The Naughty King(12)

“Everyone calls her that.” She pauses for a beat and then shrugs. “Jack told me about her working for you. The whole Upper East Side is buzzing about it. I remember Margo from high school. She was a grade ahead of me. She’s beautiful, smart, and vicious when it comes to getting what she wants but loyal to the core in respects to the people she loves, or at least that’s what the word is. She’s kind of like the female version of you.”

Diem giggles, and I hate the fact that my sister seems to know more about Margo than I do. I don’t like thinking about Margo because it either pisses me off or makes me horny as hell every time I do.

I need a subject change.

My lips twist. “I don’t think I like you and Jack talking so much.”

“Why?” she fires back.

“Because, Diem, he’s my best friend, and it’s . . . I . . . it’s just asking for trouble.” I grab the glass of water in front of me and take a big gulp, unsure of why I’m allowing myself to get all tongue tied.

“We’re just friends, Alexander. It is possible for a man and a woman to just hang out from time to time without anything else going on.”

“No, it’s not.”

“You’re taking Margo to Vegas so doesn’t that make her your friend?”

“No, it doesn’t. She hates me. We definitely are not friends,” I tell her.

Diem frowns. “You should do something about that if you want this business arrangement to work out with her. You know Dad always taught us that you catch more bees with honey.”

Diem’s right. Father always said that, and he was known around this city for being a fair and honest man. Unfortunately, I couldn’t use his methods when I took over. I was far too young at twenty to be taken seriously at running a billion-dollar company, which is why I had to be tough—flex my muscle—and show people that I wouldn’t be fucked with.

I lean back in my chair and loosen my tie a bit. Maybe my sister has a point. Being a total dick to Margo doesn’t seem to be making any headway. “What do you suppose I do? Concede and let her win—let her think I’m a pushover? I can’t do that, Diem. It’s not in me to allow someone to get the best of me.”

She shakes her head. “I’m not saying to instantly become a pussy. I’m just saying to lighten up a bit. I know how you get when you think someone is your enemy. You become set on destroying them. Margo might not be as bad as you have her made out to be in your head.”

“Or she could be much worse,” I answer instantly.

“I doubt that. No one is a bigger badass than you.” Diem winks and then laughs. “I think you should just try to be a little nicer. Break through her walls a little and show her that you pay attention. It’ll make this business deal a lot more pleasant for both of you. This should be stress-free because you already have Yamada in the bag. Nothing Margo Buchanan can do will change that so you might as well learn to get along with her.”

My fingers run across my bearded jawline and I sigh. “When did you get so smart?”

She grins. “Turning twenty-four will do that to you. Speaking of that, let’s see what you got me.” Her fingers work nimbly to tear open the Tiffany’s box to reveal the diamond charm bracelet I bought for her. Her fingers slide over the engraving as she reads it aloud. “Love you, Squirt.”

She wrinkles her nose.

I laugh, loving that she still hates the nickname I gave her when we were just kids but won’t throw it back at me because of all the sparkly diamonds surrounding the name.

I pick up my drink. “Happy birthday, Squirt.”





Margo

RIGHT ON TIME, THE BLACK Town Car pulls up to take me to King’s private jet. Riding in private planes is nothing new to me, seeing as how my father’s company specializes in building aircrafts. It is, however, the first time I’ve ever taken a cross-country flight accompanying a man who I absolutely loath.

My cell rings and I dig through my handbag to find it. I smile when I see Mother’s name flash across the screen. “Hello, Mother.”

“Gah,” she sighs into the phone. “How many times have I asked you to call me Lily? You know I don’t like people thinking that I’m old enough to be your mother.”

I laugh. “I hate to be the one to break it to you, but I think the tabloids exposed that secret when you were pregnant with me twenty-five years ago. I’m sure it was the story of the year . ‘Most Beautiful Woman on the Planet Gives Birth.’”

“Stop your teasing,” she scolds. “Stretch marks are nothing to joke about.”