Jackie Ashenden - King's Price

But what if I approached him myself and told him what my father was planning? What if I gave him a heads-up? He’d probably take one look at me, realise I was no Clara and decide he didn’t want to get married after all. There was the issue of Dad’s debts, but maybe he’d simply be happy to have Dad talk him up in return for paying those off. He didn’t need to marry me.

It might not work. Leon King was, after all, a notoriously ruthless businessman and I was simply a research assistant. But I was sure I could make him see reason. Once I explained it all logically, he’d understand.

‘Well?’ Dad said sharply. ‘Think of your sister. Are you going to do this for us or not?’

I lifted my gaze from my hands and met Dad’s. ‘Okay,’ I said. ‘So, what do I need to do?’

He looked away. ‘Nothing at the moment. Just keep your head down until the big day.’

Of course I would.

After I’d let Leon King know exactly what was going on.

‘SHE’S NOT HERE,’ Xander said, his clear, cold voice cutting through the hard beat of the nightclub’s music.

I ignored him, looking out over the heaving crowd and trying to figure out which of the blondes on the dance floor was Clara Hamilton. It was difficult to tell since there were a lot of blondes and the dim lighting made their faces hard to recognise.

We were sitting in the VIP area of Red Door, the city’s current nightclub du jour, and pretty little Clara was supposed to be here—at least that was what Hamilton had assured me. But, as my younger brother had so eloquently pointed out, she wasn’t.

Annoying.

I’d sent Hamilton an email detailing the number of dates Clara and I were to go on, the locations and what would be expected of her in order to make this look real. And he’d sent me a response letting me know that Clara had agreed to my terms and that she’d be there for the first date, tonight, at Red Door.

But I’d been here a good hour already and there was no sign of her.

I was beginning to wonder if good old Tommy Hamilton had lied and hidden his daughter from me. If so, there would be words to be had. A great many fucking words and none of them to his liking.

Xander sat opposite me, stone-faced as usual, his dark eyes glittering as the club’s lights flashed. It wasn’t his scene—he spent most nights holed up in his office since he was a total workaholic—so I was surprised he’d decided to come with me tonight.

‘Do you have a reason for being here?’ I asked. ‘Or is it to sit around pointing out stuff I’m already aware of?’

‘I wanted to meet her.’ He didn’t look at me, too busy studying the dance floor. ‘Make sure she’s no threat to us.’

‘She’s a pretty socialite, Xan. How much threat could she possibly be?’

His gaze met mine. ‘Some women are dangerous.’

He would say that since he was currently having issues with our stepsister, Poppy. As in he hated her and she hated him.

I grinned. ‘Relax, brother. She’s my beautiful bride. Of course she’s not dangerous.’

I’d given him the run-down of my plan, along with Ajax, and both of them were on board with it, though Ajax more than Xander. Ajax liked the idea of rubbing our status in the noses of those who’d once been our enemies, while Xander didn’t much care. He was all about the money and protecting our investments.

Xander snorted and looked away, studying the dance floor again.

‘Have a drink,’ I said. ‘In fact, have two. Maybe they’ll dissolve that stick currently jammed up your ass.’

Ajax would have told me to fuck off. Xander merely ignored me, then, without a word, pushed himself up off the couch and disappeared through the crowd, heading towards the bar.

Good. I could use some time to myself to figure out what to do about Clara’s non-appearance.

I sat back on the couch, reaching for the glass of very expensive single malt I preferred and, as I did so, I caught the gaze of a woman sitting at a table near the stairs to the VIP area.

She was staring very hard at me.

Stares weren’t unusual—I got them a lot, especially from women—but I never looked back unless the woman was worth a second glance. And this one wasn’t.

Yet I found myself looking back now, unable to put my finger on why. She definitely wasn’t my type. At all. She wore a close-fitting black dress, more suited to a funeral dinner than a nightclub, that highlighted a body that was all angles and no curves. Her dark hair had been drawn back unflatteringly tight against her skull, making her plain, sharp face seem even more disapproving than it already was.

She looked like an offended nun.

Why the hell was I staring at her?

Christ, I had no idea. Maybe it was the way she was staring at me: intense, direct. No blushing and looking away like some women did, or lowering her lashes and shooting me flirtatious glances from underneath them. No come-and-get-me smiles or looking past me, pretending she hadn’t been staring.

No, she simply stared. Then she slid off her stool and headed towards the stairs to the VIP area.

Shit. She was coming up here?

Intrigued despite myself, I watched her make her way to the top of the stairs and talk to the bouncer who was guarding the area. She pointed at me as she did so, an earnest expression on her face and, sure enough, the bouncer glanced at me then headed in my direction.

Interesting. What could this woman possibly want? Other than the usual. But then there hadn’t been anything flirtatious or sexual in her gaze. No, it wasn’t sex she wanted, I was sure.

‘Mr King?’ The bouncer came to a stop in front of my table. ‘There’s a woman here who wants to talk to you. She says it’s about Clara Hamilton.’

I stilled. Looked like my evening was about to get even more interesting.

‘Send her over.’ I glanced past him to where she stood, looking in my direction. There was a crease between her brows that disappeared as the bouncer signalled to her, then she started forward without hesitation.

Keen little thing, wasn’t she?

Though, as she got closer, it soon became clear she wasn’t little. Tall. Taller even than I’d thought at first and her heels weren’t exactly high. She moved with purpose too, as if she knew exactly where she was going and why.

‘Mr King.’ She came to a stop in front of my table. ‘Thanks for seeing me.’ Without waiting for me to reply, she held out her hand. ‘I’m Vita Hamilton.’

I made no move to get up or take her hand, settling for staring at her instead.

She had dark eyes, almost as dark as Xander’s yet without the black hole effect his had. Hers were very bright, as if there were tiny stars dancing in the depths. And she didn’t smile, merely pinned me with those dark, bright eyes, her hand held out steadily.

People didn’t hold my gaze for long. They didn’t like what they saw in it, especially when I smiled.

I stared right back. And grinned.

There was a tiny flicker of response, but that was it. She didn’t look away or drop her gaze. Or her hand.

Hell, that was...intriguing.

A woman of determination, obviously.

I leaned back in my seat, raising my glass and sipping again, pointedly ignoring her hand just to be a prick.

A flash of irritation crossed her face. Again, intriguing. People were too afraid to get irritated with me. Instead, they either got embarrassed or pretended whatever I’d said or done hadn’t happened.

Vita Hamilton didn’t pretend.

‘Well.’ Her voice was clear and bright like her eyes. ‘I was only trying to be polite. You don’t have to be rude.’

Was she reprimanding me?

Holy shit, she was.

Without waiting for a reply, she dropped her hand then sat down on the seat that Xander had vacated, opposite me, leaning forward and once again pinning me with that dark, starlit stare. ‘Now,’ she said seriously. ‘Like I said, my name is Vita Hamilton and I—’