Page 5 of Emperor of Corruption
I shift to the side, and find myself level with a crisp white shirt and tasteful bowtie. My eyes rise a bit higher, and I come face to face with Killian King. Even in my four-inch heels, he’s significantly taller than me. Again, I’m struck by the severe power imbalance between us.
He’s bigger, stronger, older, and more powerful. Usually, that wouldn’t cow me. I’ve gone head to head with some high level individuals and come out on top—even won a prize off an expose on one of them—but right now, it does.
Killian offers me a kind smile that raises every single one of my alarm bells, because it’s perfectly polished but completely insincere. I don’t think anyone else would catch the insincerity, but it’s glaring to me.
“Lyra,” he says. I blink at his warm use of my first name. I was Miss Stewart earlier, but now, I’mLyra?The fuck is going on here?
“Mr. King.”
“I’m glad you could make it, albeit quite a while past what might be considered fashionably late.”
I lift a shoulder in a careless shrug. “I didn’t want to take more than a bit of your time. I don’t expect my last few questions will take long.”
“Nonsense. The gala is made brighter by your presence.”
Charming, charismatic, and oh-so-dangerous.
“Would you happen to have a moment to wrap up a few questions? I’d like to get a start on the article.”
“What’s the rush?” Killian asks pleasantly. “You only just got here. Why don’t you network a bit? I’m sure it could help your meager prospects.”
Meager prospects?It’s a jab, but it’s said with such a warm tone, I almost struggle to pick up on the context.
“I’m quite happy with my prospects, thank you.” I barely refrain from adding,prick.
“In any case, I’m regrettably not available at this precise moment. I had twenty minutes set aside for you at the start of the gala, but since you weren’t here… I’ll get back to you soon.”
The bastard is holding my lateness over my head. I don’t believe for one moment that he’s set aside any time specifically for me, but he’s reminding me that he holds the strings here. I can either dance for him or get in trouble with my boss.
Once again, he’s offering me a peek beneath the exterior he presents to the world. I’ve spoken with other reporters who have written about him and had interviews with him, and all of them praised how wonderful he was as a subject—forthcoming and earnest. Why is he showingmethis side? Is it really because I asked a single question out of turn, and pushed back just a little?
The bartender sets my drink down in front of me, tipping me a wink. I return it with a smile, and in the corner of my eye, I see Killan pin the bartender with a chilling glare.
“I’ll find you in a bit,” Killian says calmly. “Do enjoy yourself in the interim. The editor-in-chief of the New York Times is here—I could introduce you later, if you’re interested.” He cranes his head to look around the room. I follow his gaze, eyes landing on the NYT big boss. My heart speeds up at the prospect of an introduction—knowing him could do great things for my career.
“Ah, unfortunately he’s otherwise occupied, and I’d be loathe to disturb him,” Killian says, manufactured regret staining his tone. “You really should’ve come on time, Lyra.” Before I can respond, he floats away.
Mother. Fucker.
I down my drink in two gulps, turn to face the room, and do precisely what Killian invited; I network. I may disdain the way he’s taking jabs at me, but this is a good opportunity nonetheless, and I refuse to waste it. Had I known the caliber of people who would fill up this room, I would have come earlier. My stubbornness cost me two precious hours I could’ve used to work.
Close to an hour passes as I speak to various men and women, and Killian constantly loiters in the background, throwing me long glances but refusing to approach.
The vodka soda I downed starts pressing on my bladder, as does the flute of champagne that came after it, so I leave the room in search of a bathroom. After getting lost several times, I find one at the end of an abandoned hallway on the second floor… but not before passing a door that’s slightly cracked open, showing a glimpse of an office.
Killian’s office. Killian’spersonaloffice.
I may have stumbled on a goldmine. This feels somewhat like a sign from fate.
If I’m going to find something on Killian tonight, it’ll be in there. The office is away from the public eye. On another floor. I’m sure Killian wouldn’t leave anything horribly incriminating out in the open, but maybe I’ll find…somethingin his drawers. Something I can bring to Sarahalongside a request to do an expose on the mighty Killian King. She’ll probably say no, butGod,I want to try. Ihaveto try.
Killian’s dirty—I’m increasingly sure of it. Now, if I can prove it…
Bathroom first.Then, I’ll decide if it’s worth the risk. Even as I do my business and wash my hands in the opulent bathroom, as I run through the cons—which range from me getting caught and escorted away to Killian blacklisting me or doing something equally horrific—I can’t deny the allure of that office. What could I find in there?
This is the core issue with being an investigative reporter. Once I scent blood in the water, there’s very little I won’t do to find the source. I know that,logically, I should walk away. That’s the only way I’ll keep myself safe, secure, and away from the likes of Killian King.
Even as I tiptoe up to the office, glancing up and down the hall to ensure I’m alone, I continue telling myself towalk away. Snooping might turn up something valuable, but at what cost? What consequences will I face if I get caught?
