Coldhearted King: A Billionaire Workplace Romance (Empty Kingdom Book 1)

I wake to something hot pressed against my side. My eyes fly open and immediately find the woman curled up next to me, her mass of dark hair draped over my arm, the rest of it partially covering her face. Her long, dark eyelashes flutter against her cheeks as she dreams.

I’m not sure what came over me last night when I asked her to stay. No. That’s not true. I know exactly what I was thinking. I was thinking that I liked that she’d cooked for me. I liked that she’d laughed with me. I really liked what she’d let me do to her afterward. Having her with me after a long fucking week of work had felt good. More than good. I hadn’t wanted that feeling to go away.

I hadn’t wanted her to go. And I don’t know what the hell to do with that.

I slide myself away from her and out of bed. She makes a little whimper and curls into herself, and I want to crawl right back under the covers, roll her onto her back, and bury my head between her legs. My thoughts are all over the place right now, and I need to focus on something else.

After using the bathroom, I dress in my workout clothes and head to my personal gym. I spend the next hour pushing my body hard, all to keep myself from thinking about the woman in my bed. The one who keeps working her way further and further under my skin. I force myself to think about my plans for the weekend. Today is our monthly catch-up with Mom, an event which my brothers and I—and Mom as well, I’m sure—dread equally. It’s been even worse since Dad’s arrest. Mom’s doing her usual routine of ignoring anything even slightly unpleasant, while Roman, Tate, and I are there for appearance’s sake. As soon as lunch is over, we’ll all go our separate ways. Duty done for another month.

Ten minutes later, I put my weights on the rack and turn, stopping when I see the slender form standing in the doorway. My dick stirs at the sight of her in my T-shirt. Her nipples are clearly visible through the white cotton, and all I can think about is getting my mouth on them. Then I notice the way her fingers twist together in front of her. She’s uncertain about being here. Probably as uncertain as I am about having her here.

Delilah walks toward me, and I take in the soft sway of her hips. I wait for discomfort to overwhelm me with the urge to rush her out the door. But I just stand there and watch her come closer. Rather than telling her I’ll call Jonathan to take her home when she stops in front of me, I step toward her, wrap my hands around her ass, and yank her against me.

Her wide eyes look up at me, and I’m overcome with the need to strip that shirt from her body and fuck her right here on the gym floor. I fist my hand in her hair and tug back her head.

“Cole,” she says. “Do you want me to—”

“Do you want to come to lunch with my family today?”

Her lips part and she stares at me. “You want me to spend time with your family?”

It sounds ridiculous when she says it, and I don’t know what I was thinking by asking her, but instead of backtracking, I double down. “Yes. Do you have anything planned for today?”

“I was just going to do some work.”

“You work too hard,” I growl.

She laughs softly. “Like you can talk.”

I angle my head toward her, breathing her in. “Feel free to distract me.”

She stares up at me, something soft and warm blooming in her eyes. Then she crosses her arms, grasps the hem of her shirt, and tugs it over her head.

I DRIVE Delilah back to her apartment in my Maclaren so she can get changed. When she comes out dressed in a pretty blue sundress and high-heeled sandals, my fingers itch to slide the silky material up her thighs and sink into her. I’d love to take her back to my penthouse and spend all day in bed with her rather than go to this lunch, but appearances are all-important and our monthly family lunch must be maintained—a sign of our solidarity. It’s even more important after what Dad did.

I start the engine, pull into traffic, and head toward my family’s estate in Westchester County.

We drive in silence for a few minutes, the scenery outside the car window changing from the skyscrapers of Manhattan to leafy suburbs.

Delilah breaks the silence. “Will your brothers wonder why I’m there?”

I glance at her, taking in the furrow between her brows. Considering I’d surprised myself when I invited her, I’ve no doubt my family will be shocked, but the last thing I want to do is make her feel uncomfortable. “My brothers already know about you.”

“I know Tate does, but I didn’t realize they both do.” She bites her lip. “Won’t they think it’s strange that I’m with you today?”

Worry laces her voice, and I can’t help but feel a twinge of guilt.

“They will,” I admit, trying to keep my tone even. “But they won’t say anything.”

“And what about your mom? You didn’t tell her you were bringing me, did you?”

“No.” It’s better that way. At least she won’t have time to sharpen her claws. “Mom will be polite.” At least on the surface. I can’t imagine her reaction to me bringing a woman to lunch, let alone a woman who works for me. “Just don’t expect her to be like your mom. She’s not particularly . . . maternal.”

At this stage, Delilah’s probably wondering why I invited her. I’m not exactly painting an appealing picture of my family. But I can’t lie to her either. This won’t be a fun family catch-up. Maybe that’s why I invited her. Not because I particularly want to expose her to my family, but because I’m not prepared to give up the warmth of her presence in exchange for another cold meeting with them.

Delilah seems to sense my hesitation. “Is everything okay?”

I pause, then decide to tell her the truth. “These lunches aren’t exactly enjoyable. It’s just something we do to keep up appearances and fulfill our societal obligations. My mother likes to tell her friends that she spends quality time with her sons, and we go along with it because it’s good for business if we maintain a façade of family unity. Investors and shareholders like to think there’s a close-knit family running the company. But there’s no love lost between any of us. Basically, it’s just a matter of going through the motions until we can leave.”

“I’m sorry,” she says, and when I glance at her, sympathy shimmers in her eyes.

I shrug. “It’s just the way it is.”

“Well, I’ll do my best not to make things more uncomfortable.”

With the hand that’s been resting on the gearshift, I reach over and slide her dress up until I can curve my hand around her bare thigh. “You won’t.”

Twenty minutes later, I turn up the long gravel driveway. As we reach the end and the main house comes into view, Delilah’s mouth drops open. She peers out the window at the white columns flanking the entrance of the sprawling three-story Georgian mansion made of red brick.

She shakes her head in disbelief. “This is where you grew up?”

“When I wasn’t in boarding school.”

Her eyes widen as she turns to look at me. “I didn’t know you went to boarding school. Whereabouts?”

“In New Hampshire.”

“Wow. I can’t even imagine what that would be like. Although, I guess you had your brothers, at least.”

“No, I didn’t.”

“What do you mean?”

“Roman is five years older than me. By the time I was in high school, he’d started college. Tate went to school in Massachusetts.”

“Why did Tate go to a different school?”

Now’s not the time to get into Tate’s situation. “We should probably get inside.”

She keeps looking at me for a beat, then gives me an understanding smile. “Okay.”

Before she can unlatch her seatbelt and get out, I exit the car and round to her side so I can open her door for her.

I worry she won’t wait for me, but she does, accepting my outstretched hand and stepping out gracefully. Her fingers are warm in mine, and I can think of a hundred other things I’d rather be doing with her right now than this. But we’re here now, so I guide Delilah up the steps to where Peters is already holding the door for us.

“Good afternoon, Mr. King, ma’am,” he says.

I swear my parents chose Peters because he’s just as warm and affectionate as either of them. Which is to say, not at all. From his cool greeting, you’d never believe he’d known me since I was a child. Then again, my parents have never encouraged familiarity with any of our staff.

“Afternoon, Peters. Are we eating in the dining room or on the south lawn today?”

“The south lawn, sir.”

Delilah looks at me with wide eyes again; however, as we step into the large foyer, she transfers her deer-in-headlights gaze to the surrounding space. “Oh my god,” she whispers to herself as her hand flutters up to press against her chest.

I look around, seeing the place the way someone who is unfamiliar might. The foyer boasts twenty-four-foot ceilings, and the pale blond wood floor, white walls, and expansive windows fill the area with light. Directly in front of us, a wide staircase sweeps upward. With all the sun streaming in, the place should feel warm and inviting. But it doesn’t. At least, not to me. If I had memories of these rooms filled with love and laughter, it might feel like a family home, but I don’t have those memories. I have others.

My eyes go to the closed library door, but I turn away before the scene I witnessed there can play through my head.

We follow Peters to the back of the house, where glass doors lead onto the porch. My brothers are already seated at the table in the middle of the precisely manicured lawn.

Peters opens the door for us and stands to the side to let us pass. I step out, then turn back and see Delilah paused on the threshold. It hits me that this must be intimidating for her. Not thinking too hard about it, I reach out, thread my fingers through hers, and tug her forward. When she comes with no more hesitation, a strange warmth unfurls in my chest. We make our way across the lawn, with Delilah walking on her tiptoes so her heels don’t sink into the grass.

Noticing our approach, Tate and Roman look up. I can see their raised brows from here, but I ignore them. A moment later, Mom looks over her shoulder. She stiffens, but I keep moving forward, bringing Delilah with me.

“Cole,” Mom says as we draw closer, “I didn’t know you were bringing a guest.”

Her gaze drops to where my hand is joined with Delilah’s, and her lips thin. The intimacy of what I’m doing hits me with a sudden twist of discomfort in my gut. I let go as soon as we reach the table, using the excuse of pulling out Delilah’s chair for her. “Mom. This is Delilah.”

“Hello, Delilah.” Mom runs her silvery-blue eyes over Delilah, then twitches her lips into what’s supposed to be a smile.

“It’s very nice to meet you, Mrs. King,” Delilah says, her own smile far warmer than Mom’s.

“Good to see you again, Delilah,” Tate says, his lips curved into a smirk.

Roman just nods, his gaze coolly assessing as he watches Delilah sit gracefully in the chair I’ve pulled out for her. But then, that’s the way Roman looks at everyone.

I take a seat between Delilah and Mom, who takes a sip from her teacup and delicately puts it on the saucer. “So, Delilah, what is it you do?”

“I’m an architect.”

Mom’s blonde eyebrows arch. “An architect? You’re very young for that, aren’t you?”

“I completed my licensure early.”

“Delilah’s very talented.” Tate throws this in with a sly grin in my direction. “She’s working on the new hotel development.”

I don’t miss the way Mom’s eyes narrow. “You work for the company?”

“I work for Elite Architecture. We’re contracted to the King Group for the duration of the development.”

“I see.” Mom picks a bit of lint off the table before leveling me with a cold look I don’t acknowledge. I merely reach for the open bottle of wine and fill Delilah’s glass, followed by mine.

“Roman and Tate were just telling me how things are going with the development,” Mom says. “Apparently, there are some concerns with the investors?”

“They’re sitting back and waiting to see if we fail,” I respond. “As soon as we show them the final numbers, they’ll realize they’re going to make more money from us than ever before.”

“As long as you don’t allow yourself to get distracted,” she says, her gaze skimming over Delilah.

Delilah shifts in her seat, then reaches for her wineglass.

“I don’t get distracted,” I say, ignoring what sounds suspiciously like a muffled snort from Tate. “And besides, the people working for us are the best in the business. I don’t have any concerns about them dropping the ball.” My eyes meet Delilah’s, and she smiles at me.

The arrival of lunch breaks the tension. A troop of servants arrives, carrying plates and placing them in front of each of us. As usual, the food is exquisite and there’s a few minutes of silence as we all enjoy our meals. Unfortunately, it doesn’t last.

“When did you last speak to your father?” Mom asks.

I share a look with Tate and Roman, and it’s Roman who answers. “A few weeks ago. They’re still discussing a plea bargain, but he’s holding out.”

Mom snorts. “He’s being stubborn.”

“Don’t tell me you thought he’d go down without a fight?” Tate asks, amusement coloring his voice. Out of all of us, there’s the least love lost between him and Dad, for obvious reasons.

Mom sighs. “Well, hopefully all of this will blow over soon.”

I grit my teeth. God forbid anyone or anything disrupt her perfect, careless existence, let alone her husband’s arrest. She’s more worried about how the women at the country club look at her than the fact that her husband has no respect for her or his family.

The whole thing is a joke—sitting here and having lunch together, pretending we’re a happy family that gives a shit about each other. Because that’s all it is and all it’s ever been—a pretense.

“So, Delilah,” Mom starts up again, “is your family from New York?”

Delilah puts down her fork. “No. I grew up in North Carolina. Near Raleigh.”

“And what do your parents do, dear?”

“My mom is a hairdresser.”

Mom’s nostrils flare and her lips purse. I grit my teeth. She’s not even trying to hide her horror. “And your father?”

Delilah raises her chin and looks my mother straight in the eyes. “My father’s not around.”

God, this fucking woman. She’s not letting my mother intimidate her for a second. She’s not pandering to her or trying to win favor. She’s not ashamed of her upbringing. She’s proud of who she is, where she comes from, and who she loves. Her defiance is a refreshing change from the status-obsessed world I come from.

I catch Tate’s slow grin, and the way he’s looking at her pisses me off. I rest my arm on the back of her chair and trail my fingers up the side of her neck. Goose bumps ripple down her arms, and she cuts a glance in my direction. I give her a smile that promises a few good orgasms later, and her cheeks flush.

Mom’s expression is pinched. “That must have been . . . difficult.”

Delilah shrugs. “Mom worked very hard to give me a good life, and now I hope to do the same for her.”

“What do you mean?” Tate asks before I can, and I glare at him.

Delilah smiles in his direction, making my teeth grind again. “I’m saving up so that I can build a house for her. I’ve already started designing it. It’s going to be a surprise.”

I didn’t know that. But then, I haven’t bothered to ask her for many details of her life, have I?

“You’re obviously close to your mother,” Tate says. “I’ve always wondered what that’s like.” His lips curl, but I’d hardly call what his mouth is doing a smile.

“Uh . . .” Delilah shoots a glance at Mom, who doesn’t deign to acknowledge the comment. “Yes, we’re very close. It was just the two of us when I was growing up.”

“How sweet.” Mom sounds like she thinks it’s anything but sweet.

Delilah looks around the table, then at me. She still has a smile on her face, but I can see the uncertainty in her eyes. Considering my parents never did anything for us that didn’t serve themselves, the fact that my mother is trying to make Delilah feel bad about how she grew up makes red flash across my vision.

I’m about to claim an urgent meeting I’d forgotten about, but Delilah speaks up again. “I may not have grown up in a mansion”—she gestures toward the house behind us—“but my mom showed up for me every single time I needed her. As far as I’m concerned, that means more than anything money can buy.”

My mother narrows her gaze on Delilah, who merely picks up her fork and continues eating. Pride rushes through me. Since when has a woman stood up to my mother as directly and sincerely as Delilah just did? And what must it have been like growing up, knowing you had someone who cared about you that way? Someone who would put your needs above theirs. Someone who loved you more than money, power, or themselves.

Roman picks up the conversation, giving Delilah a break from being the focus of the conversation, although Mom’s gaze occasionally slides back to her. I have no idea what she’s thinking, since her face is frozen as much by lack of discernible emotion as it is by Botox. Roman, Tate, and I run over some numbers for the new project while Mom listens. Delilah tries to make small talk with her, but the replies she receives are cool and short at best. Delilah’s increasing discomfort distracts me from talking work with my brothers.

I was an idiot to think my mother would unbend enough to be courteous to a woman who doesn’t meet her wealth and power requirements. I should never have put Delilah in this situation. I don’t know if I’m angrier at myself or my mother.

It only takes one more curt response from Mom, and I’m done. I push my chair back and stand. “We’re going.”

Delilah rises as well. “Thank you for lunch, Mrs. King.” Her words may be calm, but tension radiates from her. How she manages to be so polite to the woman who has alternated between ignoring her and being borderline rude, I don’t know.

Fuck it. I thread my fingers through hers again and look over at Tate and Roman. “I’ll see you in the office.” Then I look at Mom. “I’ll see you next month.”

She’s staring at me in shock. “But Cole, we haven’t—”

Without bothering to wait for her to finish, I tug Delilah after me and we make our way back to the house. As soon as we get inside, I press her against the wall and skim my nose down her neck. “I’m sorry.”

Breathing in her sweet scent calms me. As does the way her arms go around me, her hands pressing against my back. “It’s okay. It wasn’t your fault.”

I let out a harsh laugh. “I shouldn’t have asked you to come. I know what she’s like.”

She’s silent for a moment, her hands smoothing up and down my tense muscles. “I can’t say I enjoyed the experience. But . . .” I pull back to look at her and feel a strange throb behind my sternum as her green eyes meet mine. “I’m glad you wanted me here.”

My erection presses hard and heavy against her stomach, and my need to fuck her, to bury myself in her so deeply she’ll never get me out, is nearly overwhelming. If I didn’t think my mother and brothers might decide to come inside any minute now, I’d strip her naked right here and push my way into her.

Instead, I lead her back through the house. When we get to the foyer, my gaze goes straight to the library door, my fingers tightening around Delilah’s.

“What room is that?” She points with her free hand. “And why does it bother you?”

I shoot her a surprised look.

“Both times we’ve come through here, you kind of glared at it.”

Even with my current bad mood, I almost smile. For some reason I don’t fully understand, I take her over there and swing the door open.

The too-familiar scent of leather-bound books, polished wood, and a hint of old paper invades my senses.

“Wow,” Delilah murmurs. “This is amazing.” She walks into the room, heading straight to the nearest bookshelf and running her finger along an embossed spine. “How many of these are first editions?”

“Too many to count.” I step alongside her. “It used to be my favorite room in the house when I was younger. I was one of the few people who ever used it.”

I sense her turn to me, but I don’t look at her. “What stopped it being your favorite?”

When I move past her and make my way to the center of the room, she follows me. It looks exactly as it did back then. Book-filled shelves line three walls, while the large windows in the fourth wall offer a view of the manicured grounds outside. At one end of the room, a large wooden desk dominates the space, surrounded by leather armchairs and a sofa. “I used to love coming here on rainy days and finding a new book to read.”

“I can imagine,” she says softly.

“I came down to do some reading one rainy day when I was about nine years old. When I opened the door, I saw Dad was already in here.” The unpleasant memory flashes through my mind—my father, reclining in one of the armchairs, shirt open, pants at his ankles, and his head thrown back as a woman’s head bobbed up and down between his legs. “He was getting a blow job. From our nanny.”

“Oh, god,” Delilah says. She moves closer until she’s pressed against my side. I look down at the sympathy swimming in her beautiful eyes. “That’s awful.”

“I was old enough to have a pretty good idea what was going on. Old enough to realize what he was doing was wrong. That there was some kind of betrayal happening.” I don’t go into detail. I don’t tell her I’d stood there, jaw agape, staring as he grabbed her head and shoved her down on him while he groaned. I don’t mention how horrified I was or that my face got hot and I had a sudden, shocking urge to cry—something I’d already learned was not acceptable. “I tried to shut the door before he saw me, but I wasn’t quick enough.” I give a humorless laugh. “He wasn’t even embarrassed at being caught. He just grinned and winked at me.”

Delilah moves to stand in front of me and slides her arms around my chest. I instinctively wrap my arms around her too. “I’m so sorry,” she says. “That must have been so confusing for you.”

“I couldn’t slam the door quick enough. I worried myself sick about whether I should tell Mom, wondering what she would do if she found out. Eventually, I confessed what I’d seen to Roman, and he told me that Mom already knew and didn’t care. Or maybe she cared once, but not enough to disrupt her life. Particularly since she was having her own affairs.”

“That’s so screwed up,” Delilah whispers.

I shake my head to dismiss the memories, not only of what I’d seen Dad doing, but also Roman’s disclosure of the truth about our family. I’d known my parents weren’t affectionate people, but until Roman spelled it out for me, I hadn’t realized it wasn’t just because they weren’t demonstrative. It was because they didn’t love—or even particularly like—each other. Or us.

That was the day I found out the truth about Tate, too. The whole thing had opened my eyes to reality—love is an illusion. As I grew up, it became even clearer. Relationships are basically business deals, children are considered investments, and affection is mostly a façade. In my world, at least.

I clear my throat. “Anyway, the library kind of lost its appeal. I avoided it after that.”

“That’s understandable,” Delilah says, tightening her arms around me. “I’m just sorry your dad was so selfish. That he took something special from you like that.”

Driven by instinct and need, I grip her chin and angle her face so I can kiss her. The warmth of her lips and the taste of her mouth drive out any other thoughts.

Her hands roam over my back, and she presses herself against me, sending a wave of heat rolling through me.

I want her again.

Fuck. When don’t I want her?

Just having her body against mine eases something inside me that seems like it’s been drawn tight for as long as I can remember. I drag my lips along her jaw until I reach the delicate skin by her ear. “Come home with me again tonight.”

She doesn’t say anything, just nods. Her eyes are hazy, cheeks flushed, mouth swollen from how hard I kissed her. She looks perfect. And suddenly I’m imagining what it might be like to have her with me like this all the time.

My ribs tighten around my lungs. I promised myself I would never get taken in by the illusion. I can’t start believing the lie that this can grow and become more—that it can last. That doesn’t happen in my world.

What if it can?

I close my eyes and claim her mouth again. I’d be stupid to let those thoughts take root.

What if it’s already too late?