Coldhearted King: Chapter 6

My fingers tremble as I smooth down my navy-blue pencil skirt with one hand, my paperwork and notebook clutched in the other. The team is gathered outside the large wooden doors of the meeting room, waiting to be summoned. This is our big day, and the pressure is weighing on all of us. Paul has reassured us we’ve refined our proposal to perfection, and I know he has faith in me for my part, but that doesn’t stop my nerves from taking over.

As we wait for our turn to present, Philippa, our project liaison, sidles up and inserts herself between Paul and me.

“I just heard that the COO is here,” she whispers, more to Paul than to me. “He’s sitting in on all the presentations.”

Paul frowns and rubs his chin. His gaze meets mine over the top of Philippa’s blonde head. “I know I said you could do the section on sustainability, Delilah, but if the COO’s in the room, it might be better if I do it all. You understand, right?”

“I can handle it,” I protest. “I’ve been preparing for the last three weeks.”

“I understand that, but in this situation, I’m sure the partners will expect me to do the whole presentation.”

Disappointment fills me, but I nod. He’s the project manager, after all, and it’s likely that the COO of the King Group is a man who will relate more to Paul’s seasoned professional demeanor and seniority than my youthful enthusiasm—even though I specialize in sustainable design.

I ignore the slightly smug tilt to Philippa’s smile. I don’t know what I’ve done to annoy the icily beautiful English woman, but she seemed to take a dislike to me from the moment she transferred from our UK office two months ago. At least she won’t be with us full time if we get this job. She’ll be busy coordinating with other teams and projects within the firm.

This isn’t the time to worry about her, though. I’ve got more important things to think about. Like helping Elite Architecture secure this project.

The doors open, and a man sticks his head out. “They’re ready for you.”

My pulse leaps and I smooth down my skirt one more time. Years of non-stop study and interning at multiple architectural firms haven’t quite prepared me for my first big proposal, and this is one of the biggest out there—a hotel chain with initial development sites in ten major US cities.

I trail Paul into the room, which is bright and spacious, with large windows showing off the incredible view from the fifty-third floor of King Plaza. Nerves squirm in my stomach as I look around at the serious men and women surrounding the massive table.

My gaze reaches the far end and all my muscles lock up, the air freezing in my lungs as I jerk to a halt. A pair of cold blue eyes stare back at me. Eyes that were seared into my brain only a month ago.

It can’t be him. It can’t.

One of my team members jostles past me, and I jolt into motion again, forcing my feet to continue moving toward the table. I frantically glance at the man, searching for some discrepancy within his features. Something, anything, to tell me this isn’t the person who took my virginity during a night I’m not sure I’ll ever forget.

But the way his eyes narrow on me tells me I won’t find it.

The intensity in his gaze floods me with memories: the things he said to me as he made me come with his mouth and fingers; his low, dark voice murmuring filthy words in my ear as he thrust into me; his mouth between my legs afterward, giving me another orgasm; the lazy stroke of his tongue soothing the sting his body had left behind.

After that third orgasm, when I’d been lying there exhausted and wrung out, I realized I had no idea how a one-night stand was supposed to end. I’d thanked him, my cheeks blazing as I tried to figure out the etiquette for that kind of thing. Then I’d rushed out of his suite and down to the foyer of the hotel to call a rideshare, even though he’d offered to call a car for me.

Now I’m seeing him again in the very last place I ever expected. My throat dries and I wrench my attention from him and focus on finding an empty seat as another harsh blush burns across my skin.

I can’t believe this is happening. How is it possible that I slept with the King Group’s chief of operations and didn’t know it? Maybe I’m jumping to conclusions. After all, when we first got word we’d be putting a proposal together for this project, I’d looked up both the CEO and the COO of the company, and it wasn’t Cole’s picture I saw. Although . . . now that I think about it, I can see a resemblance between him and the man I remember from the photo.

I steal another look at him as I make my way down the table, pull out a chair, and sit. The older, far more portly man beside Cole keeps him locked in conversation, so I take the opportunity while he’s distracted to observe him more closely.

And now my throat is dry for another reason.

If I thought the Cole who lived in my memory was gorgeous, seeing him in his impeccably tailored suit at the head of this enormous table is absolutely panty-melting. Everyone focuses on him, either overtly or covertly, and he’s all power and control. He exudes the confidence you’d expect from a man in charge of thousands of people and numerous multi-million-dollar real estate projects around the world. Based on what I know about the King Group, Cole has to be a billionaire.

I’m in hospitality. That’s what he’d said that night.

I huff out a breath. While he wasn’t outright lying, considering his actual position within the company, he definitely stretched the truth.

Cole’s eyes flash my way, a bright blue that sears into me and sends a jolt of adrenaline through my veins. I jerk my gaze away. It’s only when I focus on Paul, sitting several seats down from Cole, that my stomach clenches. The true horror of this situation hits me. I’m stuck in a room with Cole . . . and my boyfriend. The same boyfriend who’d been an ex when I told Cole—god, I have to make sure to call him Mr. King now—all about being dumped. Except not a week after that night, Paul had turned up at my apartment, asking for a do-over and saying he hadn’t known what he was thinking.

I wasn’t sure if I wanted to give him a second chance, but his sincere regret had eased some of the hurt I’d felt at his rejection. Of course, then there was the matter of telling him I was no longer a virgin. He’d pouted for a while, but I told him he had no choice but to take it or leave it, and I guess he came to terms with it because he asked me out to dinner, and a few days later, he stayed the night.

But since I didn’t even know who Cole was until now, there’s no way Paul has a clue. And that’s how it has to stay.

I turn away from them, reaching for the glass of water that’s been set at each position at the table and taking a desperate gulp. Even though I’m not looking at Cole anymore, his intimidating presence almost has a weight of its own. Like the heavy air that precedes an approaching thunderstorm, it makes my skin tingle, raising goose bumps along my arms and the back of my neck.

Needing something to do with my hands, I square my notebook and paperwork in front of me, place my pen on top of the pile, then take it off and position it alongside. A moment later, I pick it up and put it on top again. Only when I have nothing else to fiddle with—and I’m certain his attention will have shifted elsewhere—do I dare to glance up the table.

He’s still staring at me, even while the man next to him leans forward and talks earnestly at him. But that hard, blue gaze doesn’t leave mine.

I swallow and look away. Why does he seem so angry?

I certainly hadn’t been expecting to run into him again. I’d all but forgotten about him.

No, that’s a lie.

Fantasies of that night have continued to run through my head, and they only get worse after Paul rolls off me and goes to sleep. Then I lie awake, trying to work out why my body doesn’t respond to him the same way it responded to Cole.

But that’s just what they are––fantasies. The memory of a moment when I let go of my overthinking and just experienced.

And what an experience it was.

I shake my head to clear it. I can’t think about that. Not now, and definitely not here, when the man in question is sitting only feet from me.

And unhappy about it, apparently.

Whatever his problem is, I hope it won’t affect our proposal. I can’t imagine someone like Cole letting a meaningless physical encounter—which is what it most likely was to him, if not to me—influence his decision making.

Conversation around the table stops as Cole—Mr. King—rises from his seat. “Thank you for coming today.” The deep, shockingly familiar voice sends a shiver through me. As if every one of my nerve endings remembers when that dark, silky tone was whispering dirty things in my ear while its owner drove my body to heights of pleasure it hadn’t experienced before—or since.

I clench my pen in my fist. Stop it.

“This development is a priority for the King Group,” Cole continues, “and we’ll be assigning significant resources to it. The team of whichever architectural company we partner with will relocate to this building for the duration of the project.”

I twitch in my seat. Maybe it won’t be a good thing if our proposal is chosen. The thought of running into him on a regular basis is less than appealing.

But I can’t think like that.

This is a huge opportunity for the firm and for me personally. Very few architects have the chance to work on such a prestigious, high-profile development at my age. Having this on my résumé would be a major boost for my career. I won’t let what’s now looking like a colossal mistake on my part ruin this opportunity.

Cole finishes his opening words and nods at Paul, who smooths down his tie and rises to his feet.

I keep my attention fixed on him as he runs through our presentation. The whole time he’s listing our firm’s qualifications and the key features of our proposal, my eyes fight to slide to the right. The side of my face heats, as if I can sense Cole’s gaze on me. Which is ridiculous. I’m sure he’s riveted by Paul’s polished delivery.

But after a few minutes, my focus slips and my eyes are once more drawn his way. A spark sizzles through me as our gazes collide again. This time he has one arm folded across his chest, the elbow of the other resting on top of it as he rubs his thumb slowly back and forth over his lower lip. His brows are pulled low over his narrowed eyes, and I’m worried he’s too busy glaring at me to absorb the details of our proposal.

Knowing how much we need this deal, and also knowing I can’t keep staring at my potential boss’s boss, I turn my attention back to Paul, who’s wrapping up his speech by stating that the team is happy to answer questions.

Silence competes with the too-loud ticking of the clock that hangs above Cole’s head. My heart drums in my chest. Have we completely screwed this up?

Cole lifts his pen and taps the end on the table in front of him. “You’ve added quite a few sustainability features that weren’t included in the original design brief. Whose idea was it to focus on that for the project?” he asks.

At least he was paying attention.

Paul hesitates, and I know why. It’s unclear from Cole’s tone whether he’s pleased or annoyed about it. After clearing his throat, Paul gestures in my direction. “Sustainability is Delilah’s area of expertise. She’s a—”

“Is that so?” Cole says. I shift uncomfortably in my seat as he looks down at his notepad before leveling me with an inscrutable look. “Can you explain your thinking with some of these choices, Delilah? Making those kinds of customizations for each build will add significant cost to the project.”

I’ve prepared for these questions, and I know what I’m talking about. I take a second to compose myself, then meet his steely gaze. “Sustainable hotel architecture might carry some capital expense, but as I’m sure you’re aware, stronger infrastructure also brings the highest return on investment. Along with internal elements, such as low-flush toilets, aerators on faucets, and smart showers, the external systems we’re considering for this project include solar panels, water recovery systems, and HVAC systems that can customize air flow, heating, and cooling in response to various factors.” I sort through my notes in front of me. “Using your Chicago hotel as a case study for installing an intensive water recovery system, my projections predict it could be paid back in full in less than a year. And if we incorporate a solar panel system into the hotel’s design, it would not only contribute to its LEED Platinum certification, but it could offset up to fifty percent of total electricity consumption with a six- to eight-year projected payback.”

“Interesting.” He leans back in his chair, his gaze locked on mine. “Keep going. I want you to convince me.”

I don’t miss the emphasis he puts on the word, and I almost choke, remembering how I’d asked him to convince me that night at the bar. Before I can embarrass myself, I take a sip of my water. “Yes, of course, Co—Mr. King. These big-ticket items will fundamentally change the way your hotels operate, reducing your footprint without sacrificing comfort. This will bring you into line with the future of sustainable design and improve your sustainability ratings.” A bead of sweat trickles between my breasts under the pressure of Cole’s scrutiny. “Hotels that invest in sustainable practices generally have higher occupancy rates, guest satisfaction, and revenue per room compared to non-sustainable counterparts. So although the initial capital outlay may seem expensive, I’m confident that the savings they incur will offset the expense within only a few years.”

Several heads around the table nod, but not Cole’s. I can’t read his expression at all.

“Okay,” he says eventually, turning his attention back to Paul. “I think we’ve heard everything we need to hear from your team. Someone will be in touch to let you know our decision once we’ve made it. Thank you for your time today.” He pushes back his chair and stands. The rest of his team follows his lead.

Obviously dismissed, we stand too. I gather my pen, notebook, and papers and turn to leave, not daring to look in his direction again.

As we walk to the door, Paul’s hand brushes my lower back, and he leans down to whisper in my ear. “That bastard is impossible to read. I have no idea how that went.”

I nod. It’s only when I’m passing through the door that I risk a glance over my shoulder. Cole is watching us, the hard angle of his jaw and cold eyes sending my stomach plummeting.

I have a horrible feeling that the incredible night I shared with him a month ago is about to bite me in the ass.