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The disgusting noise of my father clearing of his throat snaps me from thoughts of Indigo.
Kyngston Worthington III looks uncomfortable. Edgy. He bristles like his clothes are itching him. And then he smiles. It’s not genuine and doesn’t reach his eyes, but he’s smiling. At me. “Your mother and I would like you to move back here too, Kyngston. While your grandfather is here. To make the last few weeks of his life more comfortable.”
So my mother was serious. Of course she was—she’s never anything but. It takes every ounce of restraint I have not to laugh in his face. I simply shake my head. “No.”
“Kyngston. Please,” he says more than asks. “For your grandfather.”
All my instincts scream at me to get out of here. He’s up to something, but what? He hates both me and my grandfather, probably with equal passion. So what the fuck is his game plan?This can’t be about the will. Grampa might have a few hundred grand stashed away in some bank account, but my parents have millions.
My pride wants me to tell him that I’d rather die than spend a night in this house. I’d rather die than let Grampa come and spend his last remaining time with two narcissistic sociopaths who have never shown an ounce of compassion for him.
But prudence kicks in, and I remain silent. I’ll move Grampa in with me somewhere. I’ll have a lawyer draw up a contract giving me power of attorney if that’s what it takes to keep him out of this monster’s hands.
I lie with ease. “Let me take a few days to think about it.”
“He might not have a few days.” His tone is laced with anxiety, but it’s not about Grampa. Why is he so desperate?
I shrug. “Take it or leave it.”
As I’m climbingonto my bike, Drake’s name lights up my phone. I answer it quickly and let out a sigh of relief when he tells me that he spoke to his brother,Elijah, and they do have a two-bed, ground-floor apartment in Marble Hill available.
“I can’t thank you enough, buddy. You’re a lifesaver.”
“Anything to help out a friend.”
Emotion clogs my throat once more, and I silently curse myself for being so sensitive. What the hell is wrong with me lately? It’s just nostalgia. Drake and I shared some good times back in Chicago. He’s right—we are friends. Nothing wrong with that. It’s not like I purposely sought him out because his last name was James. I had no idea who he was when I first met him.
“I’ll ping you the addresses to the apartment and the office of our realtor, and you can pick up the keys tomorrow and make all the necessary arrangements with her,” he says, bringing me back to our conversation.
I thank him again.
“You’re welcome. I hope you and your grandfather are happy there. If there’s anything else I can do…”
“Actually…” I tip my chin and look up at the starless sky. “You mentioned work?”
“Yeah?”
According to Amanda, Grampa mostly sleeps during the daytime, and she’ll be there to take care of him every day. I’ll need something to keep me occupied so I don’t lose my mind—or do anything stupid. “I’d be grateful for anything you can toss my way while I’m back here.”
He laughs. “King, I have a fuck-ton of work I can send your way. When can you start?”
“How about now?” I offer, eager for a distraction. Anything to stop intrusive thoughts and self-loathing from creeping in and eating up my insides.
“Perfect. You have the same email?”
“Yeah.”
“Then I’ll send you a file now,” he says. “Nothing overly exciting. It’s a nasty lawsuit over some art, but the plaintiff is being very elusive, and I could use someone who knows what they’re doing to help track them down.”
“Sounds right up my alley. Send it on over.”
After agreeing with his assertion that we should meet up for drinks soon, I slip the phone into my pocket and run through today’s shit list of to-dos. Get an apartment: check. Visit with the spawn of Satan and his bride: check. Make contact with the brother of the man I should absolutely avoid at all costs: double check.
Chapter
Five
KING
