Page 71 of Kneel with the King
I pull from the depths of whatever reserves I have left—the ones not already claimed by rage, betrayal, or the phantom press of King’s cock against my tongue—and I smile.
“Absolutely,” I say. “Man to man.”
I grin, even as my whole world burns quietly behind my eyes.
When did this happen? Did King know before the retreat? He must’ve—he must’ve orchestrated this whole thing, right?
“I didn’t come here to heal. I didn’t come here for closure. I came to ruin you. To watch you unravel. To take everything you ever wanted, and then take some more until there’s nothing left.”
“I must admit, I was surprised you came here with a man. I could’ve sworn I’d heard you were dating a woman.”
Breathe, Asher.
“I’m a late bloomer in that department, I suppose,” I explain, hoping Walter will change the subject.
He smiles, but there’s a glint in his eye that tells me he’s about to dig deeper. “I was a late bloomer, too. Did you knowI was married to a woman for twenty years? I have two grown children. Jacques was my assistant.”
That earns him a smile from me.
Walter chuckles softly, clearly pleased to have disarmed me a little with that factoid.
“Isn’t it funny?” he asks, swirling his coffee. “Twenty years. It was a happy twenty years, too. I wasn’t repressed or anything. I suppose that sometimes, the people who know us best can’t even see the truth right in front of them. Or maybe they do, and they just don’t want to admit it.”
I hum, pretending to agree, but my brain is still white-hot with rage.
King is acquiring Fuse.
King is acquiringme.
And not just my firm, not just my clients, but the parts of me I don’t even want to admit are his. The parts that knelt for him. The parts that came untouched. The parts that are still sore from how hard I wanted him.
I grip the ceramic handle of my espresso cup just a little too tightly.
“I guess it takes the right person,” Walter continues. “Someone who sees through the masks we wear, and isn’t afraid to rip them off.”
I know exactly what he means, because mine is already gone—and King didn’t even ask before taking it.
The door opens behind me, but I’m not really paying attention. It’s not until Walter sits up straighter—not until I hear the familiar, controlled footsteps—that I realize who’s joining us.
“Oh,” Walter says lightly. “Speak of the devil.”
I don’t turn around right away.
My fingers clench around the espresso cup, and I finish it before setting it down on the table a little too hard.
“Morning, gentlemen.”
There’s a hint of mockery in his tone. Just enough to make my stomach twist and my blood burn with blind rage.
And then, with enough ease to make me want to sucker punch him, King leans down and kisses the top of my head. “How are you feeling, sweetheart?” He rounds the back of my chair like he owns the place before taking a seat next to Walter.
“Fine,” I grit out, using every ounce of self-control not to lose it on him completely.
Walter smiles, oblivious. “Mr. King. We were just talking about you.”
“Oh? All good things, I hope?”
I slowly turn to face King, tilting my head just slightly. “The acquisition, actually,” I reply, my voice hard.
