King (12 page)

It
was what I had worked towards all my life, against the odds and through the
obstacles and she was absolutely right. “Alright, no need to lay the guilt on
so thick” I smiled. “I’ll come, but can we hit the treasure trove first?”
“Absolutely” she grinned as we ducked out of sight, changing in minutes into
the most fabulous outfits from the Tristan Wright pitch that remarkably no one
had noticed. A skyscraper pair of heels and I was ready to go, as she looked me
over. “You look fucking fabulous and you’re up for ‘campaign of the year’, it
doesn’t get any better than this” and my returning smile
was
genuine. She knew I was apprehensive, and she also knew why.

What
she didn’t know is that last time I’d seen him I was crying my heart out on a
sun lounger, threatening to be a submissive to a rugby player, just so Jason
King would consider fucking me again. God I was ridiculous, the only saving
grace was that I hadn’t actually gone ahead and done it.

I
took a deep breath, walking into the wine bar to a huge cheer from the Grayson
quarter of the room and I smiled broadly. I knew without looking that the King
Marketing contingent were on my left and despite my internal pleas not to, I
couldn’t help a glance to see if he was there. I saw him immediately, gazing at
me from the bar and throwing me the most dazzling smile that almost knocked me
off balance and despite Katie willing me forward, I froze, rooted to the spot
with my stomach in knots and my heart in my mouth for what seemed like an
eternity. I wasn’t sure I could do this. “Give me a minute Katie” I swallowed
hard and turned to make my way out of the door feeling like I’d been hit by a
train. A gorgeous train, but a train nevertheless.

“Are
you OK?” she followed as I nodded. “Yeah I just need some air, go and tell them
I’ve forgotten something and when Alison’s tab runs out, the champers is on
me”. She grinned, rubbing my arm reassuringly as I made my way outside the wine
bar, looking across to the little cake shop and cafe, wishing I could swap
places. My eyes were already stinging with tears as I leant back across the
wall, closing them and breathing deeply, trying to swallow them back. I could
imagine Ian Anderson’s reaction if he saw me crying, ‘stupid emotional women’
or some such. I hated anyone seeing me like this, particularly at work and
especially on a day that should be one of the happiest of my professional
career.

The
awards would be stressful and we’d find out whether we’d won, or not. From now
until then I should be relishing the experience and floating on cloud nine,
with abundant hope in my veins that I would pick up the prize that would secure
me a great career and plum accounts for the rest of my days. But I wasn’t. I
was thinking about Jason King, whose scent I caught on a gust of wind, and who
was staring at me intently as I opened my eyes.

His
hand was beside my face on the wall as I looked into beautiful blue eyes,
eclipsed by deep pools of the darkest black as he gazed down at me. “Please
Jason don’t” I sighed, completely affected by the towering perfect male
specimen leaning into me. “I’m sorry
Charlotte,
you
have no idea how hard this is for me. I just wanted to come and congratulate
you”. His voice was tinged with an undeniable sadness and he looked as torn as
I felt.

I
couldn’t peel my gaze away, but as tears began to re-form in my eyes, thoughts
turned to the people waiting for me inside. Katie was right, this wasn’t just
about me,
it
was for them, for all of us. “You too” I
whispered quietly, pushing gently past him and making my way into the bustling
wine bar. He made no attempt to move or follow me, his body language betraying
that he was just as cut up about this as I was, which made the whole thing
infinitely worse. If he could just be King, arrogant, irritating, frustrating
bastard, I could probably deal with it a damn sight better, but until he could
open up to me, there was absolutely nothing I could do.

I
made a good effort of appearing happy for the rest of the evening, only Katie
and Sasha detecting I was faking my euphoria as I plied the team with champagne
to celebrate the nomination. “We’re in the Mercedes pitch” Alison leant into me
towards the end of the evening “and Grayson and I both want you to do it”. I
couldn’t help a beaming smile back. It looked like I was back in favour and
back on the plum pitches. “When is it for?” I smiled, hoping it would be well
after the forthcoming awards. “Just after the awards, the team have already had
the brief” she winked and I knew right then she had rumbled my plan. After all,
it was Alison and not Grayson who would be seeing the revenue from my small and
medium victorious pitches adding up, and only she would know which exec was
being put forward.

“Who’s
getting Mercedes” Ian interjected, clearly eavesdropping on the conversation.
“Charlotte” Alison said firmly as he eyed me over with disdain, shaking his
head. “I’ll be speaking to Grayson about that” he spat, challenging Alison as
though it were his God given right to work the big accounts. “It was Grayson’s
decision” came her confident retort as Ian walked out of the door, Alison and I
both watching the back of his well cut grey suit disappearing into the night.
“I think you might have put his nose out of joint” I said, raising my eyebrows
at her as she shrugged and walked away.

This
was welcome news, my little team would be delighted and I would make sure that
as many of my loyal band as possible got to work on this one. It would be high
end, big budget and the type of campaign that looked very good on the CV for a
long time. The only downside, I knew it would mean going head to head with King
again.

By
the following week, I began to feel slightly better. Things were coming
together. I had secured Mercedes, been nominated for campaign of the year and I
knew the little pitches I had been working my arse off to secure must have got
me closer to Ian Anderson and in with a shot at Exec of the Year. The flurry of
last minute jobs had all gone well, and my merry band of undercover helpers had
proved beyond a doubt that when it came to brilliant creative, a workload that
would challenge their superiors and a dedication to secrecy, that they were
more than up to the job.
Especially Sasha.
She’d told
me that King had questioned her mercilessly every night about what I was
working on. I was glad he’d picked on her. The full Jason King charm offensive
could be pretty irresistible as I knew to my cost, but unless he’d changed into
a man who liked to be pinned down and submit to a woman in thigh high boots and
a fetish for doling out pain, she wouldn’t cave, and that scenario seemed
somewhat unlikely.

I
avoided the wine bar in an effort to avoid him, much to the disgust of Katie,
but by late Thursday afternoon, failing to make pre boiled eggs seem like
anything anyone might want to buy, I was no longer able to resist the calling
of the cream cheese frosted carrot cake that had taunted me relentlessly from
the window of the little cafe all week, and I headed over there.

I
was still thinking about him, but it wasn’t a five sugar day, so I stuck to
two, grabbing a complimentary magazine in an effort to distract my brain from
eggs. It was usually when my best ideas would come, but today it wasn’t enough
to distract me from other thoughts that would flash involuntary into my brain,
and were certainly not helped by the glossy full page photograph of
Tamsin
Lloyd looking up adoringly at Jason King that now
confronted me. He looked utterly beautiful and was sporting an ‘I’ve bagged a
supermodel’ expression. I shut the magazine and flung it unceremoniously across
the table, pushing away the cake I could no longer stomach and put my head in
my hands.

The
truth was that even the damned photograph bothered me a lot more than it
should, and all thoughts of Jason King were proving harder to shake than I’d
ever imagined. “It’s not what you think Charlotte” came the soft low voice
behind me, pulling me from my thoughts, as I raised my eyes straight into the
gaze of the man himself that hit me with such an intensity it felt like my
heart exploded. He sat beside me without permission, tucking into my discarded
carrot cake, a small smile tickling the side of his lips.

This
had to be a wind up, he didn’t even like cake. “Please sit down and help
yourself
to my dessert” I muttered sarcastically as he
watched me, chuckling softly. “You owe me cake” he grinned, winking as my stomach
flipped at the memories of the fateful evening spent in the creative space of
King Marketing where I had eaten chocolate and vanilla decadence, and he had
eaten me.

 
It provoked the most exquisite feelings,
leaving me even more confused about my emotional entanglement with my nemesis
and his emotional attachment to me. Or rather lack of it. I also remembered how
he’d left me and run to
Tamsin
Lloyd, supermodel. I
gazed at the floor, blushing slightly and unsure of how to handle this,
humiliated at what had happened since.

“What
do you want King?” I said eventually, turning closely to assess his reaction.
“You’ve already said you don’t want to take things forward with me, you won’t
introduce me to that lifestyle,
so
what the fuck are
you doing here?”

The
fierceness and longing in his eyes were like a call to my body, and I forced
myself to slide further away from him, down the seat in an effort to quell my
responsiveness. “It’s not easy to stay away” he purred sexily, his low
seductive voice, melting my insides whilst my logical brain wanted to slap him.

I
stood, grabbing my handbag. “Well I’ll make it easy for you King, because
you’re being a dick and this just isn’t fair” I said firmly, making my way out
of the little cafe and one hundred yards down the street outside, before I was
grabbed by my elbows and tugged around, straight into the rock hard abs of
Jason King.

The
truth of it was, when I was that close, feeling him, the masculine woody scent
invading my senses, my defences were powerless to resist, my body responding
involuntarily, arching into him even as I screamed at myself internally to pull
away. The conflict of emotions threatened to overpower my resolve and tears
began to glaze my eyes as he cupped my face gently, forcing me to meet his
gaze.

 
“We need to talk” he said firmly, beckoning
the dark black car with tinted windows parked further down the street. “There’s
nothing to say” I responded quietly, looking away as his eyes burned into me.
It wasn’t true and I knew it. There was plenty to say and I was desperate for
answers about why he wouldn’t or couldn’t introduce me to his lifestyle, why he
wouldn’t take things forward, not to mention what the hell was going on with
Tamsin
Lloyd, but I was equally as sure there was no point
discussing any of it. I was under no illusion that he had absolutely meant what
he’d told me at the party.

“Like
hell there isn’t Smith” he growled, opening the back door to the vehicle as his
driver sat stoically in the front seat, ignoring the scene unfolding on the
street outside. “Get in” he growled, his tone brokering no argument as I stood
shaking my head. “I’ve got work to do for tomorrow
King,
I haven’t even started the pitch”. I knew he wouldn’t argue with that. He was
at the pinnacle of his game and a man that took work and money very, very
seriously.

 
“What is it?” he asked, eyeing me
suspiciously, increasing his grip on my arm. “Pre boiled eggs” I whispered,
embarrassed, as he looked at me incredulously, his open mouth and furrowed brow
betraying his disdain as he picked me up, carrying me into the car and placing
me gently on the seat, closing the door and locking it behind us, before he
released me.

 
“Drive” he said firmly to the capped
chauffeur, closing the partition for privacy as I glared at him stunned.
“You’re a caveman King” I screamed in annoyance at my partial kidnap, the
throbbing between my legs alerting me to the disconcerting fact that I’d also
found it a major turn on. “You have no fucking idea” he grinned wickedly. Sexy,
irritating bastard I thought, as we stared each other out.

“I
want to talk about us, Smith. But firstly, why on earth are you pitching eggs?”
A statement which immediately got my defences up.
There was one reason I was reduced to pitching pre boiled eggs and he was sat
right in front of me.
“Because I can’t afford to be a glory
hunter King when you keep outpitching me.
It’s not getting me anywhere,
ask Ian Anderson” I
spat
back coldly, as he studied
me closely. “I’ll help you with the pitch if you hear me out”. “Fine” I replied,
trying to sound a lot more nonplussed than I actually was. I may get my answers
and I’d hit a brick wall with the
eggs,
I bet he could
even make those sound deliciously sexy. He was the best there was and I needed
his help, but he wasn’t about to get it all on his own terms.

“What’s
the deal with the supermodel King, are you fucking her?” “No” he said sternly,
offering no more detail, as I pulled a scowl in exasperation, irritated and
gazing out of the window at the familiar London sights.

“Are
you going to go to another party Charlotte?” he asked gently as I turned to
look at him. My initial decision had been to go for Jason, but I couldn’t deny
I was intrigued and wanted to explore the opportunity. Our recent encounters
had reminded me exactly what I’d been missing for the last twelve months and
there was no way I was about to leave it as long again. “Yes” I answered,
certain that someday I would, unsure where the conversation was going, my
stomach somersaulting with the small hope he may have changed his mind. But I
couldn’t rule out the possibility that he was simply revelling in my prolonged
irritation and frustration.