King (4 page)

The
lights went down in the main room as the CEO of London Models Inc welcomed
Jason on stage to thunderous applause. His presence dominated the room, his
speech about support for upcoming British designers through the King Foundation
was humbling and humorous and I was utterly captivated, along with the rest of
the room. It appeared that Jason King was a man who shared his success and vast
resource to empower others to achieve their dreams.

 
He was currently blowing a rather wide hole in
my preconceptions of the arrogant, self obsessed egomaniac I thought he was,
and his delivery was powerful, charming and entrancing. If this was how he
pitched his campaigns, I wasn’t surprised he was infinitely more victorious
than me, and looking across at Tristan’s face, I knew my adversary had him too.
The thought depressed me. Despite the success of my plan to gatecrash the
event, I had landed myself in it with a little white lie which had come back to
bite me in style, and after that speech, it was definitely, irrevocably and
undoubtedly, round one to King. Maybe I should have stayed at home.

He
was stopped by an array of beautiful models on his way back to the table,
congratulating him and no doubt, trying to get his number, which irked me
slightly and I needed to get out of there. The evening had only served as a
stark reminder of his professional brilliance. It wasn’t as if I’d ever doubted
his ability, but he was infinitely better than even I had realised. I would
praise him on the wonderful speech and leave. He was smiling broadly at
Tristan, who rose to shake his hand as he approached the table and the two
conversed like old friends. I couldn’t hear the detail over the loud hum of
chatter in the room, but picked up enough to realise what was at the heart of
it, and my stomach sank.

 
Eventually, after soaking in the adulation, he
returned to his seat, leaning across to kiss my cheek softly in a strangely
affectionate gesture I was neither expecting nor prepared for, and my breath
hitched. “You supported him through the King Foundation when he was starting
out didn’t you?” The slight curve of his lip betrayed his answer before he spoke.
I was already dead in the water on this account and the smug smile on his face
was the final straw. “Great speech King” I hissed unable to stifle my growing
irritation, grabbing my bag and bidding my farewells to the rest of the table,
before marching into the foyer. I didn’t give him the satisfaction of another
glance, retrieving my wrap from the cloakroom and all but collapsing with a
huge sigh against the wall outside, gazing at the floor. He was just too damned
good at this.

I
didn’t look up as I heard the footsteps striding quickly across the concrete,
stopping abruptly in front of me, as he grabbed my chin, pulling my face up
roughly to meet his gaze, eyes dark endless pools, and burning into my own.
“Don’t say it” I sighed quietly, unable to disguise my jaded mood, as his mouth
crashed into mine with a kiss so passionate and powerful that for a moment it
buckled my knees. My body was revelling in the intense heat radiating from his
hard body and the way those beautiful soft lips caressed me, tongue expertly
exploring my mouth, as my heart pounded out of my chest. It was a few moments
before I came to my senses and pulled away, slapping his face, hard. I turned
to hail a taxi as he stood staring open mouthed at me, a strange frown
flickering across his brow. What the hell did he think he was doing?

Chapter
3

The
next morning, I was a still a confused, irritated and frustrated mess, avoiding
everyone including Katie, unable to reveal my humiliation at what had happened
last night. I had been so excited about this account but from the relationship
King already had with the designer, the pitch would probably be an exercise in
futility, just as the Castle vodka one had been. A part of me had loved that
kiss, revelling in the intensity of it, and I couldn’t deny that my body had
responded with a ferocity that was frighteningly unfamiliar. Unfortunately, a
bigger part of me just hated him, the man who was scuppering my professional
efforts on almost a daily basis, and to such an extent I had begun to wonder if
it was his personal mission to destroy my reputation.

 
It was gone three o’ clock when I returned to
my desk to find the large box dominating the space. I assumed it was something
to do with a current campaign but when I saw what was inside, my heart stopped.
It was the ‘Michaela’ dress from Tristan’s collection. I opened the envelope
which accompanied it, nestling in the soft pale tissue, pulling out the cream
card embossed with two simple words.

Sorry.
King.

My stomach
was churning, the humiliation of last night and the reality of my dream account
slipping through my fingers overwhelming me, and there was no way I could push
the bubbling anger back. I put the lid back on the box, punching the button for
the elevator, marching straight out of the lobby and right into the gleaming
reception of King Marketing next door. “I’m here to see Mr King” I announced,
trying hard to keep my cool. It was hardly the receptionists fault. “Is he
expecting you?” “I doubt he’ll be surprised to see me, tell him Smith is here”.
I plastered on a fake smile as she dialled the internal number. “Miss Smith?”
she said waiting for an answer “just Smith” I smiled as she hit me with a
puzzled stare. “Floor 20, go straight up, he’s on the right, you can’t miss it”
she smiled gently, replacing the receiver. My stomach was exploding with
nerves, barely contained fury and anticipation as I made my way up. I walked
straight past Margaret, his personal secretary, barging into his huge
impressive office without even bothering to knock, as he fixed me with his
gaze, gesturing for me to sit. I didn’t. “What a lovely surprise Smith” he
smiled. I didn’t return it, slamming the box on his desk.

“Doesn’t
it fit?” he grinned before I could speak. “Maybe you should lay off the
desserts” he finished, smirking at me, which only succeeded in fuelling my
irritation and I felt like screaming at him. I was way off kilter and
overreacting, but I couldn’t stop myself. The man was under my skin and I
seriously needed to calm down, if only a little. “I can’t accept that” I
shouted as he raised an eyebrow and it was hard to tell whether he was annoyed
or amused. The dress was worth over £5000.
“Why not?
I
dropped you in it with Tristan, it’s the least I could do”. No apology for the
kiss then? I seethed inwardly. “Stay away from me King” I spat, turning towards
the door.

There
was a lot more I wanted to say as I made my way to leave, but my heart was
pounding and I wasn’t altogether sure I’d get it all out without slapping him
again. Not for the first time, he had me on the back foot, agitated and
reeling. This whole thing just wasn’t my style. I was normally so placid and
level headed, but he seemed to have a unique ability to create a reaction
within me that was utterly dramatic, overemotional and verging on histrionic.
As I reached for the handle, his strong hand covered mine and he spun me around
effectively pinning me against the solid wood, his arms resting on the door at
either side of my head, his towering frame bearing down on me. The only thing I
could focus on were the beautiful blue eyes and soft full lips that were
tantalisingly close, and although every conscious thought was screaming
otherwise, I was desperate for him to kiss me again. My heart was pounding as
he leaned in and I caught his delicious woody scent, goose bumps flaring on my
skin. “I’m not sure that’s going to be possible” he growled, suddenly moving
away, my ragged breathing and heaving chest betraying my fraught emotions as I
grabbed the handle and left King Marketing as quickly as my still swollen ankle
would allow.

I
stood on the street, gasping and panting, a mass of mixed up jumbled emotions
running through my brain and for a few moments I wasn’t sure what to do, just
standing there, as the throng of pedestrians jostled their way past and
manoeuvred around me. I was angry and frustrated, irritated beyond measure, all
the things I usually was around King, but today there was something else. I had
wanted him to kiss me. I had actually wanted him to kiss me. What the hell was
I thinking?

I
regained my composure as best I could and made my way back to the office,
stopping at the small kitchen to make myself a cup of tea in an effort to calm
down and continue my day with the professionalism I was renowned for. I wasn’t
about to allow Jason bloody King to affect that too. Katie rushed in as soon as
she saw me. “What’s going on?” she eyed me sympathetically. “You looked like
you were about to explode before. I’ve never seen you like this
Lotty
,
do
you want to talk about it?” I nodded
slowly,
I really
needed an outside perspective on this whole scenario before I drove myself
insane with it.
“Wine bar after work?”
I managed a
small smile, stirring five sugars into my tea as she raised her eyebrows
grinning. “You really are wound up aren’t you?” she offered, laughing gently.
It was common knowledge, that the number of sugars in my tea was directly
proportional to my current mood or the state of my nerves. Castle vodka had
been a three sugar day, best buddy was a zero. It was fair to say, a five sugar
brew was about as bad as it got.

I
tried to get through the afternoon, pushing away the visions of Kings face,
handsome and smouldering, bearing down on me against the door in his office and
it was a task that was easier said than done, and not helped by the numerous
Google alerts that persisted in popping up after I had programmed them into my
computer yesterday. ‘King Foundation to back teenage entrepreneur scheme’ was
one, ‘Jason King and
Tamsin
Lloyd’ was another,
boasting an amazing picture of him and the famous supermodel leaving last
night’s event together. Right after he had tried to kiss me. What a prick, I
sighed to myself, shutting down the computer and praying that the end of the
day would roll around quickly. Alison called for an update on the pitch for the
fashion account, utterly bemused by my less than enthusiastic attitude. I
wasn’t sure whether to share the information that I had even stiffer
competition than usual, but decided to hold on to it for now. My boss was less
than impressed at my current dip in performance and the last thing I needed was
another showdown with anyone.

Eventually
it was time to leave and as Katie and I took our usual booth, I was relieved to
find Jason King nowhere in sight. “Go on” she smiled kindly as I sipped on my
Chardonnay, revealing the lengths I had gone to last night to crash the London
Models event, the information I’d uncovered, the kiss, the dress and the little
run in that had taken place in Kings office this afternoon as she sat there
slack jawed.

 
“Well fuck me” she grinned eventually “When
are you going to shag him?” she laughed and it was my turn to be slack jawed,
my shock preventing any words from forming as I shook my head. “Oh come on
Lotty
, it’s so obvious. If you want my advice, the only way
around this is to sleep with him, get him out of your system and move on” she
laughed as we were interrupted by a waitress who approached the table smiling.
“The gentleman at the bar asked me to send these over” she gushed, looking over
her shoulder, enamoured by the smirking, dark haired God leaning casually
against a stool as he raised his glass. Katie raised hers back, mouthing the
words ‘thank you’,
then
turned to grin at me as I put
my head in my hands. He had to be kidding me.

“You’re
going to have to help me think of another plan Katie, I’m not doing it” I said
eventually, feeling the weight of Kings
eyes
all over
me. “I don’t see why” she looked at him, before turning her attention back on
me. “He is mighty fine and you’ve got to admit, there is no way he is going to
be anything other than awesome in the sack” she laughed blowing out in an
exaggerated gesture and I couldn’t help but laugh back. I looked across at the
bar,
relieved he was facing the opposite way and took the
opportunity to drink him in. Strong broad shoulders, muscular, tall and dark
with a face to make angels weep and if the speech last night was anything to go
by, much more charming and humble than I’d ever given him credit for. Maybe she
was right. There would definitely be worse ways to spend an evening, and I
blushed at the thought, much to the amusement of Katie who simply said “that’s
settled then”.

We
proceeded to drink way too much wine, avoiding all conversation about Jason
King, concentrating instead on how we could blow the fashion campaign out of
the water. I couldn’t back
out,
I had to run with it
so it had to be unique, new, different and better than anything my nemesis
could dream up. Katie had some fabulous ideas, at least they seemed fabulous
two bottles of wine in, and we arranged to run them by some of the creative’s
first thing in the morning, providing we could remember them. We left two hours
later, feeling enthusiastic, encouraged and more than a little tipsy, and as I
looked across at the bar again, I noticed he had gone.

The
meetings went well and the creative’s loved the idea of recreating a catwalk
for the pitch itself. We would have to negotiate that Tristan’s team came to us
to see it and it would be a significant investment to win the account. I wasn’t
sure Alison would sanction it, particularly on my current performance. A
solitary dog food commercial had seen me fall significantly down the Grayson
executives sales rankings in the last eight weeks, so I was particularly
impressed when she called me into her office just before six. Clearly word had
spread. “We’re giving the fashion pitch to Ian Anderson” she said as I looked
up at her incredulous. Fucking what? I had won more pitches than anyone for
this company in the twelve months I’d worked here, only slipping recently when
I was head to head with Jason King and I was pretty sure none of my colleagues
would have fared any better on that front. At thirty years old the man owned
King Marketing, one of the most successful agencies in London and was already a
legend.