Page 16 of Vengeful King

Lachlan

It’s only been a few days since the decision was made to move forward with the marriage arrangement, but already, I’m sitting in my car, on my way to meet with the man proposing to become my father-in-law.

How quickly things move.

I feel like I’ve been working since I woke up, but that’s normal. I handle so much business every day that it all eventually becomes a blur. It’s never bothered me before; I know it’s my responsibility to handle things. I know I can do it.

But lately, I’ve been feeling restless—like I’m settling. As if I couldsettleby taking control of one of the biggest families in Boston.

The car pulls up to the place. It’s a hotel, Gold Tower, new and shiny. There’s a café on the rooftop, and I make my way there, carefully adjusting the cuffs of my sleeves and buttoning my suit jacket as I walk.

The elevator is gold, old-fashioned, with a neatly starched attendant by the buttons. He doesn’t ask where I’m going; he knows. I slide my hands into my pockets as I watch the floors fly by, waiting for the doors to open to the roof.

Finally, they do. I step out and into the fresh air, looking around the well-organized setup. It’s not crowded; the tables are spaced well, the perimeter of the roof lined with flourishing planters brimming with flowers. Overhead, there’s a gauzy canopy that does just enough to filter out some of the shining sun.

It’s certainly a gorgeous place.

A man approaches me—one I recognize, even if I’ve only met him once. Ezra Cross is the owner here, and the father of the woman I may be about to marry. He’s tall, obviously from a good family. Everything about his posture speaks to a cultured upbringing and physical prowess.

He has intelligent eyes, though I can see they lack the stain of things I’ve seen—of death, deals gone wrong, the underworld. Ezra Cross has blue eyes and the feel of a senator. He’s not a man from the world I’ve always inhabited.

But he doesn’t have to be, so long as he’s willing to look the other way.

“O’Reilly. Thank you for coming,” he says, offering his hand.

“Of course.” I smile, but it’s more like a mechanical movement than a feeling. “Shall we?”

He smiles. I know he’s probably wary of me, of my kind. But I know how to be a gentleman, and I know business. Cross is probably just glad that I’m playing the part he expects for his daughter.

That said, he could still decide against this entire thing. After all, it’s his daughter. She could end it all with tears. Something tells me he’s the kind of man that would do anything for his only child.

“Of course. Why don’t you join us?” Ezra gestures, guiding me toward his table.

I can see her even from here. As we approach, I notice the way she’s trying studiously not to be too interested. She smiles at her father, then looks back down at the table. She’s making tea of some kind, adding in sugar and milk.

“This is my daughter,” Cross says. There’s an unmistakable pride in his voice. “Naomi.”

“Miss Cross,” I say, tilting my head.

She’s younger than I thought she would be. Lovely. Maybe she’s twenty. There’s a sweetness to her face, something soft in her posture.

And I feel nothing.

It’s what I expected. All my musings about my brothers and their marriages were just that. I always knew my situation was different. There’s no potential for something between me and Naomi Cross. She’s a business setup. That’s all.

I don’t stoop so low as to be cold toward her, but I know there’s no reason to be polite. No reason to draw this out any longer than I need to. As naïve as she seems, I’m sure she knows this is just business. If she was expecting more, her father’s been lying to her.

I watch her murmur something to her father before she collects her teacup, ducking her head politely at me. She doesn’t meet my eye.

Not like Kate.

The thought comes suddenly; it startles me so much that I forget what I’m doing for a moment. I don’t know why I thought of that woman, but suddenly, the image of her dancing is in my head. She moved sensually, free, not self-conscious. Not at all like Naomi, so stiff and shy.

Not that it matters. I don’t know why it came to mind in the first place. I brush the thoughts aside and focus on the deal at hand.

Naomi leaves, and I sit down with Cross, settling in for what I know will be a tangled dance. The negotiation we’re hashing out is not an easy one.

“I need to know I’m not sticking my neck out. Or my daughter’s,” Cross says.

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