Page 25 of Coldhearted King

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“How’s the project going?”Tate asks.

“It’s moving along. We’re almost ready to sign off on several preliminary designs.” It’s late at night and Tate, myself, and Roman are probably the last people in the building. Roman is still in his office, but Tate and I encountered each other on the way to the elevator, so we’re heading down to our cars together.

“How’s marketing?” I ask.

He shrugs his shoulders and scowls. “We’re doing our best to offset any new press about Dad’s arrest by replacing it with everything positive we’re doing, but it’s an uphill battle.”

I frown at him. “Why is that?”

“The press is more interested in our private lives than what the company is doing. At yesterday’s interview, the woman spent more time asking me about my reputation than our current projects and the effort we’re putting into making our developments more sustainable.”

“What did you do?”

“Took her into the bathroom and fucked her.”

I shake my head. “That’s not helpful, Tate.” I don’t know what the hell we were thinking, putting him in charge of marketing. All we’ve done is give him access to more women who are obsessed with finding out if the youngest King brother is as kinky in the bedroom as he’s rumored to be.

We exit the elevator and make our way out the front. Our cars are waiting there for us, and I nod a farewell at Tate and climb into the back of mine. While my driver, Jonathan, waits for a gap in the traffic, I look out the window, my gaze caught by a familiar couple standing on the corner—Paul and Philippa.

I narrow my eyes as I watch them. They seem to be arguing. Philippa gestures wildly while Paul rubs his hand over his face and attempts to respond. Then he grimaces as if he’s frustrated, tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, and wraps her in his arms.

Well, fucking, well. Looks like my senses are on point. The guy is an asshole.

I don’t get to see anything else as Jonathan accelerates away from the curb, obscuring the couple from view. But I don’t need to see anything else. It might not have been a kiss, but there was far more intimacy in that interaction than there should be between colleagues.

My mind jumps to Delilah, and I rub my thumb across my lower lip. Despite what I said in my office, her relationship with Paul is none of my business. There’s no reason for me to insert myself into the situation. Yet, the fact that Paul is screwing her around sends a surge of anger through me. I’d bet anything he started fucking Philippa when he broke up with her—if not before. He probably regretted it soon after because compared to Delilah, Philippa comes across as a cold fish. So either Philippa doesn’t want to let go, and he’s too weak to make her, or he’s stupid enough to believe he can juggle both women without getting caught.

I lean back in my leather seat. As much as Delilah deserves to know, and as much as having Paul out of the picture would give me incredible satisfaction—and I’m not thinking about why that is—telling her won’t end well for anyone. She’ll just have to open her eyes and see the man for who he is.

I try to turn my thoughts elsewhere. After all, I have far more important things to worry about than the relationship of a woman I screwed once, even if she does work for me now.

And yet, it’s the flash of fire in Delilah’s beautiful green eyes I see as I stare out the window, not the lights of passing cars.

CHAPTERTWELVE

DELILAH

“Why are we doing this again?” I ask Alex as our Uber pulls up in front of the club. A long line of people snakes its way down the block. Not surprising, considering the hype behind this place. Tonight is its grand opening, but it’s already being touted as the next big hotspot—where the rich, famous, and beautiful will go to be seen.

“Because you’ve been working hard for weeks, first on your proposal, and now on the project, and you need a break. We both do.”

I pat her knee sympathetically. Things have been a bit rough for her since Jaxson left for LA. She’s been struggling with the temporary separation. She’s even started teaching interior design classes at a community center a few evenings a week to keep herself distracted. I guess a night out on the town will do us both good.

After paying the driver, we climb out. I smooth down my sparkly green minidress, the one Alex says matches the color of my eyes. With bare legs and a pair of strappy nude stilettos, I feel sexy tonight. Alex is wearing black skintight leather pants and a red halter top, and she looks amazing.

I smile as I take in the bright lights and all the dressed-up people. As someone who wasn’t exactly a party girl during my high school and college years, the novelty of going out like this is still fresh and exciting.

Although the line to get in is long, we don’t have to join it. Jaxson has somehow gotten our names on the list because of his connections in the music scene. After Alex talks to the bouncer, he unhooks the red rope and we’re ushered straight in.

My eyes widen as we enter the two-story club. A circular bar stands in the middle of the large open space. Tables and booths with plush velvet seating line the outer wall, and there’s a crowded dance floor with a raised stage at one end for live performances. A second level with a balcony allows people to watch those mingling and dancing below.

My gaze catches on the mountain-sized, black-suited man standing at the bottom of a staircase across the room. I guess that’s where the VIP section is.

“Drink first?” Alex asks, and I nod. I’m looking forward to having a couple of cocktails and doing some dancing. The last few weeks have been both exhilarating and tense because of my interactions with Cole. I want to let go and relax.

Once we have our drinks in hand, we make our way to the outer edge of the club and score a booth when a group of people leaves. A sigh gusts out of me as I sink into the plush red velvet seat.

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