Feisty Princess (Sexy Manhattan Fairytale #2) Read online

  My nostrils flare at that thought, but I know that no matter what Margo Buchanan believes, Yamada would never take her side over mine.

  “When do we leave?” she asks.

  “Yamada apparently owns one of the islands next to the British Virgin Islands, so it’ll take us about six hours to fly there. Then we’ll need to get a helicopter or boat to take us over to wherever this place is. If I want to make a deal with Yamada, then we have no other choice but to go. Once Yamada gets his mind stuck on something, he tends to get his way.”

  “Looks like the game is still on when it comes to Yamada,” Margo muses.

  It’s time to remind her that I’m still the boss in this situation. “Don’t get your hopes up, Princess. Yamada will never sign a deal with you over me. He’s my friend.”

  She lifts her eyebrow. “You’re not the only one who got an invite to chat, King, so it looks like he’s my friend, too.”

  Dammit. I hate that she’s right. Yamada does like her or else he would have never been so welcoming once he figured out that he wasn’t getting into her pants. That also means this could be big trouble for me if she can figure out a way to sweet talk him in to doing a deal directly with her father instead of me. It will cost me far too much money and I won’t allow that to happen.

  When we land at the airstrip just outside the city, Margo rushes off the plane. She demanded that I order a car to be waiting for her because she refused to be trapped with me any longer than she had to. She doesn’t even glance in my direction as she heads toward it.

  Guess the fucking honeymoon’s over.

  I shove myself up from the smooth leather seat and button my jacket as I make my way off the plane. The late afternoon sun hits me full force as I step outside, causing me to whip out a pair of sunglasses from my inside pocket and then slide them on my face.

  It’s then that I notice Jack leaning against the limo with his arms crossed as he waits for me. Even though his sunglasses shield his eyes, the smirk on his face tells me that I’ve opened myself up to a never-ending line of jokes about my random Vegas nuptials. “Your wife isn’t riding with us?”

  I shake my head. “Don’t start your shit.”

  “What?” Jack says with a slight chuckle as I slide into the limo first with him following right behind me. “I’m not allowed to ask about your wife?”

  “She’s not my wife,” I snap.

  This only causes Jack to laugh harder. “Sure, she is. It’s legal and everything.”

  “Fuck.” It’s the only word that comes to mind. I’m totally fucked here. “How bad is it?”

  Jack raises his eyebrows. “Well, if the two of you didn’t consummate your marriage, I’m sure we could’ve had a quick annulment, but—” I pull my glasses off and give him my best you know me better than that look which cuts him off. “That’s what I thought. We fight it. I’m not exactly a divorce lawyer, but I’m sure we can bring on a few other attorneys who specialize in high-profile cases to help. We might stand a chance.”

  “A chance?” There’s a catch in my voice. “You have got to be fucking kidding me! You’re telling me that after being married for one fucking day, it possible Margo Buchanan can take me to the fucking cleaners? This is fucking insane.”

  “Buddy, what’s insane is you marrying a woman who’s out for your blood. What possessed you to do it? I mean, I know she’s hot, but was fucking her really worth all this trouble? What the hell were you thinking?”

  I pinch the bridge of my nose. “I don’t know.”

  I wish I could blame marrying Margo solely on Yamada, but I know that wouldn’t be exactly fair. Being with Margo this weekend was exciting. She didn’t take my shit, and I find that insanely attracted. Hell, maybe Jack can plead a case of temporary insanity because the woman causes me to lose my damn mind. Yamada said it didn’t take much convincing for me to marry Margo, and in my gut, I know that’s probably true. I drank enough liquor to kill a horse, so I know the logical part of my brain was not functioing, and my dick did any major decision-making.

  I lift my head and stare out the window as the car cuts through traffic, getting us closer to Manhattan. “How quickly can we get this resolved?”

  “Well, that depends,” Jack replies.

  “On . . .” I prod as I whip my gaze in his direction.

  He sighs. “On whether or not Margo Buchanan cooperates.”

  I release a bitter laugh. “She hates me, so that won’t happen.”

  “That’s too bad. Dragging things out can cause problems. If the board catches wind about your fly-by-night nuptials, they may begin to question your integrity.”

  “My integrity? Are you fucking serious? This little mishap with Margo has nothing to do with my ability to run King Corporation. This business means more to me than anything else.” I shake my head, reeling from the disbelief that Jack’s even bringing this up. “I would rather slice off my own hand than do something to damage the empire my father built.”

  “I know that, but the board . . . they don’t know you like I do, and well, you’ve amassed quite a reputation in this city when it comes to women. The board may perceive your rash decision to marry Margo and then immediately divorce her as you being a bit . . . flighty.”

  I raise one eyebrow. “Me . . . flighty? I’m an emanate professional. Why does who I fuck and accidentally marry bring my character into question?”

  Jack shrugs. “It could cause them to question your decision-making skills—your ability to see what’s best for the company in the long haul—and they may band together to try to go against you on things.”

  “That won’t matter. I own a majority of this company. If they don’t like the direction I take this business—tough. It’s my fucking company.”

  “It is,” Jack agrees. “I’m not bringing this up to be a prick, but I just want you to be aware. The board can make things a whole lot more difficult if they fight you on every little thing.”

  I run my fingers down the back of my neck and take a deep breath. Fuck. If only I could rewind time and go back to the first moment I fucked Margo and let my guard down, then none of this would be an issue right now. I screwed up, and now I have to deal with the consequences of giving in to my dark desires and taking Margo, even though I knew it could fuck everything up.

  I meet Jack’s stare. “So what should I do? If Margo refuses a quick annulment, there’s no way I can keep this quiet and keep the word from spreading across this city. You know how people talk around here.”

  “Play nice with her,” Jack says as if it’s the simplest thing in the world. “Find out what it will take to appease her and give it to her so she doesn’t fight you on this divorce.”

  “I can’t do that!” I protest. “She wants me to bail out Buchanan Industries so her family’s company won’t go under, but you and I both know that if we do that, we’d lose millions on that deal. We can’t afford to do that.”

  “Then you’ll have to find a way to meet in the middle. You both are going to have to give a little to find common ground in this situation.”

  I scrub my hand down my face. This is horse shit. I hate the fact that she basically has my balls in her purse, ready to zip them in tight and cause me excruciating pain. I so badly want to bash my fucking head against the window as straight-up punishment for allowing shit to get out of control like this.

  This—the whole allowing someone to gain the upper hand on me, especially a female—is not like me. I’m typically in control.

  My cell rings and I fish it out of my jacket pocket before checking the caller ID. I sigh as I hit the green button, ready for the whine fest that I know my baby sister is about to inflict on me for missing her birthday party this weekend. “Yes, Diem?”

  “Are you back in town yet?” she quizzes.

  “Just landed about ten minutes ago,” I tell her. I decide then that I might as well open the door for her temper tantrum for being absent this weekend. “How was your birthday party?”

  “It
was wonderful,” she replies in a tone I only remember her using after watching some sappy romance movie. Most people would call it dreamy. I call it delusional. Diem is very much the hopeless romantic type, so this mood of hers tells me that she’s met a guy.

  I pinch the bridge of my nose. What shitty timing for this to happen. With me being so wrapped up in the whole Margo scandal and trying to close this deal with Yamada, I won’t have time to properly investigate whoever this man is like I typically do. As her brother, I find that it’s my duty to make sure whatever asshole is sniffing around my sister is good enough. Unfortunately, Diem tends to pick the loser artist types who I fear are after far more than her model good looks. Like me, people try to get their hooks in Diem for what our father left us, and it’s up to me to protect my free-spirited, trusting sister from motherfuckers who would use her.

  Time to cut to the chase.

  “Who’s the guy?”

  “Does a man have to be involved for me to be happy?” Diem instantly fires back.

  “Come on, Diem. You can’t bullshit me. You know the drill. Who’s the guy?”

  She’s quiet for a few moments and then says, “I’m not telling you.”

  “Diem . . .” I say her name with a bite of warning in my voice. “You might as well do this the easy way and just tell me. Don’t make me have Jack start looking into who this mystery guy is you obviously don’t want me to know about.”

  Jack’s eyes immediately cut over to me at the mention of his name. I see a flicker of unease on his face before he quickly turns his head to stare out the side window. Jack hates when I send him out on personal missions like this for me—that’s no secret—so I’m sure the idea of tracking down my kid sister’s new love interest isn’t something that he really wants to do. But I know Jack. He’s loyal, and he’ll do it if I ask him to because, not only does he work for me, but he’s also my best friend.

  “Don’t do that,” Diem begs. “I promise I’ll tell you all about him when I’m ready, but for now, allow me to keep this to myself. Please, Alexander.”

  Her bravery to maintain this secret takes me aback because Diem isn’t typically like that with me. Sure, she bucks against my will most of the time, but it doesn’t take me long to get her to bend. She knows that I get what I want no matter what. So this little show of defiance catches me off guard, but the idea that she’s finally growing a little backbone makes me proud in an odd way. It doesn’t make me worry any less, though.

  I sigh. “Fine. I won’t push for now. But so help me, Diem, if this asshole hurts you in any way, I will end him.”

  “Thank you.” The pleased tone in her voice rings through loud and clear.

  After I tell her good-bye, I end the call and lean my head back against the headrest. I hope Diem knows what she’s doing and doesn’t do anything rash with this guy until I’ve had time to run a full background check on him. I don’t have time to worry about my sister right now though. I have to focus all my energy on figuring out how to get out of the fucking mess I’ve gotten myself into with Margo. I can’t believe I’m married to the fucking Feisty Princess of Manhattan. How in the hell did I allow this to happen?

  Margo

  IT TAKES EVERYTHING IN ME not to bash my head against the expensive marble counter as I sit at the island in my mother’s ridiculously huge kitchen. I’m trying to figure out a way to tell her that I married a total rat-bastard this weekend on accident. Seriously, when Jean Paul renovated his Upper East Side apartment, he spared no expense when it came to this kitchen. It makes sense because he does occasionally film segments of his television show in here.

  “That man takes such good care of me.” Mother busies herself with punching reheat on two of the pre-cooked meals her husband prepared for her in his absence. “He won’t leave for a trip if he hasn’t left food for me to heat up while he’s gone.” She turns to face me with a dreamy expression on her face. “I really think I’ve found a good one this time, Margo, honey. This one is a keeper.”

  I love my mother, but it takes everything in me not to roll my eyes and blurt out ‘that’s what you said about the last four.’ My mother is a hopeful romantic, always believing in soul mates and fate and all that hokey nonsense.

  She takes in the expression on my face and then shakes her head, causing her long dark curls to bounce around her shoulders. “Don’t give me that look.”

  My mouth drops. Sometimes I forget how good she is at reading what’s on my mind even if I don’t make a move to voice it. “I didn’t say anything.”

  “You didn’t have to. I’m your mother, Margo. I can read how much you detest the idea of love by the expression on your face. I’m pretty good at that, you know. Matter-of-fact, I once had this clairvoyant tell me I was a natural at reading auras.” The sound of the microwave dings, signaling that our food is ready and interrupting her train of thought. She lifts one of the plates of grilled chicken to her nose. “Ah. This smells wonderful. Jean Paul is a man of many talents, cooking being one of them.” She wiggles her eyebrows suggestively.

  My face twists. “Ew. Mother. Please. I’m your child, for God’s sake. I don’t need to hear about your sex life.”

  She sets a plate in front of me and then waves me off dismissively. “Oh, please, darling. You’re a grown woman. It’s not like you are too young to hear about this.”

  I wrinkle my nose as I cut into the chicken in front of me. “There’s never going to be an age when I’m old enough to discuss sex with you.”

  Mother pulls out the barstool across from me and takes a seat before she begins to cut up her food. “Speaking of sex, I took the liberty of Googling Alexander King while you were off gallivanting with him last week.”

  I raise one eyebrow as I swallow down the food in my mouth and do my best not to choke. “Why would you do that?”

  “I had to see exactly who my daughter was spending all her time with.”

  This time, I do roll my eyes. “Don’t let his beautiful face fool you. He’s not pleasant to be around.”

  “The hot ones never are, dear. That’s what makes them so fun. They’re a challenge.” A smile pulls at the corners of her mouth. She’s no doubt reliving some memory of a time she spent with some old asshole boyfriend as she takes a sip of her water. “Tell me, was that trip to Vegas all work or did you manage to get some playtime in with the notorious Naughty King?”

  For a moment, I debate whether to lie to her. I could stick to the story that absolutely nothing happened between Alexander and me, but knowing how well she can read me, she’ll see right through me.

  I readjust in my seat. “I would like to say that it was all business . . .”

  “But?” she prods.

  “It wasn’t,” I answer honestly.

  Her smile widens as she leans in, clamoring for the juicy bit of gossip she can tell is about to spill out of my mouth. “Do tell. And don’t leave out one sordid detail.”

  I close my eyes and wrinkle my nose. There’s no way I can hide what happened in Vegas from her. Besides, she’s the one person in this world I can trust with this secret. “I slept with him.”

  “That’s my girl!” she exclaims and then instantly launches into a question. “How was it?”

  “Mother!”

  “What? Inquiring minds, darling. Are you going to see him again?”

  I lift one shoulder in a noncommittal shrug. “I don’t want to, but I’m afraid I’ll be forced to.”

  She nods. “That’s right. The whole spy mission your father has you on. I nearly forgot about that. If you really don’t want to see Alexander King anymore, just quit and tell your father that you’re done being his little tattletale. Lord knows how hard it is to be in close proximity to an ex-lover. Your father should understand and not make too much of a fuss over the situation.”

  I sigh. “It’s not that simple, I’m afraid.”

  “But it is. If you’re afraid to tell your father, I’ll call and tell—”

  “My issues are much b
igger than handling Daddy.”

  She bunches her brow, clearly confused. I can see the wheels turning behind her eyes as she tries to figure out what I’m hiding. “Then what is it?”

  “I married the bastard on a drunken whim,” I blurt out before I lose my nerve.

  Her eyes widen. “Say again? I’m not sure I heard that quite right. It sounded like you just told me that my only child ran off to Vegas and got married for the very first time without me present.”

  My lips twitch and finally pull down at one corner. “It’s not like I planned for it to happen. Hell, I don’t even remember it.”

  “Oh, dear.” Mother sighs. “Does your father know?”

  I nod. “Of course he does. He thinks this is excellent leverage to have on Alexander.”

  We sit in silence for a few moments and then Mother says, “Maybe this isn’t such a bad thing.”

  That’s not exactly what I was expecting her to say. “How can you say that? Being married to Alexander King is one of the worst things I can ever imagine happening to me in my life.”

  “Are you sure about that?”

  I push my half-eaten plate of food away before folding my arms across my chest. “Of course, I am. He’s a pompous asshole, and I can’t believe I allowed myself to get in to this situation.”

  “See, dear, that’s where I think this marriage might not be such a bad thing.”

  Clearly, my mother is allowing Alexander’s disgustingly good looks to blind her to the truth of how awful he is. “You’re not grasping the—”

  “I understand just fine.” She cuts me off and then levels her gaze on me. “I’m not sure you’re seeing that maybe fate has a way of intervening, even if you don’t believe what’s happening is the best thing. If you let your guard down enough to marry him, drunk or not, he can’t be all bad, can he? There has to be some small part of you that enjoys being with him or else you would’ve never gone through with a quickie Vegas wedding.”

  I open my mouth to argue—to explain that the liquor completely impaired my judgment when it came to Alexander, but that wouldn’t exactly be the truth. I had sex with the man two times before I even had a drink of alcohol. I have no excuse for that. Alexander King is a very intoxicating man, and it pisses me off that I find it so hard to resist him.