Page 16 of Kneel with the King
Relationships. Hookups. Dating apps. Women. That’s the box I’ve kept myself in.
But King’s voice?
That shouldn’t twist something in my gut. It’s not attraction. It’s simply curiosity. Fascination, maybe. Especially because I’ve obsessed over the idea of him poaching Trent Marchand. In my mind, he’s this evil guy with a curly mustache. Instead, I’m finding that despite how furious I still am about the poaching, IrespectKing.
I exit the bathroom and walk back to the group, and everyone is led to an early dinner at the retreat restaurant. The lighting is low and tinted pink.Huh.The tables are two-tops, and I suppose that means all couples will be eating together.
Wonderful.
I’m halfway to the host stand before I clock the sign on the door.
Valentine’s Day Prix Fixe Menu. No Substitutions.
I stop short. “Are you serious?”
King steps beside me, expression unreadable. “Did you expect something else for Valentine’s Day at a couples retreat, Harrison?”
I lift my hand out of instinct to check my watch, but again, I’m met with a tan line and the sinking feeling that I haven’t been paying enough attention to my surroundings.
Before I can reply, we’re led to a small table in the corner, tucked under a vintage chandelier and surrounded by other couples. Walter and Jacques wave at us from nearby.
I catch their wave and smile—a little too quickly, a little too wide.
Even though my skin is still buzzing from King’s voice in my ear, I fall right back into the corporate role. No matter what just happened, more than anything else I need Walter to see me as someone worth trusting.
Worth hiring.
The server carries two red-colored cocktails in coupe glasses, the surface shimmering beneath skewered heart-shaped strawberries.
“Subtle,” I mutter under my breath.
“What was that?” the server chirps, looking between King and me.
“My partner was just saying he likes the cocktail,” King answers.
“Oh! Thanks. It’s part of the menu today,” she says, delighted. “Raspberry gin fizz. We call it ‘Love in the Air.’”
King raises his glass. “Cheers.”
My throat makes a sound that could be a laugh or a snarl, but I clink my glass against his. “You’re insufferable.”
He just chuckles.
The food arrives. Too beautiful. Too perfectly portioned. I pick at it like it might explode.
Across the table, King eats like he has all the time in the world. Just that same infuriating calm, like he’s still savoring the damn scallops.
I hate scallops, but I force myself to eat them and pretend like we’re having a nice meal. People are watching us, after all.
Halfway through the main course, the server drops off a little folded card on thick papyrus.
“Complimentary with every couple’s dinner,” she says, grinning. “You can read them out loud if you want. Most people do!”
As soon as she leaves, I flip the card open. “Say one thing you’ve never told anyone.” I slam it face down on the table. “Nope.”
King reaches across, picks it up, and reads it silently.
When he looks at me, he’s not smiling anymore. He doesn’t say anything. Just tucks the card into his jacket pocket like it belongs to him now.
