Page 83 of Coldhearted King

Worry laces her voice, and I can’t help but feel a twinge of guilt.

“They will,” I admit, trying to keep my tone even. “But they won’t say anything.”

“And what about your mom? You didn’t tell her you were bringing me, did you?”

“No.” It’s better that way. At least she won’t have time to sharpen her claws. “Mom will be polite.” At least on the surface. I can’t imagine her reaction to me bringing a woman to lunch, let alone a woman who works for me. “Just don’t expect her to be like your mom. She’s not particularly...maternal.”

At this stage, Delilah’s probably wondering why I invited her. I’m not exactly painting an appealing picture of my family. But I can’t lie to her either. This won’t be a fun family catch-up. Maybe that’s why I invited her. Not because I particularly want to expose her to my family, but because I’m not prepared to give up the warmth of her presence in exchange for another cold meeting with them.

Delilah seems to sense my hesitation. “Is everything okay?”

I pause, then decide to tell her the truth. “These lunches aren’t exactly enjoyable. It’s just something we do to keep up appearances and fulfill our societal obligations. My mother likes to tell her friends that she spends quality time with her sons, and we go along with it because it’s good for business if we maintain a façade of family unity. Investors and shareholders like to think there’s a close-knit family running the company. But there’s no love lost between any of us. Basically, it’s just a matter of going through the motions until we can leave.”

“I’m sorry,” she says, and when I glance at her, sympathy shimmers in her eyes.

I shrug. “It’s just the way it is.”

“Well, I’ll do my best not to make things more uncomfortable.”

With the hand that’s been resting on the gearshift, I reach over and slide her dress up until I can curve my hand around her bare thigh. “You won’t.”

Twenty minutes later, I turn up the long gravel driveway. As we reach the end and the main house comes into view, Delilah’s mouth drops open. She peers out the window at the white columns flanking the entrance of the sprawling three-story Georgian mansion made of red brick.

She shakes her head in disbelief. “This is where you grew up?”

“When I wasn’t in boarding school.”

Her eyes widen as she turns to look at me. “I didn’t know you went to boarding school. Whereabouts?”

“In New Hampshire.”

“Wow. I can’t even imagine what that would be like. Although, I guess you had your brothers, at least.”

“No, I didn’t.”

“What do you mean?”

“Roman is five years older than me. By the time I was in high school, he’d started college. Tate went to school in Massachusetts.”

“Why did Tate go to a different school?”

Now’s not the time to get into Tate’s situation. “We should probably get inside.”

She keeps looking at me for a beat, then gives me an understanding smile. “Okay.”

Before she can unlatch her seatbelt and get out, I exit the car and round to her side so I can open her door for her.

I worry she won’t wait for me, but she does, accepting my outstretched hand and stepping out gracefully. Her fingers are warm in mine, and I can think of a hundred other things I’d rather be doing with her right now than this. But we’re here now, so I guide Delilah up the steps to where Peters is already holding the door for us.

“Good afternoon, Mr. King, ma’am,” he says.

I swear my parents chose Peters because he’s just as warm and affectionate as either of them. Which is to say, not at all. From his cool greeting, you’d never believe he’d known me since I was a child. Then again, my parents have never encouraged familiarity with any of our staff.

“Afternoon, Peters. Are we eating in the dining room or on the south lawn today?”

“The south lawn, sir.”

Delilah looks at me with wide eyes again; however, as we step into the large foyer, she transfers her deer-in-headlights gaze to the surrounding space. “Oh my god,” she whispers to herself as her hand flutters up to press against her chest.

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