rather be productive at the office than waste time at home. “I’ll see you on Monday.”

With a roll of his eyes, he waves me off. He’s all talk anyway. There’s no way he and Violet will last more than another ten minutes. The two of them can’t keep their hands off each other. Once, Tate might have enjoyed these kinds of events and the opportunities they afforded, but these days, he’s just as reluctant as I am to stick around. Not when he could be having one-on-one time with his fiancée.

Speaking of his fiancée. Violet is studying me, her forehead creased and concern shining in her blue eyes. She doesn’t comment, though, just gives me a soft smile.

I say good night, then message my driver as I maneuver through the crowded club. By the time I make it down the stairs, the sleek black limo is waiting for me, and Phillip has the door open.

“Did you have a good night, Mr. King?”

I adjust my cufflinks. “Define good.”

He chuckles. “If you don’t like clubs, why do you keep investing in them?”

I give him a pointed look. “Because they make money.”

“And you need more?”

I snort. Phillip’s been with me for five years, so, unlike most other people who work for me, he can get away with a comment like that.

Once I’m seated, he shuts the door and returns to the driver’s seat.

I stare out the window at the blur of car lights and buildings, my thoughts circling back to the bad news I received this morning. My longtime executive assistant, Lena, handed in her notice. She and her husband are moving to California. Apparently, their daughter is just weeks away from having her first child, and her boyfriend walked out on her.

In no world would I be described as soft-hearted, but even I can sympathize with Lena’s desire to be there for her daughter. Still, losing her is far from ideal. For seven years, she’s kept my office running smoothly, and I can’t imagine anyone stepping into her role and doing half as good a job.

She’s promised to find a suitable replacement, and I can only hope the person she deems worthy is available to start immediately. Ideally, I’d sit in on the interviews, but there isn’t a spare moment in my schedule right now. I’ll have to trust her to make sure whoever she picks meets my standards.

With Lena’s departure looming and a thousand other things on my mind, I don’t bother waiting until I’m back in the office to get to work. I pour myself a glass of whiskey from the decanter in the center console, take a sip, then open my email app and start drafting a reply.

CHAPTER THREE

CHLOE

Shading my eyes with one hand, I tilt my head back to take in the steel-and-glass behemoth towering above me. King Plaza. Headquarters of the King Group and the site of my interview this morning. It’s intimidating, to say the least.

When the recruitment agency called about an opening that needed to be filled quickly, I jumped at the chance. I needed to. It’s been two weeks since Geoff ‘let me go,’ and I’ve been scouring job pages and websites religiously.

For fourteen straight mornings, I’ve woken up with panic pinching my chest. It’s an unwelcome reminder of the months following Mom’s sudden departure from our lives when I was fourteen. Dad was still painting back then, but when she walked out on us, he and his artistic muse were hit hard. Until then, I hadn’t realized how quickly life can change. How easily the rug can be pulled out from under you.

But dwelling on the past won’t get me through those doors. Taking one more deep breath, I pull my shoulders back and stride as confidently as I can toward the entrance.

Once inside, I make my way to the security desk in the center of the foyer, my heels clicking loudly on the black marble floor.

“Hi,” I say to the stern-looking man behind the counter. “My name’s Chloe Callahan, and I’m here for an interview with Lena Harris.”

“Chloe?”

At the sound of the feminine voice, I turn and find an older woman with curly black hair and clever brown eyes holding out her hand. “I’m Lena.”

With a smile, I shake her hand. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“Come this way.” She gestures toward a bank of shiny elevators.

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