Page 6 of Kneel with the King
He smiles. “Not with that attitude.”
I should say something cutting. I should grab my laptop and pretend this is a networking opportunity instead of whatever the hell it’s becoming. But instead, I just stand there, wondering if this was a mistake I haven’t fully calculated yet.
And worse, if it’s already too late to undo it.
There’s a moment after King turns away, back to his perfectly arranged side of the suite, where I catch myself staring. Not admiring—just cataloging. The way he moves like he owns the air. That calm, calculated stillness of his that reads like he’s always five minutes ahead of everyone else. He doesn’t posture. He doesn’t rush. He doesn’t need to. And maybe that’s what gets under my skin the most.
It’s not just the client he poached or the bullshit charm. It’s how easy he makes it all look. Like effort is beneath him. Like success just happens around him because he exists.
I built Strategic Partnerships from the ground up. West Coast office. Then New York. I bled for this company. Traded comfort for ambition. Spent twenty years making myself indispensable. And then King blew that all out of the water by poaching my clients—most especially Trent Marchand.
I sit on the edge of the bed and grab one of the monogrammed water bottles from the side table, twisting the cap too hard. It cracks, and the sound is too loud in the quiet room.
“Still wound tight?” he says without looking.
I glare at the back of his head. “You know what? I don’t get you. People like you don’t usually need retreats, becauseyou already have everything you’ve ever wanted. Including my biggest client.”
He glances over his shoulder. “You’re right. Maybe Idon’tneed it. Or… maybe I wanted to see who else would show up, and who’d show their hand.”
My jaw tightens. “So itisa game.”
His eyes find mine. “Of course it is.”
I laugh, short and bitter. “Yeah. I guess that explains how you ended up with Trent.”
He doesn’t deny it this time. “He was already considering leaving. I just gave him the right reason.”
“I spent eight years building that account.”
King nods once, as if to acknowledge it. “Then you should know better than anyone. Loyalty isn’t forever.”
I stand and cross to the window, needing distance. The forest view is still too perfect. Everything about this is…wrong.
“So, what, you came here to poach more accounts? Collect more weaknesses?”
He doesn’t answer. Which is its own answer.
Behind me, I hear him move, the sound of fabric brushing, the subtle creak of floorboards.
“You know,” he says quietly, voice closer now, “for someone who insists on hating me, you’re asking me a lot of interesting questions. Sounds like someone’s been paying attention to his competition.”
I turn. He’s just a few feet away, watching me. That unreadable calm still in place, but something coils underneath it—not soft, not cruel. Justfocused.
“In your dreams,” I retort.
His lips twitch, and something flashes behind his eyes. “If you were in my dreams, you’d be less hostile.” A beat passes.What does that mean?Then he continues, almost casually. “Youalways clench your jaw when someone questions your control. You probably don’t even realize you do it.”
That hits lower than it should. Because Idodo that.
The silence stretches a second too long, just long enough to make me wonder—how much has he noticed? How long has he been watching?
“What exactly do you think you know about me?” I ask, voice tighter than I meant it to be.
He shrugs, fully facing me now. “Enough. That you don’t sleep. That you drink too much caffeine.” He takes a step closer. “That you check social media when you’re anxious.”
I go still.
He goes on, taking another step closer. “That you haven’t dated seriously since Ari.” I bristle at my ex’s name.Step.“That you tell yourself it’s because you’re focused on work, but the truth is you don’t trust yourself to get it right anymore.”
