The King - S.R. Jones Page 0,22

she likes those preppy types. Rich Oxbridge students with floppy hair. Ugh, what is it with her and those young Conservatives she always falls for?”

“I don’t know,” I snap, impatient now. “Do you want to know or what?”

“Okay, chill, bitch.” She laughs. “Please, doth tell.”

“You know the two guys I went back with the other night? The ones we’re always seeing at the club? I think Vanessa might have screwed one of their mates?”

“Yeah?”

“Well, the guy I hooked up with took me to this huge house; I mean massive. Like millionaire shit, right? We had … horribly bad sex, and the next morning I woke up alone. I went downstairs, and our new boss found me in his kitchen. Michael, the guy Vanessa has fancied for ages, is our new boss’ son!”

“What?” Suzy practically shrieks. “Michael? Our Michael? From Studio?” She’s talking about one of the clubs our crowd frequents. “The one who is smart and, well, he’s kind of preppy if you ask me. He can’t be that hunk of muscle’s son? No way! Oh my God, and you fucked someone in his house. You’re in so much shit.”

“It gets worse,” I say with a groan. “He found me swigging orange juice out of the carton in his kitchen, like some sort of savage. Then he gave me a lift back to Camden. He was so horrible about me and assumed I’d had sex with his stepson. I got mad, and when I got out of the car, I leaned in and told him his stepson was shit in bed, and then, I left him with the parting shot, like father, like son.”

I hide my head in my hands as the horror at the situation I find myself in washes over me all over again. “Oh, yeah, and I kicked his car, which is a Merc that I’m pretty sure costs about a hundred thousand, give or take, and I kicked it hard enough to mark his door. Before I stormed off, like a child.”

“Oh my God. Fuck.” Suzy is shaking her head when I look up. “You’re so getting fired.”

“I know.” I shake my head too. “Which means I can’t afford rent, and so I lose my apartment, and I’m going to end up living back at my grandparents.”

I can’t do that to them. I love them both to bits, and living with them is no hardship, but the worry they’d feel over me getting fired and the financial toll would be a burden I don’t want them to have. My grandpa is sick, and he shouldn’t have to deal with my crap. He’s literally the only man who’s been there for me through my life. The only one. He has always been a gentle, kind guiding force. Sadly, because Mum was such a screw up, I didn’t see as much of them as I’d have liked when I was younger, as she’d always forget to take me when it was planned for me to stay. Every Wednesday, though, without fail, my grandad would meet me outside the school gates and give me a pound for sweets, take me to the local shop, and then we’d go for a walk as we shared the sweets between us. Those afternoons were the highlight of my week.

“Bitch, listen to me, you’ve got to grovel. Go in there when he calls you in to talk and beg.” Suzy brings me back to the moment. “Say you’re sorry, tell him … tell him you weren’t in your right mind because your fiancé cheated on you. Go full-on sob story. In fact, make yourself cry.”

“I can’t just make myself cry,” I tell her. “Although, to be honest, the way I’m feeling, crying might be easy.”

“Cassie?” A slim woman with a hard face who could be anywhere from mid-thirties to mid-fifties approaches my desk.

“Yes?”

“Mr. Silvanov will see you now.”

Oh shit.

Suzy makes an odd strangled sound, and I realize the cow is laughing at me. Some friend. I’m genuinely terrified, and the best she can do is laugh?

I nod at the stern woman standing by my desk, as I attempt to swallow down my terror.

“Knock on the boardroom door when you’re ready; he’s expecting you. Would you like a coffee?”

I shake my head. “No thanks.” I’ll throw it up if I take one sip, I know it.

Suzy watches me the whole time, her face a picture as with shaking hands I send a few documents to the printer. Hoping that if I show how good

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