KING OF EMPIRE

CHAPTER ONE

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Isabella Maiden's 's POV

“So you didn’t use the glow-in-the-dark condoms I gave you?”
“Nope. Sorry.” Tessa returned my crestfallen stare with an amused one of
her own. “It was our first date. Where did you get those condoms anyway?”
“At last month’s neon skate party.” I’d attended the party in hopes it
would free me from my creeping life rut. It hadn’t, but it had supplied me
with a bag of delightfully lurid party favors that I’d doled out to friends.
Since I was suffering from a self-imposed man ban, I had to live vicariously
through them, which was hard when said friends didn’t cooperate.
Tessa’s brow wrinkled. “Why were they handing out condoms at a skate
party?”
“Because those parties always turn into giant orgies,” I explained. “I saw
someone use one of those condoms right there in the middle of the ice
rink.”
“You’re kidding.”
“Nope.” I restocked the garnishes, then turned to straighten the various
glasses and tumblers. “Wild, right? It was fun, even if some of the things I
witnessed traumatized me for a good week after…”
I rambled on, only half paying attention to my movements. After a year
of bartending at the Valhalla Club, an exclusive members-only society for
the world’s rich and powerful, most of my work was muscle memory.
It was six on a Monday evening—prime happy hour in other
establishments but a dead zone at Valhalla. Tessa and I always used this
time to gossip and catch each other up on our weekends.
I was only here for the paycheck until I finished my book and became a
published author, but it was nice to work with someone I actually liked. A
majority of my previous coworkers had been creeps.
“Did I tell you about the naked flag dude?” I said. “He was one of the
ones who always participated in the orgies.”
“Uh, Isa.” My name squeaked out in a decidedly un-Tessa-like manner,
but I was on too much of a roll to stop.
“Honestly, I never thought I’d see a glowing dick in—”
A polite cough interrupted my spiel.
A polite, masculine cough that very much did not belong to my favorite
coworker.
My movements ground to a screeching halt. Tessa let out another
distressed squeak, which confirmed what my gut already suspected: the
newcomer was a club member, not our laid-back manager or one of the
security guards dropping by on their break.
And they’d just overheard me talking about glowing dicks.
Fuck.
Flags of heat scorched my cheeks. Screw finishing my manuscript; what
I wanted most now was for the earth to yawn and swallow me whole.
Sadly, not a single tremor quaked beneath my feet, so after a moment of
wallowing in humiliation, I straightened my shoulders, pasted on my best
customer service smile, and turned.
My mouth barely completed its upward curve before it froze. Just up and
gave out, like a webpage that couldn’t finish loading.
Because standing less than five feet away, looking bemused and far more
handsome than any man had the right to look, was Kai Young.
Esteemed member of the Valhalla Club’s managing committee, heir to a
multibillion-dollar media empire, and owner of an uncanny ability to show
up in the middle of my most embarrassing conversations every time, Kai
Young.
A fresh wave of mortification blazed across my face.
“Apologies for interrupting,” he said, his neutral tone betraying no hint
of his thoughts on our conversation. “But I’d like to order a drink, please.”
Despite an all-consuming desire to hide under the bar until he left, I
couldn’t help but melt a little at the sound of his voice. Deep, smooth and
velvety, wrapped in a British accent so posh it put the late Queen’s to hame. It poured into my bloodstream like a half dozen shots of potent
whiskey.
My body warmed.
Kai’s brows lifted a fraction, and I realized I’d been so focused on his
voice that I hadn’t responded to his request yet. Meanwhile Tessa, the little
traitor, had disappeared into the back room, leaving me to fend for myself.
She’s never getting a condom out of me again.
“Of course.” I cleared my throat, attempting to lighten the cloud of
thickening tension. “But I’m afraid we don’t serve glow-in-the-dark gin and
tonics.” Not without a black light to make the tonic glow, anyway.
He gave me a blank look.
“Because of the last time you overheard me talking about con—er,
protective products,” I said. Nothing. I might as well be babbling about rush
hour traffic patterns, for all the reaction he showed. “You ordered a
strawberry gin and tonic because I was talking about strawberryflavored…”
I was digging myself into a deeper and deeper hole. I didn’t want to
remind Kai about the time he overheard me discussing strawberry condoms
at the club’s fall gala, but I had to say something to divert his attention away
from, well, my current condom predicament.
I should really stop talking about sex at work.
“Never mind,” I said quickly. “Do you want your usual?”
His one-off strawberry gin and tonic aside, Kai ordered a scotch, neat
every time. He was more predictable than a Mariah Carey song during the
holidays.
“Not today,” he said easily. “I’ll have a Death in the Afternoon instead.”
He lifted his book so I could see the title scrawled across the worn cover.
For Whom the Bell Tolls by Ernest Hemingway. “Seems fitting.”
Invented by Hemingway himself, Death in the Afternoon was a simple
cocktail consisting of champagne and absinthe. Its iridescent green color
was also as close to glow-in-the-dark as a regular drink could get.
I narrowed my eyes, unsure whether that was a coincidence or if he was
fucking with me.
He stared back, his expression inscrutable.
Dark hair. Crisp lines. Thin black frames and a suit so perfectly tailored it
had to have been custom made. Kai was the epitome of aristocratic
sophistication, and he’d nailed the British stoicism that went with it I was usually pretty good at reading people, but I’d known him for a year
and I had yet to crack his mask. It irritated me more than I cared to admit.
“One Death in the Afternoon, coming right up,” I finally said.
I busied myself with his drink while he took his customary seat at the end
of the bar and retrieved a notebook from his coat pocket. My hands went
through the motions, but my attention was split between the glass and the
man quietly reading. Every once in a while, he would pause and write
something down.
That in and of itself wasn’t unusual. Kai often showed up to read and
drink by himself before the evening rush. What was unusual was the timing.
It was Monday afternoon, three days and two hours before his weekly,
precision-timed arrival on Thursday evenings. He was breaking pattern.
Kai Young never broke pattern.
Curiosity and a strange breathlessness slowed my pace as I brought him
his drink. Tessa was still in the supply room, and the silence weighed
heavier with each step.
“Are you taking notes?” I placed the cocktail on a napkin and glanced at
his notebook. It lay open next to Kai’s novel, its pages filled with neat,
precise black writing.
“I’m translating the book into Latin.” He flipped the page and scribbled
another sentence without looking up or touching his drink.
“Why?”
“It’s relaxing.”
I blinked, certain I’d heard him wrong. “You think translating a fivehundred-page
novel into Latin by hand is relaxing?”
“Yes. If I wanted a mental challenge, I’d translate an economics
textbook. Translating fiction is reserved for my downtime.”
He tossed out the explanation casually, like it was a habit as common and
ingrained as throwing a coat over the back of his couch.
I gaped at him. “Wow. That’s…” I was at a loss for words.
I knew rich people indulged in strange hobbies, but at least they were
usually fun eccentricities like throwing lavish weddings for their pets or
bathing in champagne. Kai’s hobby was just boring.
The corners of his mouth twitched, and realization dawned alongside
embarrassment. Seems to be the theme of the day. “You’re messing with
me.” “Not entirely. I do find it relaxing, though I’m not a huge fan of
economics textbooks. I had enough of them at Oxford.” Kai finally glanced
up.
My pulse leapt in my throat. Up close, he was so beautiful it almost hurt
to face him straight on. Thick black hair brushed his forehead, framing
features straight out of the classic Hollywood era. Chiseled cheekbones
sloped down to a square jaw and sculpted lips, while deep brown eyes
glinted behind glasses that only heightened his appeal.
Without them, his attractiveness would’ve been cold, almost intimidating
in its perfection, but with them, he was approachable. Human.
At least when he wasn’t busy translating classics or running his family’s
media company. Glasses or no glasses, there was nothing approachable
about either of those things.
My spine tingled with awareness when he reached for his drink. My hand
was still on the counter. He didn’t touch me, but his body heat brushed over
me as surely as if he had.
The tingles spread, vibrating beneath my skin and slowing my breath.
“Isabella.”
“Hmm?” Now that I thought about it, why did Kai need glasses anyway?
He was rich enough to afford laser eye surgery.
Not that I was complaining. He may be boring and a little uptight, but he
really—
“The gentleman at the other end of the bar is trying to get your
attention.”
I snapped back to reality with an unpleasant jolt. While I’d been busy
staring at Kai, new patrons had trickled into the bar. Tessa was back behind
the counter, tending to a well-dressed couple while another club member
waited for service.
Shit.
I hurried over, leaving an amused-looking Kai behind.
After I finished with my customer, another one approached, and another.
We’d hit Valhalla happy hour, and I didn’t have time to dwell on Kai or his
strange relaxation methods again.
For the next four hours, Tessa and I fell into a familiar rhythm as we
worked the crowd.
Valhalla capped its membership at a hundred, so even its busiest nights
were nothing compared to the chaos I used to deal with at downtown dive
bars. But while there were fewer of them, the club’s patrons required more
coddling and ego stroking than the average frat boy or drunken
bachelorette. By the time the clock ticked toward nine, I was ready to
collapse and thankful as hell that I only had a half shift that night.
Still, I couldn’t resist the occasional peek at Kai. He usually left the bar
after an hour or two, but here he was, still drinking and chatting with the
other members like there was nowhere else he’d rather be.
Something’s off. Timing aside, his behavior today didn’t match his
previous patterns at all, and the closer I looked, the more signs of trouble I
spotted: the tension lining his shoulders, the tiny furrow between his brows,
the tightness of his smiles.
Maybe it was the shock of seeing him off schedule, or maybe I was
trying to pay Kai back for all the times he could’ve gotten me fired for
inappropriate behavior (a.k.a. talking about sex at work) but didn’t.
Whatever it was, it compelled me to walk another drink over to him during
a lull.
The timing was perfect; his latest conversation partner had just left,
leaving Kai alone again at the bar.
“A strawberry gin and tonic. On me.” I slid the glass across the counter.
I’d made it on a whim, thinking it’d be a funny way to lift his mood even if
it was at my expense. “You look like you could use the pick-me-up.”
He responded with a questioning arch of his brow.
“You’re off schedule,” I explained. “You’d never go off schedule unless
something’s wrong.”
The arch smoothed, replaced with a tiny crinkle at the corners of his
eyes. My heartbeat faltered at the unexpectedly endearing sight.
It’s just a smile. Get it together.
“I wasn’t aware you paid so much attention to my schedule.” Flecks of
laughter glimmered beneath Kai’s voice.
Heat flooded my cheeks for the second time that night. This is what I get
for being a Good Samaritan.
“I don’t make a point of it,” I said defensively. “You’ve been coming to
the bar every week since I started working here, but you’ve never showed
up on a Monday. I’m simply observant.” I should’ve stopped there, but my
mouth ran off before my brain could catch up. “Rest assured, you’re not my
type, so you don’t have to worry about me hitting on you.”That much was true. Objectively, I recognized Kai’s appeal, but I liked
my men rougher around the edges. He was as straitlaced as they came. Even
if he wasn’t, fraternization between club members and employees was
strictly forbidden, and I had no desire to upend my life over a man again,
thank you very much.
That didn’t stop my traitorous hormones from sighing every time they
saw him. It was annoying as hell.
“Good to know.” The flecks of laughter shone brighter as he brought the
glass to his lips. “Thank you. I have a soft spot for strawberry gin and
tonics.”
This time, my heartbeat didn’t so much falter as stop altogether, if only
for a split second.
Soft spot? What does that mean?
It means nothing, a voice grumbled in the back of my head. He’s talking
about the drink, not you. Besides, he’s not your type. Remember?
Oh, shut up, Debbie Downer.
Great. Now my inner voices were arguing with each other. I didn’t even
know I had more than one inner voice. If that wasn’t a sign I needed sleep
and not another night agonizing over my manuscript, nothing was.
“You’re welcome,” I said, a tad belatedly. My pulse drummed in my ears.
“Well, I should—”
“Sorry I’m late.” A tall, blond man swept into the seat next to Kai’s, his
voice as brisk as the late September chill clinging to his coat. “My meeting
ran over.”
He spared me a brief glance before turning back to Kai.
Dark gold hair, navy eyes, the bone structure of a Calvin Klein model,
and the warmth of the iceberg from Titanic. Dominic Davenport, the
reigning king of Wall Street.
I recognized him on sight. It was hard to forget that face, even if his
social skills could use improvement.
Relief and an annoying niggle of disappointment swept through me at the
interruption, but I didn’t wait for Kai’s response. I booked it to the other
side of the bar, hating the way his soft spot comment lingered like it was
anything but a throwaway remark.
If he wasn’t my type, I definitely wasn’t his. He dated the kind of woman
who sat on charity boards, summered in the Hamptons, and matched their