Feisty Princess

I mean, what the hell was that in his office today, and why can’t I stop liking it so much?

It’s a horrible position to be in when you find your enemy insanely attractive.

The car comes to a stop, and the driver steps out of the car. This is it. No turning back now. I made a deal with a handsome as hell devil, and there’s no going back.

I take a deep breath before I grab my purse and give myself a little pep talk. “You can do this. Be strong. And treat him like any other man whore who needs to be destroyed.”

The driver opens the door and helps me out. I glance up at the towering building and stare for a moment at how impressive it is with its gleaming glass front. Leave it to King to own an apartment in one of the richest looking buildings in Lenox Hill.

“Good evening, Mrs. King. I’ve been expecting you.” The voice laced with a heavy Scottish accent startles me, and I quickly refocus my gaze onto an older doorman with a friendly face. He smiles at me while his salt and pepper hair pokes out from under his hat. A few seconds pass and he tilts his head when I don’t immediately respond, almost to question if I’m who he’s been waiting for. “You are Mrs. King, correct?”

Hearing the name ‘Mrs. King’ throws me for a bit of a loop. It actually does take a second for it to register that I am, in fact, Mrs. Alexander King, and the whole purpose of me living here is to make people believe that we are indeed a married couple.

I clear my throat before I square my shoulders, reminding myself that I’m doing this to secure my rightful future and that I need to play my part in this whole happily-ever-after illusion. God knows I don’t need to give Alexander any reason to argue with me. It seems that when we do that, we end up tearing at each other’s clothes. “That’s right. I believe my husband is expecting me.”

This seems to satisfy the old man. He gives me a curt nod and then opens the door for me. “Right this way, Madame.”

“Thank you . . .” I trail my words as I pass by him, unsure of his name.

“Darby,” he announces while still wearing his smile.

I smile in return, completely at ease with this man who seems to be extremely friendly. I don’t know how in the world the man keeps such a pleasant outlook considering he has one of the biggest pricks in Manhattan living in his place of employment. It’s bad enough I have to fetch Alexander’s coffee and whatever else he needs while being treated like crap. I can only imagine how unpleasant he must be toward Darby when he passes by him every day.

I make my way through the elegant lobby and listen to the heels of my shoes click on the marble tile as I head toward the elevator. When I press the up button, it occurs to me that I have no clue what floor Alexander’s apartment is on.

I turn toward the front door where Darby busies himself collecting my bags from the driver and placing them on a gold plated trolley. I bite my lip, unease suddenly rocking through me at the realization of how unprepared I am for this situation.

The panic I feel must be evident on my face because the moment the doorman pushes his cart up next to me, he asks, “Are you all right, Madame?”

I tuck a loose strand of my dark hair back behind my ear. “Oh, yes. I’m perfectly fine.”

Darby’s quiet for a few moments. “You know, I was a wee bit nervous the first night my bonny lass and I settled into our cottage together. I believe that’s normal for everyone when they get married.”

“Oh, I’m not—” The elevator dings cutting me off before I babble on how I’m not going out of my mind right now when, in fact, I am.

I step inside and move to the side so Darby can squeeze inside with my things.

Darby punches the ‘P’ button on the elevator, so I make a mental note to remember that for next time. “I don’t think you’ll have anything to worry about. Alex is a good lad.”

I bunch my brow together. Since I’ve met Alexander King, I’ve never heard anyone address him so informally, so this takes me aback and makes me a bit curious. “Have you worked for Alexander long?”

Darby nods. “Aye. The missus and me have worked for Alex’s family for the better part of thirty years now—since Alex was a wee babe. I think that’s about the time we moved to the States from Ottawa Valley. Aggie practically raised Alex and Diem, you know.”

That’s a lot of information to take in, but one thing definitely stood out to me about that story. “So when you say that you’ve worked for his family . . . do you mean that the Kings own this building?”

“Aye,” he answers. “It’s been in the King family for generations. When Alexander’s father inherited it, he decided to turn the penthouse into his family home.”

From the research I had done on Alexander, I discovered that his father was a very family-oriented man with a reputation of integrity. It was clear by all the photos I found of the two of them before Mr. King had passed away that Alexander and his father were close. So it doesn’t exactly surprise me that this building, much like his company, was passed on to his son too.

When the elevator’s doors open into the hall, only one door comes into view. It’s painted a soft cream color and trimmed in gold accents, making it very reminiscent of a much more regal era when paired with the red carpet that also contain gold trim. Just to the right of the door is a small box that appears to be an intercom. I stand back as Darby presses the call button to alert a bell on the other side of the door.