KING OF EMPIRE

CHAPTER TWO

Sorry this chapter is small I promise I will work hard on next chapter 😅😅😊

Isabella Maiden's POV

pearls to their Chanel suits. There was nothing wrong with any of those
things, but they weren't me.
I blamed my outsize reaction to his words on my self-imposed dry spell.
I was so starved for touch and affection I'd probably get giddy off a wink
from that half-naked cowboy always roaming Times Square. It had nothing
to do with Kai himself.
I didn't return to his side of the bar again for the rest of the night.
Luckily, working a half shift meant I could clock out early. At five to ten,
I transferred my remaining tabs to Tessa, said my goodbyes, and grabbed
my bag from the back room, all without looking at a certain billionaire with
a penchant for Hemingway.
I could've sworn I felt the heated touch of dark eyes on my back when I
left, but I didn't turn to confirm. It was better I didn't know.
The hall was hushed and empty this late at night. Exhaustion tugged at
my eyelids, but instead of bolting for the exit and the comfort of my bed, I
made a left toward the main staircase.
I should go home so I could hit my daily word count goal, but I needed
inspiration first. I couldn't concentrate with the stress of facing a blank page
clouding my head.
The words used to flow freely; I wrote three-quarters of my erotic thriller
in less than six months. Then I read it over, hated it, and scrapped it in favor
of a fresh project. Unfortunately, the creativity that'd fueled my first draft
had vanished alongside it. I was lucky if I wrote more than two hundred
words a day these days.
I took the stairs to the second floor.
The club's amenities were off-limits to employees during working hours,
but while the bar was open until three in the morning, the rest of the
building closed at eight. I wasn't breaking any rules by visiting my favorite
room for some decompression.
Still, my feet tread lightly against the thick Persian carpet. Down, down,
all the way past the billiards room, the beauty room, and the Parisian-style
lounge until I reached a familiar oak door. The brass knob was cool and
smooth as I twisted it open.
Fifteen minutes. That was all I needed. Then I'd go home, wash the day
off, and write.
But as always, time fell away when I sat down. Fifteen minutes turned
into thirty, which turned into forty-five, and I became so immersed in what
was doing I didn't notice the door creak open behind me.
Not until it was too late.