A Man of Wealth (The Kingmakers of Kensington Book 2) Read online

  I close my laptop and stick it in my bag. “I’m off,” I state as I down the last few drops of my drink and toss a fifty on the bar.

  “Thanks, Viv,” he says as he pockets the money.

  “Always a pleasure,” I reply as I head home to rethink my plan.

  Home. It’s exactly three blocks away. I live in the middle of college students, literally. My neighbors are all college students, well, except for Florence, who is eighty-three and I think moved in when the building was completed. And this building is not new. It’s so old that it’s actually back in style now.

  I open my door with a shove because the steel frame is bent and catches every time I shut it. I look around and sigh. I need to do dishes and laundry. I dread laundry day. The laundry room might as well be a haunted house complete with spiders. Maybe Jeff is right? My brother has tried to get me to fall in line for a long time. He gleefully plays family mediator on the daily, well, now it’s more like the monthly because I ignore all my family’s calls, and slowly they have begun to stop trying, except for my father who showed me his true colors years ago. I will never be one of them. I never want to be one of them.

  My phone pings with a text. My editor, Jane Armstrong.

  Jane: How’s the article coming along? Will you have anything for me this week?

  I groan. I’ve been going down a rabbit hole ever since overhearing Sebastian North mention something to his chief of staff. They didn’t know I was there. I was in fact hiding around a corner waiting to see if another congressman, who’s been avoiding me for weeks, might come by when Congressman North happened to walk to the elevator. He mentioned to Harriet that his girlfriend had traces of some chemicals in her system, and he was having a friend check out if they were similar to some other women who have been found dead in the park recently. This immediately piqued my interest. While I’m not a crime investigator, those dead-girl cases have everyone talking, and if I could get the scoop on something, that could be big, like career-changing big.

  Me: I’m working on it. I need to get some more interviews. Probably not this week.

  Jane: I can’t give you more time on this. Three weeks, that’s it.

  Me: Understood.

  Maybe I should try to pump information out of Aiden Thomas? He’s probably going to be an easier target than Conner Sterling, but I’ve long been trying to figure out the criminal connections of Sterling’s father’s company. Theodore Sterling is a brute amongst men, and the fact that he’s super shady and somehow his silver-spooned kid has a powerful lobbying firm, seems even shadier. And then there’s his wife, who died in an explosion on their yacht that was parked off their Chesapeake Bay waterfront property. Yet it was called an accident—faulty wiring in the boat short-circuited and caught a propane tank on fire. None of that ever stacked up for me. I even wrote an article about it with interviews about Patricia Sterling or Tricia as folks called her. I could never really tell if she was an awful person or a wonderful person; the people I interviewed gave quite the mix of thoughts about the elusive woman who was quiet and seldom seen out in public. Her husband though is notorious and has ties to all sorts of criminals. It seemed he had buried his past after meeting her in college. Yet I still suspect that Theo Sterling is anything but a good person. And I can’t imagine that Conner falls far from that tree.

  And then there’s their fraternity. Theta Omega Delta. And not just any chapter of the fraternity. The chapter that Conner, Aiden, Sebastian, their fathers, and close friends belong to is a who’s who of power. There are a few other chapters with quite a list of powerful members, but theirs is particularly intriguing. Hell, the current president was a member as was his press secretary. So, what gives? I have my theories but proving them is not something I’ve ever been able to do.

  I throw on some yoga pants and a t-shirt before settling in at my desk. I need to do some more research tonight. This time, I want to work on the missing girls. I was able to write one article about them recently that got praise from the editorial staff. I’m hoping they’ll let me write some more. Switching to the crime division and being able to do longer crime investigative stories would be a dream come true. I mean I love my local city investigative journalism gig, but crime investigations would be amazing. I’m all about the underdog and bringing down the big criminals and this city is full of criminals; it’s just these criminals have three little things that most do not—power, wealth, and prestige.

  Chapter 3

  Conner

  Aiden looks at me. “Your father?”

  I nod as I grab another bottle of water from the fridge in my home gym.

  “Is she certain? She was pretty medicated when I last saw her at the hospital. Maybe I should talk to her.” Aiden had all but evaporated after we confirmed that Alexis would be fine. I knew he was working on getting information for us, but I swear that man can downright disappear into a lab for days on end. Sebastian had said he was talking with his ex-girlfriend, Estella Garcia about the drugs found in the women in the park, which shocked me, considering how badly that ended.

  “Aid, she identified him just off my voicemail message. She was absolutely certain.”

  “Shit. Have you spoken to your father yet?”

  I give him a knowing look.

  “Well, what are you going to say if you get ahold of him?” he questions as he leans on my treadmill.

  “No fucking clue. I can’t exactly come out and ask if he kidnapped anyone lately. Any word on the chemicals they found in Alexis?”

  Aiden shakes his head. “I talked with her doctor and am waiting to hear. We should get the results today.”

  He pauses, and I stop my running. “What?”

  He runs a hand through his hair, giving it a tug. “I called Ella.”

  I raise an eyebrow at the mention of his ex and particularly the use of her nickname. I’m also intrigued that he’s flat-out admitting this to me, which just confirms what Sebastian had claimed he was doing. He sighs and drops his head to the arm of the treadmill. “She’s analyzing the chemical compound samples I managed to acquire from the girls in the park.”

  “How’d you do that, Nancy Drew?”

  He chuckles. “Let’s just say I have friends at the morgue and hospital.”

  “Do these friends keep their fucking mouths shut?”

  Aiden flicks me off before pushing away from the treadmill and walking to the far wall of the room where I have a half basketball court. He picks up a ball and dribbles it before shooting a three-pointer. “Yes.”

  “Good. We don’t need any more trouble.”

  Aiden turns and stares at me. “Pound, we are beyond trouble. We’re fucked. Sebastian has us battling not just one demon, but all of hell.”

  He’s not wrong. “You still with us or do you want out?” I ask.

  He slowly walks up to me. I might be taller, but Aiden has spent a decade working out like he’s training for a triathlon, and he could most definitely hold his own against me.

  “I will always have your backs; you know that.” He takes a deep breath. “Odds are not in our favor. We’re about to enter the belly of the beast, my friend, and I’m not sure if any of us will come out the other end alive.”

  I reach out and place a hand on his shoulder. “There are no finer men that I’d rather go down with if that’s the case.” And I mean those words.

  He nods his agreement.

  My phone buzzes and I look down at my smartwatch. It’s Sebastian.

  I press call on my watch, not bothering to read his text.

  “Do you fucking read?” Sebastian answers with a growl.

  Aiden snickers and I glare at the speaker on my watch. I don’t bother answering.

  “I’m a little preoccupied at the moment, but Alexis’s test results came back.”

  Aiden and I look at each other. We both know what he’s going to say before the words echo in the vastness of the gym.

  “From what I can tell based on the information the doctor sent Alexis, it
matches Tina’s. A few small tweaks, but it’s nearly the same. And I’d bet it matches the girls recently found in the park.”

  “Fuck,” Aiden and I reply simultaneously.

  “Yeah, fuck. Aiden’s there?”

  “Yeah, I’m here,” he replies as he walks closer to me.

  “I’m gonna encrypt this and send it to you. Did you talk to Ella?”

  “I did. She agreed to help. I’ll forward whatever you send.”

  “Good. I think we’re going to need her expertise.” There’s a pause. “Listen, I need to go, but I’ll come by later. We should talk.”

  I decide it’s time to go into the city. I need to do some work at my office and my favorite bar is calling my name.

  After several hours of work, I roll up to my old stomping grounds. It’s a dive bar, but I love it. I walk up to the counter and order my favorite beer. It’s not my normal drink, but at this bar it is.

  “And here I thought beer was beneath you,” a sultry voice says to my right.

  I turn to find Vivienne Westerly sitting there with her usual glass of white wine. Why I know this woman’s favorite drink is beyond me. And how in the hell did she find me, again. I curse the fates for having brought one of the people I loathe the most to me at a moment when I could use a friendly face.

  “Fuck off,” I growl as I grab my beer and down half of it.

  “Slow down, you’ll end up getting kicked out.”

  I glare at her as I down the rest of my beer and place it on the counter, motioning to the bartender for another without even looking in his direction.

  “Does being an asshole come naturally to you through your genetics or was it a learned behavior?” she asks as she runs her finger around the rim of her glass.

  “I don’t know. You tell me?” I retort as I pick up the fresh glass of beer that’s been set in front of me.

  “Can we call a five-minute truce, Sterling?” she asks as she raises the glass to her red lips. Why does this demon have to look like sin personified?

  “And why would I do that, pray tell?”

  She sets her glass down and leans toward me. I can smell her perfume, a mix of roses and lavender.

  “Because I believe we both have information that the other might find useful, and”—she pauses, clearly for effect—“I think we may also have a common…person of interest.”

  I raise my eyebrows. “OK, I’m intrigued,” I admit, although I’m mentally putting on all my defensive body armor. This woman can’t be trusted.

  She looks around the bar and leans closer to me, a single stray hair touches my face as she whispers in my ear, “We should talk somewhere private.”

  My defenses go from closing the gates to preparing for battle. What is this woman playing at?

  Part of me wants to say “fuck no” and throw down a twenty before leaving. But as she pulls back and looks into my eyes, I see something else, fear? If she’s scared, why is she coming to me? Hell, this woman should be afraid of me. I’ve made it perfectly known that I’d like nothing more than to decimate her. Yet she’s sitting here wanting a private audience with me.

  I weigh my options. I could walk out on the street, but I don’t know who’s here and who’s listening to us. I could take her to my penthouse, but I feel like she’ll end up writing a story about my “fuck pad” and that’s not a side of me that I’m willing to expose any more than it already is. So, I do probably the least logical thing.

  “We can talk at my house,” I announce as I drop forty dollars on the bar to cover both our tabs. I’m bringing her back to my lair because there, I’m king. I have a home-court advantage. And my home screams of all the silver-spoon-in-mouth comments she has written. So, fine, she can write more, but then it’ll be repetitive, and I know she doesn’t write repetition. It’s a calculated move on my part, she just doesn’t know it yet.

  “Y-your house?” she stammers giving me a confused look.

  “Yes. My house.” I don’t say another word as I walk to the door and open it, holding it for a second to see if she’ll follow me. I give her five seconds, counting slowly because some sick part of me wants her to come along. Five. Four. Three. Two. I feel her standing at the threshold and I glance back. She adjusts her coat and steps through as I release the door. We walk in silence to my car.

  I grin when I see her face. I have three cars. One for play. One for fun. One for work. My pickup truck is my work car. Because my truck was one hundred percent tax-deductible. It’s not the car people would think of me driving, but it’s my favorite of the cars. Albeit it’s not the most practical city car.

  I open the door for her and watch her attempt to get in. I offer my hand for assistance, but she bats it away and ungracefully launches herself inside. I smirk as I walk around the vehicle.

  “Comfortable?” I ask with a sugary smile as I watch her attempt to pull the seat belt across her lap. It catches and she jerks on it in frustration. I can’t help myself. I reach over her and gently glide the belt over her body, the back of my hand grazing her breast. She breathes in deeply as I fasten the buckle. I wait until I hear the click to let go.

  “Thank you,” she mutters and looks away from me as though the sidewalk outside is the most interesting thing in the world.

  I’ve gotten under her skin, and nothing brings me more pleasure than to poke the bear, especially since I’m a much larger bear. I hate admitting that this fiery little pain in my ass is providing a much-needed distraction from the current events in my life.

  I drive us out of the city and back to Kensington Place. She watches the road the entire time as though making eye contact with me might cause her to combust. God, I love making her squirm. I start concocting a list of things I can say to make her angry. It brings a smile to my face.

  “What the heck are you so happy about?” she asks, her face still fixed on the windshield.

  “Wouldn’t you like to know,” I quip.

  She groans and crosses her arms, which only serves to push her breasts up, giving me a better view of them in her V-neck sweater. She sees her mistake too late and sets her hands in her lap. Smirking, I pull up to the gate and it opens, allowing us entry into my exclusive neighborhood. I wonder if she’s ever been here before. She runs in our circle. She may have very well attended a holiday or birthday party for one of my brothers.

  I sense no shock at the wealth surrounding us. I don’t know much about her upbringing, but considering who her grandfather is, I assume opulence was part of it.

  I pull up the drive to my home through a canopy of trees that create a tunnel effect. I purposefully had a landscape architect design my yard so that the house cannot be seen from the street. When the leaves are in full bloom, you don’t see any part of my home until you clear the driveway and pull up to my castle.

  I grin as I watch Vivienne’s reaction. Yes, my home resembles an actual castle. When my architect asked me what style of home I wanted, I showed him a picture of a French chateau that I had visited as a child with my mother. My happy memories with my mother are limited since I spent a great deal of my childhood at a boarding school. But that day was magical. The chateau looked like something out of a storybook with its towers, stone, and gardens. I half expected a knight to ride up on a horse. It was a family friend’s property, and they had invited us for the day. I played in the gardens with his children, skipped rocks in the pond, and ate cookies under a tree. It was one of the most normal days I had ever had, and I cherished each and every moment of it. My mother was happy that day, so relaxed. And I was able to be a normal child, living out a fantasy filled with heroes, where good conquered evil.

  I pull up to the front door. I don’t use it often, but today I feel like impressing. I park my car in the circular drive. She’s out of the car before I can round it to open the door. I walk up to the entrance and the door opens automatically once it scans my eye and reads my vitals. Yes, my smart home is filled with items that read my vitals. It’s a safety precaution. If my body says
I’m scared or nervous or injured, it will automatically alert the police if I don’t override it.

  The door swings open, and I step inside followed by Vivienne. She pauses as I tell the house to turn on the entry lights. An antique chandelier from a castle in Germany that I bought at auction five years ago hangs above us. Matching sconces dot the hallways on either side of the grand entrance. I decide not to show her every part of my home. To be fair, the house is nearly ten thousand square feet and would take several hours to adequately show someone all the features, art, and antiques. Several architecture magazines have requested to photograph it, and I’ve denied every request. I like my privacy. Instead of giving her a tour, I walk us into my library.

  I can only guess what type of man or monster she thinks I am. And the pleasure that I might be able to shock her is probably more than I’d like to admit. I lead her to the room and push open the large hand-carved double doors to reveal my favorite part of my home.

  Chapter 4

  Vivienne

  “Renoir…” I trail off as I stare at painting after painting hanging on the walls of the two-story library. There are at least a half dozen of them, and they are paintings of families. I only recognize them from an art history class I took as an elective in college.

  “Yes,” he mutters as he walks over to a cart and pours a glass of scotch. He raises it to me, but I shake my head. He brings the glass to his lips and takes a long sip. How can drinking be so seductive?

  “I didn’t know you collected art,” I admit. How did I not know this? I thoroughly researched this man. I should know everything.

  “It’s not something I share. This is my own private collection,” he states as he surveys his art.