Page 11 of King of Wands

“Then pass the wine because I’ve got a lot to say.” I spent the next fifteen minutes detailing the jerky sexist managers, the mindless tasks, and the way King was being treated behind the scenes.

Luis was not happy. “We knew there were problems. Women keep quitting.”

Marcy pursed her lips. “And when women are quitting it’s usually the entire office culture. See? You can do good here.”

That was her whole spiel to convince me to take the job. She insisted I’d still be studying culture but I’d be putting it into practice instead of writing about it theoretically. “Do good now. We need it,”she’d said.

She was right. Sure I wanted to be studying vectors of disease in Caribbean nations and yes, that had very important implications to help people now, but sexism in the workplace was also a very real, very pervasive issue.

“I’m also pissed to hear this stuff about King. I’m fucking firing Halifax.”

“I think he may have been fired today, actually. That meeting was a dumpster fire. He came off like the incompetent prick he is.”

The corner of Luis’s mouth twitched up. “Good. I’ll make sure of it in the morning.”

I nibbled on some cheese thinking all was well. I was eating a fabulous meal with two of my favorite people on a beautiful summer evening. Then the sound a motorcycle rumbled the air and my skin began to tingle. The rumble was joined by the throaty sound of an engine. If I were to guess, I’d say some sort of classic muscle car. Maybe a Mustang.

No one said anything as the sounds grew closer and closer. Not until a black motorcycle appeared at the end of the drive kicking up a cloud of dust.

That’s when Luis cleared his throat. “I invited a couple of friends to dinner.” A blue and white Shelby Cobra appeared behind the motorcycle. “As you know I’m King’s mentor. I was the one who sponsored him years ago and brought him up to the team this year.”

Both vehicles stopped behind mine. A tall dark haired man I recognized as Adam Callaway, King’s strategist, exited the car, walking around to the passenger side. A woman stepped out and took his arm. They waited as the other man took off his helmet.

I knew who it was. All signs pointed in the same direction screaming in neon letters. And yet I still held my breath all the way up until the helmet slid free.

King.

Of course it was King.

My entire day consisted of one King encounter after another. (Not that I was complaining.) Still, it was a shock to the system to see his sandy hair ruffled and matted against his forehead, his striking, intelligent eyes searching and finding me despite the distance. He looked good in black leather.

“They’re kind of like family,” Marcy said quietly.

I wondered how well she knew King. Were they friends or just colleagues? “A little warning would be nice next time. I’m in leggings.” I waved at my legs hidden under the table.

Marcy shook her head at me. “Come on. Help us greet our guests.” I got a little flutter in my chest when she said that, as if this were my home too.

She pulled me by the elbow. Luis and Adam hugged, then he shook King’s hand and kissed the woman’s hand. “Isa, have you meet Adam yet?”

I knew of him and had seen him around the factory a few times, but we’d never actually met. “No, but it’s a pleasure to meet you finally. Everyone speaks very highly of you.”

Adam was exceptionally handsome. Not quite King handsome, but damn good-looking. He had a chiseled face and really spectacular hair. He was tall and extremely fit.

“Well that’s good to hear.” He smiled warmly as he shook my hand. “This is my wife, Elizabeth.”

She hugged me, which I found a little odd for someone I’d just met but then she explained. “I feel like I know you already. Marcy talks about you all the time and CCB is my former school.” She waved at my college shirt and I felt an instant kinship to this woman. “Really? What department?”

“I taught historic planning and preservation and consulted with the city.”

“Small world.” I hugged her again. After today I was feeling about as far away from my academic roots as possible and thenpoofhere was a lifeline. “What do you do now?”

“I teach the same classes at Oxford and work with an architecture firm in London.”

Before I thought about the politeness of my actions I blurted out, “Can you show me around the school? Please?”

And then I turned bright red becausewhat was I thinking inviting myself into this woman’s place of work?

“Of course,” she laughed. “I was hoping you’d let me show you off, actually.”

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