Chapter 12

12

Knox

"This is unacceptable." My assistant flounces into the room. "I will not have you dictating what I wear to the office... Sir ."

She had to tack on the ‘Sir' at the end again, didn't she? Bet she does it on purpose, knowing how much it turns me on. My cock springs up, ready for some action. This, despite the fact I jerked off last night and twice today. Just looking at her ensures I'm painfully hard. Fuck.

It's been a week since she almost came on my foot. A week filled with dreams in which I‘ve done unspeakable things to her. Things if I told her, she'd be scandalized. Though perhaps she might enjoy it, too, given her response to that scene at the royal reception. And if I did share more with her, I'm sure I'd sully her further. She has no idea what I'm capable of, and I need to keep it that way. I shove the thoughts aside and fix her with a cool gaze.

We're in my office, and I've been at work since six a.m. Conference calls with East Asia, followed by Europe, mean I've been in virtual meetings for three hours straight. I admit, I welcome the intrusion, but I'm not letting her know that. I told her not to disturb me and I knew she was stewing at her desk. Finally, when she couldn't stop herself, she decided to confront me. The fact that she has the courage to do so thrills me.

It excites me to realize she has the gumption to go toe-to-toe with me. But what she's forgotten is that she doesn't set the agenda. I do. I continue to ignore her and focus on my computer screen. The seconds stretch and turn into minutes. When I don't look at her, I sense her stiffen. I don't have to see her gorgeous features to know that she feels neglected that I haven't spoken to her all day.

"If, by delivering a wardrobe full of new clothes to me, you're trying to tell me how to dress, it's not gonna work," she fumes.

She's referring to the fact that I took the liberty of stopping by the leading department store in the city and choosing a range of office clothes which were appropriate for her to wear to work. I had it delivered to her late last evening.

There's no mistaking the challenge in her voice. The stiff lines of her shoulder, the rigid way she holds herself—all of it tells me this is a woman who's upset.

I finally raise my gaze to her, and my attention is drawn to her curves. She's nowhere as thin as the women I was normally seen with, but her figure is so much more alluring. So much more enticing. And tempting. So very appealing. It would be so easy to fall for her. To take her as my submissive and mold her into the kind of woman who'd be perfect for me.

A-a-and she'd never be able to bear the level of kinkiness I want to inflect on her. Oh, how I want to bruise her pristine flesh with my bites and licks. How I want to tie her up, whip her, and gag her so she can only communicate with me through those expressive eyes. How I want to bend her over every surface in my office and spank that lush bottom, so she carries the permanent imprint of my fingers. How I want her on her knees, taking my cock down her throat. How I want her helpless and mewling and out of her head with pleasure, begging for more. How satisfying it felt to have her following my directions last night. Seeing her almost fall apart as she brought herself to near orgasm. And then, sadist that I am, I stopped her from going over the edge.

I saw the subservience in her stance, saw how she lowered herself over my foot, felt the fierce satisfaction in knowing I could prolong her anticipation in a future orgasm, and that spurred me on. How I'd love to break her, and in doing so, break myself apart for her. I stiffen. Not only would I be opening myself up to her, but I'd also be giving her the power to hurt me. She's not going to stick around once she knows exactly how much of a kinky bastard I am. That I'm a beast who not only looks like one, but also had the disposition to go with it. And I don't mean just in my business dealings.

No, entertaining this train of thought is wrong, and dangerous. I cannot subject her to my twisted tastes. She's too pure, too much of an angel to be put through what I have in mind. I only have to see her for my thoughts to fall into a tailspin. All the more reason for her to stay out of reach.

And allow another man to reap the benefits of my edging? It's a sobering thought, one which turns my stomach and has the bile rising in my throat. I swallow it down, tamp down on my errant line of thinking, and force myself to focus.

I have to ensure I put enough barriers between us, so I'm never tempted to own her. I redrew the employee-boss line for her as much as for me. And I must do my best to stay within the parameters I set between us. I lean back in my seat slowly, and sense her go completely still.

And when I glare at her, she pales. "S-sorry, I didn't mean to go off like that."

"No, you're not sorry," I drawl.

"I... I'm not?"

I shake my head slowly. "You interrupted me because you felt ignored. Because you want me to notice you. Because you want me to punish you. And just for that, I'm not going to."

She blinks. "You think I'm trying to get you to punish me. And to punish me, you're not going to punish me?"

I nod. "You wanted my attention? You have it now."

She swallows, then squares her shoulders. "You should know, I can't accept the entire... Boatload of clothes you had delivered to my place yesterday evening."

I hold up my forefinger. "Firstly, it doesn't mean anything that the clothes were sent to you. Secondly"—she begins to speak, but I silence her with— "as I've already explained, and I will repeat this for the last time, the clothes are so you can be dressed appropriately, as befits your status as my representative."

"Oh." She deflates a little. "I see."

"You may leave, Kelly." I purposely call her by the wrong name. Another way to reinforce that she doesn't mean anything to me. That she's one in an extensive line of assistants who've worked for me. My words hit home, for her features crumple. My heart squeezes in my chest, but I ignore it.

She turns to go. And because I'm a bastard and want to make sure I drive the wedge between us deeper, I call after her, "And make sure I'm not disturbed again."

An hour later she walks into my office. "Your grandfather insists on seeing you. I assume it's okay to interrupt you?" she asks in a tight voice. By the tone of her voice, I can tell she's pissed at me from our earlier exchange.

I glance up in time to see Arthur amble into my office. He draws abreast with her, locks his hands behind his back, and rocks back on his heels.

"To be fair, I hinted that if she didn't let me through, it might affect her paycheck and yours," Gramps snipes.

"I... I'm sorry, Sir." My assistant's features are contrite. There's disappointment lurking in her eyes. She knows she didn't follow my orders. But I don't blame her for that.

My grandfather clears his throat. When I glance at him, it's to find he's looking between me and her with interest.

Canny bastard. No doubt, he senses the chemistry between me and my assistant. I need to defuse the situation in a way that removes that idea from his mind.

"Thank you for seeing my grandfather in, Ms. Donnelly," I murmur in a laid-back tone. I called her by her real surname, a gesture not lost on her, for she blinks in surprise. And when I jerk my chin in the direction of the doorway, she spins around and stomps out of my office.

I allow my lips to pull back on one side. She deserves to be punished for that. Only, I told myself I wasn't going to touch her. Damn! I channel my anger into the look I throw in the direction of my grandfather. "Why are you here?" I scowl by way of greeting.

He has the gall to look hurt. "Can't I come to check how my favorite grandson is doing?"

I snort, "Is that the line you used with my brothers and my uncle before springing the condition about them having to get married?"

Arthur doesn't look surprised by my outburst. "May I?" He gestures to the chair opposite mine. Without waiting for an answer, he drops into it, then sighs. "At my age, and given my condition?—"

"The doc said you're responding well to treatment and that the disease is in remission," I point out. My grandfather was diagnosed with stage 3 lung cancer a few months ago, but his condition has improved dramatically since he started treatment to keep it in check.

He waves his hand, "I'm fine. Let's talk about something else."

"If it's my wedding, you should know, I'm not going to agree to a rushed marriage, like my brothers and uncle." I'm referring to Edward and Nathan, who're technically my half-brothers but whom I've come to regard as siblings, and my uncle Quentin. Arthur had a hand in marrying them off. "And if it's about my inheritance, you can keep it. And I don't care much for the CEO title, either. Nothing's stopping me from leaving here and starting my own company from the money my mother left behind."

He blinks slowly.

While the Davenport legacy brings with it billions, my mother was rich, in her own right. She left each of her sons a small inheritance—enough to give me the seed money for starting a midsized enterprise of my own—and he knows it. I can tell he's surprised, for he lowers his chin to his chest, then nods slowly.

"You're smarter than them when it comes to steering your future," he finally says. "And I should have known that I couldn't hold your title or your trust fund against you, to make you agree to a wedding."

I place the tips of my fingers together. "But you're here, which leads me to think you believe you have something else to negotiate with."

Again, he doesn't look surprised. The chair creaks as he leans back. My brothers and I get our height and our broad build from him. Our looks, on the other hand, come from the women—my grandmother and my mother were both bona fide beauty queens .

My mother won the Miss Universe title before marrying my father and settling down. The looks I inherited had stood me in good stead with the ladies—until shrapnel ripped through my face and showed me just how shallow most of them were. Not her, though. My assistant never seems to find me repulsive. She also isn't put off by my detached demeanor. I shove that out of my mind, once again, focusing on my grandfather.

"Of all your brothers, you're the one who carries the most hurt," he muses.

I scowl, "But Ryot?—"

"Is yet to recover from the death of his wife, I'm aware. You, however, carry the hurt on your body. He chooses not to forget his past. You, on the other hand"—he tilts his head—"are reminded of it every time you look at yourself in the mirror."

I'm not sure how to react. I didn't expect the old man to make such an astute observation.

He must notice the surprise on my features, for his eyes gleam. "Imelda's been pushing me to get in touch with my feelings. Guess it shows, huh?"

Imelda's his Harley-driving girlfriend who takes no shit from him. And the old man seems to genuinely be invested in the relationship, too. It's the first time I've seen him forge an authentic connection with anyone, my grandmother included.

"I still don't trust you," I drawl.

"I wouldn't either, given my track record in how I got your brothers and your uncle to obey my wishes. Although, it has worked out well for all of them."

He's right. They are happily married. Disgustingly so. All of them weighed down by the ol' ball and chain, and seemingly willingly. I don't plan on making myself another statistic on that list.

Once more, he seems to read my thoughts, for he holds up his hands, "I'm not here to force you into any kind of marriage. However?—"

And here it comes.

"However, I'm aware of how much you love the Davenport property in Cumbria."

The ol' geezer clocked that. I shouldn't be surprised. He didn't get to be the Chairman of the Davenport Group and hold onto the position, despite the board trying to overthrow him a few times, without being at the top of his game. I tilt my head, waiting for him to elaborate. I bet that was only his opening salvo.

He leans back in his chair and places the tips of his fingers together. "And much as you may deny it, I believe that other than Nathan, you're the one most keen on forging a career within the Davenport Group. Being the CEO of the media division and exploring the opportunities new media has to offer is something that interests you greatly. Throw in the Cumbria property and?—"

"So, you did come to negotiate my future?" I growl.

"Consider it an ultimatum."

"An ultimatum?" I lower my arms to my side and tilt back my chair slowly.

Arthur nods. "Get married within the month, and I'll not only confirm you as the CEO of the media division, but I'll also hand the Cumbria house over to you."

"You're joking!" I laugh.

"You know better than that. In fact, I'll make it easy for you."

"Oh?" I frown.

"Since I'm aware you don't have a woman in mind to get married to?—"

I begin to speak, but he shakes his head. "Don't bother denying it; I'm aware of the love lives of all of my grandsons."

I narrow my gaze. "So, you're admitting you keep tabs on us?"

"You boys are my future and responsible for propagating my bloodline; it's natural that I do." He drums the arm of his chair. "And as I was saying, I'll make this easy on you."

"I can't wait to hear what you have to say," I drawl.

He ignores my sarcasm completely. "I have someone lined up for you, who I think would be appropriate for you."

It doesn't come as a surprise to hear him propose this. Arthur has made it clear, he wants all of his sons and grandsons settled as soon as possible, and he's not above arranging our marriages, if necessary. My older brothers hustled into proposing marriage to women of their choosing. That they happened to fall in love with their wives is beside the point. I made it clear to Arthur, I don't intend on settling down anytime soon. Only problem is, it resulted in his taking my words as a challenge. He doubled down in his efforts to get me married off.

Still, I pretend to be taken aback by his suggestion. "You're asking me to have an arranged marriage?"

He holds up his hand. "I'd like to call it a marriage of convenience. You'll get the CEO title and the property you love so much, and she'll get access to all the benefits that come from being married into the Davenport clan. Don't you want to know who the woman is?" Before I can respond, he adds, "Her name is Priscilla Whittington, by the way."

"Whittington?" I frown. "She's?—"

"Toren Whittington's sister."

Toren's the scion of the Whittington family. He's also CEO of the Whittington Group. If there's a close competitor to the Davenports, it's the Whittingtons.

"We've discussed that it makes sense to have her marry into our family so we can join our fortunes and put the long-running feud between our families to rest." Arthur taps his fingers on his armrest.

"Do you realize how parochial you sound?" When he begins to speak, this time, I'm the one who raises my hand. "Don't bother replying. We both know you're a manipulative bastard who has only one thing on his mind."

"My family's welfare," he has the temerity to reply.

"I was going to say the Davenport Group's future, but what-fucking-ever." I roll my neck. "Let's get one thing straight." I lean forward in my seat. "I may not believe in love or marriage, but when it comes to my future, I choose who my wife is going to be, even if it's in name alone. I saw how you manipulated my brothers and uncle, and I'm not going to give you that chance with my life."

Gramps raises his hands, his features folded into an expression of innocence. "Whatever you say, grandson. And it's not like I want to put in the extra work involved in arranging your marriage. But if you don't get married within four weeks?—"

"Yeah, yeah"—I wave my hand—"you have a bride lined up for me. I heard you the first time."

"Did you?" He searches my features. Manipulative bastard that he is, I know he's not going to let this one go, and sure enough, when he speaks, I know I'm right. "It's heartening that, unlike your brothers, you don't believe in love?—"

I snort, "Coming from someone who's currently dating and clearly, in love?—"

"She's not the one I married. I married your grandmother because?—"

"She brought her father's group of companies, not to mention, her own inheritance, which added to your net worth. I'm aware," I interject.

"She gave me the sons I wanted. Not all of them turned out to be worthwhile. My grandsons, on the other hand… There's hope for you lot, so it wasn't completely in vain."

"Should I be grateful for that?" I scoff.

He shrugs. "Gratitude is for pussies. All I need from you is a sperm deposit in the right receptacle, and at the right time, so it bears fruit."

And that is my grandfather. And you wonder why I'm screwed up?

The door to my office opens. I'm about to tell my assistant off for letting someone else in, but I see her face and correctly read the uncertainty on it. When I see who's with her, I nod in her direction. Without words, I convey that she did the right thing in letting this person in, and my assistant reads my expression correctly, for her shoulders relax. It's eerie how she can read my mind. Something no one else can do. Goes to show that she's a good assistant, is all. Doesn't mean anything else. My assistant leaves.

I lean back in my seat. "I get it. Every action has an equal and opposite reaction. And you want to make sure I marry and use it as a platform for my procreation?"

"Exactly," Arthur says in a pleased tone.

"But you're not going to be able to do that with your current girlfriend, so that relationship doesn't matter?"

Arthur's forehead creases. He appears to be thinking through the answer, then nods slowly. "Imelda's unique. But sadly, she's past child-bearing age, so she's someone pleasant enough to spend time with, but as for anything else?" He shakes his head. "Nope, I won't be marrying her anytime soon."

"Good to know what your real thoughts are about our relationship," a new voice rings out from by the door .

Arthur swivels around in his seat and his entire body freezes. "I-Imelda?" he croaks.

His motorcycle jacket and shit-kickers wearing girlfriend squeezes her helmet between her hands. I'm sure she's going to fling it at him, but instead, her shoulders slump. "I thought you'd changed. And no, I wouldn't say it was our relationship that softened you, but I hoped a brush with death might knock some sense into you; guess I was wrong."

"Imelda, honey—please hear me out." He jumps to his feet and rushes toward her.

She shakes her head. "Oh, fuck off, old man. I can do much better than you, but I thought I'd give you a chance. My mistake."

"No, no, you have to understand; I was talking to my grandson metaphorically."

"Oh?" she asks in a mild voice. "You were lying to your grandson?"

I stifle a chuckle. This woman is something else. And she's good for my grandfather. Too bad, I saw her at the doorway and goaded Arthur into revealing his true thoughts about her. Best she sees what an arse he is, right?

"No, I wasn't. I mean—" Arthur comes to a standstill a few feet away from her. "I mean, I was, but not exactly. I?—"

Imelda laughs, the sound bitter in the space. "Stuff it. I don't know why I wasted my time on you, but suffice it to say, this relationship has passed its expiry date. Goodbye, Arthur." She pivots and walks out. The door snicks shut behind her.

Arthur draws in a sharp breath, then turns to me "I'd say I'm upset with you for not telling me Imelda was listening in on our conversation, but you've shown me that, of all my grandsons, you're the one who's closest to me in terms of being conniving."

Guilty as charged. And no, I'm not apologetic for what I did. Imelda deserved to know Arthur's true nature. On the other hand, fuck if I want to be compared to him . But I keep my mouth shut and put an expression of polite disinterest on my face. While I take risks, I'm not foolish enough to underestimate my opponents, and definitely not my canny grandfather.

He swivels and walks to the door, then stops and glances at me. "You have one month to find someone to marry, Knox. Else you get hitched to Priscilla Whittington."