The King - S.R. Jones Page 0,31
you, okay? You’re far too controlling. I don’t want that; we would never work. I just need some financial support, until I figure things out.”
“You can figure things out at my place. Don’t worry,” I say as I hold my hands up. “No strings. I’m not interested in you in that way. But you’re the mother of my child, and I will do right by you both.”
She laughs, and it’s got a nervous edge to it. “K, really, you don’t need to do this. Just some money will be fine. I can’t model looking like this, and I’m not getting freebies anymore. We can work something out once the baby is born so you have proper visitation rights, but I need my own space. I only need a loan, to pay off some debt, clear the mortgage, set me and the baby up right. Of course you’ll have paternity rights, but for now, I need some financial help. You’ve got more money than you know what to do with.” She leans in close and lowers her voice to a whisper. “You’ve got billions, K. I just want a couple million. It’s not a lot for the mother of your child.”
“Call me K one more time and I’ll slap you. Now listen carefully because you don’t seem to be taking in what I’m telling you. You’re staying with me,” I say. “That’s it. Come on.”
“Now?”
“Yes, now.”
“No, I’ll come tomorrow.”
“Now,” I growl, and she jumps as if I’ve fired a gun.
She looks like shit, and I don’t trust her to take care of herself or the baby properly. We hit the sidewalk, and I put my hand on the base of her spine, steering her toward my car, idling a few feet away. I have a driver tonight, and so I climb in the back after Liza.
Once we are underway, I take out my phone and send a text to a fixer I have here in London. I tell him to organize three men to patrol the property and a housekeeper who can cook. I want them all in place in the morning.
Normally, I do shit for myself. I cook for myself and Michael, and clean up after him, which is a lot because he still makes a mess like he did as a teenager. I have a man who lives with us, and has worked for me for years. A sort of unofficial butler, called Derek. He organizes the house, and for a while spent a lot of time looking out for Michael, which is the real reason Yulia and I hired him in the first place. Then there’s a cleaner who comes in four times a week, and a gardener, plus someone to clean the pools, inside and out, and that’s it. The rest of it, I do for myself. Now, though, I need to make sure Liza is eating properly when I’m not there, and that she’s safe. To be honest, the men are more to keep her in than anyone else out. I don’t understand what’s going on with her, and I don’t trust her.
We arrive at the house, and Michael opens the door before I can get the key in or enter the code.
“Just on my way out,” he says. Then he stops and stares at Liza.
“I know you,” he says, mouth open like a damn fish.
She giggles and smiles. “A lot of people do. I’m a model,” she says.
“Instagram model,” I correct, disparagingly.
I’m being a dick because she’s actually very famous and successful at what she does. Or, she was.
“You’re amazing, my friends are gonna be sick jealous I met you.” Michael laughs, and then his eyes track down to Liza’s belly and widen as he looks from her to me and back again.
Yeah, there’s no fooling this kid. Damn it.
“Well, I’ll see you later, Dad,” he says with a hard glare my way.
When he’s gone, Liza crosses her arms over her chest and narrows her eyes. “I don’t have anything here. This is ridiculous, Konstantin. What the hell? Let me go home.”
“No. You’re staying, and you’ll be comfortable. I’ve hired a housekeeper who will cater to your every whim, so long as it is healthy. And tomorrow, I have some men joining my team who will bring you whatever you want from home.”
“I don’t like this, I feel like a prisoner.”
“Welcome to my world,” I snap. “Now, do you want something to eat?”
“No, I do not.”
“A bath?”
“No.”
“Okay, let me show you to your room.”
I lead