Page 1 of Kneel with the King
King of the Jungle
Asher
Brooklyn
Sorry, babe. Something came up and I can’t make it. Have fun at the retreat! xoxoxo kisses hugs
I stareat the text for a full thirty seconds, waiting for the punchline, but of course there isn’t one. It’s just there, sitting on my screen like an afterthought, like dragging yourself up a mountain only to be told the summit’s closed for weather…sorry, no refunds, good luck on the way back down.
I don’t move. The driver’s already pulled away from the luxury resort, and the frozen gravel crunches under my boots as I stand here with a duffel bag and a suitcase, a pair of sunglasses I now regret on the bridge of my nose. I can’t see shit without my prescription lenses and I can’tthink.
What the hell am I supposed to do now?
Brooklyn was supposed to come. All she had to do was smile, nod, be charming, laugh at the right things, and make it look like I’m supposed to be here. She was supposed to make it look like I belong at a couples-only retreat for the most successful business titans in the country, hosted by a man I’ve been trying to get infront of for three goddamn months. I just needed to be perceived as stable, settled,successful. That’s all.
But now I’m alone.
And alone doesn’t get me past the check-in table, which I walk up to a minute later.
The woman behind it is glowing. Not metaphorically—actually glowing. Like she’s been bathed in turmeric and inner peace and probably a little too much of that shimmery stuff women like to wear. Her hair is silver-blonde, and her white tunic is ironed and professional, and she gives me an overly compassionate smile as her eyes flick over my shoulder, searching for my partner for the week.
“Welcome to Altura Retreat. Name?”
“Asher Harrison,” I tell her, looking around for any familiar faces.
“Thank you. How was your journey?” she asks, tapping a tablet with perfectly manicured nails.
I shrug.Long. Tedious. And possibly all for nothing.
“Fine.”
“Wonderful. We have you registered for a suite in the Sekhmet Pathway, correct?”
I nod, dazed. “Yeah. Yes. I had a—I was supposed to meet my—” I pause, swallow the wordgirlfriendlike it’s going to burn on the way down. “Is it possible to participate as a solo person? My partner got held up.”
She tilts her head. “Unfortunately, this particular retreat is exclusively for couples only.”
I open my mouth, ready to spin something. She had a delayed flight, a missed connection, a mysterious stomach bug… something. I’ll make it sound plausible. Ihaveto be here this week.
But then a voice cuts clean through the afternoon.
“He’s with me.”
It’s low—calm.Polished, somehow.
I blink and turn around, and when I see his face, recognition lands like a slap.
You’ve got to be kidding me.
Mr. King—no first name that I know of. Everyone just calls him ‘King’—like he came prepackaged with a crown. The name alone is so arrogant it makes my teeth ache.
He’s a wunderkind. A boardroom shark in designer boots, tattoos, and a reputation that precedes him.
I’ve never worked with him directly, but I do know he’s young. Not even thirty and already untouchable. He doesn’t need decades of experience under his belt, because he has apresencethat wows everyone he meets.
Unfortunately, I’ve been on the receiving end of his ruthlessness. He poached one of my legacy clients a year ago—sank an entire department I’d built from the ground up just to rebuild it under his name, at his firm.
Fucking asshole.
