Page 47 of Emperor of Corruption
“We only accept reservations, not walk-ins,” she says primly.
“I’m very happy to hear that, since I’m here to meet Killian King. I believe there’s a reservation for two in your system.” I smile, baring my teeth. “I’m number two.”
I can’tstandit when people look down on me, simply because I came from meager beginnings. Killian King did, as well, but I’ll bet he doesn’t get looked down upon by staff.
Then again, he’s a billionaire, and I’m pulling injustenough to live semi-comfortably in New York City.
“Right,” the hostess repeats doubtfully. “Listen, this is a high-end establishment. Your off-brand dress and secondhand Jimmy Choos—not to mention that hideous bag—aren’t going to fool anyone. Mr. King hasn’t yet arrived for his reservation, and I suggest you leave before he does, otherwise he’ll be very displeased to see some slut posing as his plus-one…” she trails off at the same time that I hear footsteps behind me. A dark sort of energy washes over me, raising goosebumps on my arms and legs. My hands begin to tremble.
Killian.
“Mr. King,” the hostess chirps, plastering a bright smile in place of her sneer. “We have your table—”
“You’re fired.” Killian’s words are punctuated by his hand, which lands possessively on my waist. I startle, nearly jumping out of my skin. “Get out.”
“W-what?” the hostess stutters.
“You’ve been relieved of your duties. You’re dismissed. You’re inadequate.” Killian pauses. “You insulted my date. Get thefuckout.”
The hostess blinks ten times in a row, an expression of abject horror overcoming her face. A thrill travels through my body at her terror, a feeling of purepower. I despise Killian King, yet hearing him fire a woman for insulting me is heady.
“B-but—”
“Would you like to be backlisted from every reputable establishment, as well?” Killian asks threateningly. “If you say anotherword, not even gentleman’s clubs will take you. Now, I am going to takemy date toourtable, and you are going to get thefuckout. Send the manager to me before you go.”
He uses his hold on my waist to steer me past the restaurant’s entrance. A mixture of fear and appreciation twists my chest and fogs my thoughts.
I’m being escorted through a fine restaurant by a man who viciously assaulted me two nights ago,andfilmed the entire encounter for blackmail.
I’m being blackmailed by a man who just fired a woman for being rude to me.
What thehellam I supposed to make of that?
“I hope you didn’t give any credence to her words. You look beautiful.”
I swallow but can’t find it in myself to respond. I don’t want to thank him, because I wish hedidn’tfind me attractive. Then, I might not be stuck in this position. He might not have a sex tape that could ruin my life.
I still haven’t mustered the courage to look at Killian. But when he leads me to the very back of the dining hall and pulls open a curtain for me, revealing a private dining nook, I understand that I’ll have no choice.
The walls here are polished wood with a finely-carved banister. There’s a chandelier holdingcandlesabove us, and lights shining up from the floor. It’s intimate yet not claustrophobic, and the curtain lends the space a veneer of privacy.
From the way Killian’s staring at me, I’m inclined to believe the privacy will be put to excellent use.
Killian pulls out my seat for me, acting the part of a gentleman. I swallow and sit, trying to keep my trembling to a minimum. Being confined to close quarters with a man who can ruin me with a singlemessage, a man I have to please, isn’t pleasant. And if I disappoint or anger him, I’ll suffer unfathomable consequences.
Killian’s ass barely hits his seat before a knock comes beyond the curtain. The manager must be rapping his knuckles on a banister, asking for permission to come in.
I’m struck anew by the overwhelming force of Killian’s influence.
“Enter,” Killian says sharply.
A man wearing atuxedo—the manager, presumably—pulls aside the velvet curtain and steps in.
“Madame, monsieur,” he greets pleasantly. “Mr. King. It is a pleasure to have you gracing our dining room once more. Would you care to hear our lunch menu?”
“Please,” Killian says with a nod.
“Wonderful. To begin, we have a lovely charcuterie board for your enjoyment, paired with fresh rosemary-olive focaccia. The next course is a delicious tuna tartar prepared from fresh-caught tuna flown in just this morning. After that, we will have a decadent fillet with a pepper reduction, and dessert will be an assortment of gelatos and sorbets, all in bite-size portions. Would you care to see our wine list, or is your preference to have the chef send a glass with each course?”
