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

  “Are they…” I trail off because I realize my question is silly. Of course, they are real.

  “Yes. I only buy original artwork.”

  Nodding, I walk up to one and look at it as though in a museum, only I’m not in a museum. I’m in a man’s home, a man I despise.

  I run my fingers over the spines of the books as I peruse them. They look to be arranged by topic. Glancing up at the two stories of shelving, I can’t help wondering who cleans this room.

  “Why do you pretend to be an ignorant brute?” I ask, my back turned to him.

  He doesn’t reply, so I swivel to find him walking toward a shelf where he pulls down a book. He saunters across the room, a slow stroll as though he hasn’t a care in the world. I take in his tall frame as he approaches me. Everything about Conner Sterling screams “run away,” yet I don’t, because I’m too mesmerized by the way his arm muscles flex as he walks. How can a beastly man be both scary and sexy all at the same time?

  He stops in front of me and hands me a copy of The Art of War by Sun Tzu. I take it, turning it over once before handing it back.

  “Read it. Then you’ll understand,” he says, not taking the book from my hands.

  I roll my eyes. “I have. What, is acting stupid a strategy for you?”

  He turns away, yet I have an odd suspicion that he’s smirking at me.

  “You thought I was an ignoramus, now, didn’t you?” he says, his voice laced with mirth.

  I turn away from him. “Well, let’s just say I didn’t expect to walk into a home with not only an art collection but also a book collection and have you, said owner, actually know things about both.”

  “You can keep that one if you like. I have several copies,” he states. Of course, he does.

  I set the book on a table, deciding to cut right to the chase. “What do you know about Jared Pallin?”

  I watch closely for a reaction, but Conner merely steps over to a wingback chair and sits down. “The head of Confervo?”

  “I know he’s a person of interest to you, Congressman North, and your friend, Aiden Thomas.”

  His reaction is subtle, but his eyes widen slightly. “Well, he’s a potential funder for North’s campaign.”

  He takes a sip of his drink, and I contemplate what I want to divulge. “I know there may be a connection to a drug they made that never got FDA approval and the drug used in the recent park murders.” I may have a friend at the nearby hospital. Aiden Thomas thinks he’s the only one with connections, but he’s very wrong about that.

  “And what connection do you think exists?” he asks as he sets his glass down and leans forward, placing his elbows on his thighs. A tattoo that resembles a snake peeks out from under his rolled-up sleeve. A deep desire in me begins to bubble to the surface. I would like very much to see the rest of the tattoo.

  I close my eyes for a second, needing a moment of not looking at this god of a man in order to compose myself. This part is just a hunch and I’m not sure I want to ask him, but if I don’t, I’ll miss my opportunity. I bite my lip and then release it, cursing myself for giving away my hesitancy.

  “Do you have access to the port?” I ask.

  “Of course,” he states with a raised eyebrow.

  “What if…what if I had a shipping manifesto and it showed that cargo was arriving tonight that might contain some…additional items?”

  “Such as?”

  “Such as unapproved drugs that may or may not be sold on the black market.” My evidence is fairly solid, but I’m not one hundred percent sure.

  “Then, I would say you should call the police,” Conner quips as he stands and goes to pour himself another glass of scotch.

  “What if I don’t trust the police?”

  He turns and leans on a built-in wet bar. “Why not?”

  He has to know. The police chief in Baltimore has connections to the brotherhood as does the port authority police chief. “They have…connections,” I explain.

  “And what good am I in all of this?” he questions.

  “You have access to the port, and your father’s ships.”

  “My father?”

  “Yes…your father.”

  I can see an emotion briefly flash across his features. He doesn’t like his father. But why? Theo Sterling is an asshole. There’s no doubt about that, but I always assumed Conner was one too. Like father, like son. Could I be wrong?

  Conner glances over my shoulder, and I turn to see a giant brass antique clock.

  “You can drive,” he declares as he sets down his glass and walks out of the room.

  “I can what?” I ask as I follow him. Where’s he going in the middle of a conversation?

  I follow him into his garage. It’s immaculate. It doesn’t even look like a garage but rather a room. The floors don’t even appear to be concrete.

  He presses his thumb to a cabinet door and it pops open, revealing car keys neatly hung on hooks. He grabs one and hits the unlock button on the fob. He keeps his cars locked in his garage on this property. This man has some serious trust issues.

  I glance at the car that just beeped and my jaw drops. He tosses me the fob. Maybe I was wrong about the trust issues.

  “You want me to drive that?” I ask with a raised eyebrow.

  The car in question is a McLaren. It’s sleek and black and worth more money than my crappy one-bedroom condo in D.C.

  “You do know how to drive stick, yes?” he asks raising his own eyebrow. What. An. Asshole.

  I open the door and get in, running my hand along the steering wheel. This car is going to be fun to drive. I turn on the car. The garage door in front of us opens, although I’m not sure how that was activated as I haven’t even moved the car yet.

  “Where exactly are we going?” I inquire as I glance over at him.

  He strokes his nicely trimmed beard. “I’ve lost my motherfucking mind, so we’re going to my father’s shipyard.”

  “I’m sorry, what? Like, right now?” My grip on the steering wheel tightens as I realize he’s actually going to go with me. This could be my big story break. I’m not sure if I should trust him, yet a part of me does, and I have no idea why.

  He smirks and leans forward over the center console. “You wanted to go. I’m taking you. I’ve had a drink and don’t feel like driving, so guess who’s driving us?”

  I point to myself.

  “Bingo. Maybe you are smarter than I thought.”

  I glare at him. “You’re a real asshole, you know that?”

  He shrugs as he leans back in his seat. “I never claimed not to be an asshole, now, did I? I was going to check this out myself, but since you seem to be onto the same fact pattern as I am, I suppose, on this one issue, we can join forces.”

  “Oh, we can ‘join forces’?” I raise an eyebrow, and it’s returned with a look of death from Conner. How can a man I loathe be so fucking sexy when he’s pissed? Couldn’t the universe have made him a troll, so I could keep hating him and also not find him attractive?

  “What are you waiting for? Tick-tock, Vivienne. My offer expires in a minute unless you get us out of here. And you should hurry, because if you don’t, my security may follow us,” he adds with a wink. Fuck. Now I have to worry about being followed by good guys and bad guys. Just fucking perfect.

  “Hold on,” I say, returning his wink with one of my own as I peel out of the garage and down his long driveway.

  “Whoa!” he yelps as his hand comes down hard on my thigh and grips it tightly. I let off the gas a little and look over at him. He leaves his hand there for a long moment, and I can’t say I hate it.

  “What? If you didn’t want me taking full advantage of driving a car like this, then you should have handed over the keys to the beast you drove to the bar,” I explain as I drive us down his street, slowing so the gate can open once we reach the main road. He slowly peels his fingers off me, and I immediately miss the heat of his hand.

  “Do you know where to go?”
he asks.

  I nod. “At this time of night, it shouldn’t take more than an hour to get there…or less,” I add with a grin as I floor it.

  I glance over and find him grinning a little. Boys.

  “Care to tell me why you think that my father’s shipping company is somehow involved in alleged crimes?” he asks as I take an on-ramp onto I-95.

  “Like I said, I saw some documents.” Is he messing with me? He should know the answer to his own question. I feel like I’m being tested and I don’t fucking like it.

  “And is this going to be part of some article published this week in The Tribune?”

  I groan. “No.” I pause because I, unlike some people, don’t lie, well, mostly not. “It may be part of an investigative piece that I publish, eventually, but it’s nowhere near done yet.”

  “Good. I’ll help you this once, but you have to promise that anything I say to you is confidential and off the record,” he states. This once? I’m still shocked he’s helping me at all. He must want answers as badly as I do, hell, maybe even more.

  I look over at him. “Fine.” I don’t like agreeing to this, but maybe I can get him to come around later. Interviewing Conner Sterling would bring a certain dynamic to my story. Conner is a bit of an enigma, or at least that’s what I’m learning. After this evening, I might just hate him a little less, at least for now.

  Chapter 5

  Conner

  “Why journalism?” I ask once we’re on the beltway. I’m trying to distract myself from both her driving and my horrible rash decision to take us to my father’s shipyard while letting her drive my most expensive car.

  She’s quiet and for a moment I’m not sure she has even heard my question.

  “Rupert Clarington,” she states.

  “The famous investigative journalist? Didn’t he do some scathing expose on your grandfather when he was in office?”

  She nods.

  “I don’t get it,” I say.

  “He made me see my own family in a different light. Do you not understand how hard it is to turn someone’s entire vantage point upside down? But he did. He was good at his job and he’s the reason my grandfather never saw a second term.”

  “He’s also dead,” I mutter. I can only imagine his “accidental” death from falling off a ladder while repairing a broken security light at his horse barn was no accident at all. I remember my father’s whispered conversations around that time. The brotherhood was pissed, and Rupert was their target. First, they dug up every scandalous thing they could about him, which wasn’t much, and then when they couldn’t take him down by the harsh court of public opinion, they decided to get rid of him permanently, or I assume that’s what happened. The elite controls us, and we rarely know the endgame.

  “He is. And that just lit more of a fire under me to find the truth and not stop until I do,” she explains.

  “I imagine that your family doesn’t approve.”

  She looks over at me. I glance over for a moment. Our gazes lock for a fraction of a second before she looks back away.

  “No, my family doesn’t approve…of anything I do,” she confesses.

  “Well, I guess we have something in common,” I murmur.

  “Your father doesn’t approve of your life choices?” she prods.

  “Something like that.” I don’t want to say more because while I trust her more now than I did several hours ago, I don’t trust that what I say won’t somehow end up printed on the pages of The Tribune.

  “But, you’re successful and wealthy,” she says, motioning to the luxurious interior of the car.

  “Success and wealth aren’t exactly all that matters in my father’s world.”

  “What matters, then?”

  I sigh and run a hand over my neatly trimmed beard. “Power, wealth, and prestige matter, but most of all, loyalty and silence.”

  “The vow,” she says.

  I can’t stop my head from swiveling in her direction.

  She laughs at my reaction. “Don’t look so shocked. First, I was in a sorority, so I know how Greek life works. I’ve dug far enough to know that whoever is part of this ‘brotherhood’ is likely part of a more secretive part of it. And with all brotherhoods, you take some kind of vow, and I imagine the reward for loyalty and silence is the power, wealth, and prestige. Am I off base?”

  Her words echo in the car, and I can only hope the damn thing isn’t bugged. My new security team has been debugging things for weeks, but I don’t know the last time they swept for them in here. I should have made sure before we left. I internally curse myself for making a rash and uncalculated decision.

  I decide to switch the conversation back to her.

  “What about your brother?” I ask.

  “Interviewing the journalist?” she states with a knowing smile.

  “Perhaps, or perhaps I just want to know more about the woman driving my car,” I say as I feel myself sobering up at a faster rate than I thought possible.

  “I keep in touch with him and my grandmother.”

  “No one else?”

  She shakes her head. “Truthfully?” She pauses and we lock eyes again. I nod and she continues. “I think my grandmother is a pawn used to get intel from me, but my brother and I have an understanding. He doesn’t agree with me being out of line, but he also doesn’t approve of all the decisions our family has made. He just prefers the path of least resistance.”

  “He’s weak,” I rephrase.

  “He’s…more dependent upon them,” she clarifies. I wonder what she means by that, but I don’t press her further.

  “Do you trust others beyond Sebastian and Aiden?” she asks.

  I shake my head.

  “Why them?”

  I shrug. “I have my reasons. Who do you trust?”

  She looks straight ahead, and that answer is all the answer I need. “You trust no one,” I murmur in a bit of awe and also sadness for this woman I loathe. What a lonely existence.

  “I have friends. I don’t need some pity party. I just…there isn’t anyone that I trust one hundred percent,” she admits, her jaw tight as she speaks. She’s given away a chink in her armor and that surprises me. What else will Vivienne Westerly reveal tonight?

  “You aren’t how I thought you would be,” I admit.

  She looks over at me with narrowed eyes. “How exactly did you think I would be?”

  I smirk.

  “Oh, for the love of God. I don’t have a giant wart on my nose, and I don’t cast magic spells on my enemies,” she groans.

  I can’t fight the laugh that erupts from the depths of my chest. “Wow, you really took that all the way, now, didn’t you?”

  She glares at me, and it only makes me smirk more. Why does getting under her skin make me so damn happy? I decide it’s better if I don’t answer that question, because the reasons I had before tonight are not the ones I currently have.

  “Do you like being a journalist?” I ask.

  “Of course. Do you like being a lobbyist?”

  I shrug. “Sometimes.”

  “Sometimes?”

  “Yes. Does anyone love their job all the time?”

  “Yes.”

  I laugh again. “Who? I’d love to meet this person.”

  I’m a bit surprised when a far-off smile graces her face. Her features soften a bit, and she looks, even more beautiful.

  “What?”

  She widens her smile on what I can only suspect is a very happy memory. “My first year reporting, I was asked to cover a local story. There was a woman who was turning one hundred and two years old. I went to a house to interview her. Most people her age are in nursing homes, but she was still living in her home. She had a woman come in each day to help her, but she was still active and lucid. She made us sandwiches and iced tea, and we ate in her garden. It was the most beautiful garden that I’d ever seen. A little oasis here in the city. She was a florist and gardener. Her late husband and she had owned a little florist sh
op for sixty years. Her granddaughter had just recently taken over the business, but she still went in every few days to help out with arrangements. I asked her if she liked it and she said that she didn’t like it, she loved it and arranging and growing flowers was more than something she loved, it was her. She felt it defined her. I couldn’t believe that at first. I insisted there must have been at least one bad day here or there. She said no. She said she never viewed something going the way she didn’t want it to as bad; she said those days were just challenges and she liked challenges. She liked to see ways to solve problems, so those days were her most fun days. She was so optimistic and happy. She said doing what she did brought joy to people on their best and worst days and what better could she do with her life than spread joy. She died a year or so after that interview. She was buried in a local botanical garden where she was still volunteering on weekends right up till the end. I went to her funeral and person after person stood up and spoke of her absolute love of flowers. So, yes”—she turns to me—“that was someone that never had a bad day at her job.”

  “Well, that’s quite a story,” I state as I study her face.

  “She was quite a lady.”

  “Sounds like it.”

  I look back at the road. We’re getting close.

  “What do you think we’re going to find?” I ask.

  “I…don’t know exactly. I’m not sure how they are bringing the medicine in, I mean whether it’s coming in a pill form or liquid or disguised as something else,” she admits.

  Great. So not only are we looking for a needle in a haystack, we don’t even know if we’re looking for a needle. Sebastian and Aiden always say that I’m reactive, and this right now is proof of that. I should have asked what she knew before we left. There’s no way we are going to find what we are looking for, it’s an impossible task.

  We ride in silence for a while more until she turns off to the port in Baltimore. The roads back here are uneven and she laughs.

  “Uh, your utility vehicle might have been a better choice,” she states with an eye roll. I want so badly to bend her over my knee and smack her ass. Little does she know that this sleek, low-to-the-ground vehicle is easier to hide out here. My utility vehicle is giant and white.