Alexander smiles. “You should learn to embrace it. A name like that means people are scared of you.”
I curse the day some dumb jock in high school dubbed me that after I very colorfully turned down his eleventh attempt at asking me very bluntly to blow him. If you ask me, he deserved a punch him in the face. But sadly, the name still follows me around, even now.
I laugh bitterly. “Right. Like how you embrace yours? The Naughty King, really? Doesn’t it bother you that half the women in this city think you’re the biggest manwhore on the East Coast?”
“Not at all,” he replies smoothly. “The women who call me that were fucked over by me in more ways than one, and I promise you, they fucking enjoyed every last minute of it. That’s why they love to keep my name on their lips. As for the other half, they’re just envious of the first.”
“You are a pompous prick.”
His eyes harden. “I may be, but I always do what suits me best. Women complicate the shit out of everything, and I don’t have time to play their silly little games.”
It’s appalling how he views all women as complications. “Is that why you hire prostitutes? Are you really that afraid of being human and showing some compassion that you’d rather pay for sex than deal with the emotional ramifications that typically comes with it?”
“I don’t see how that’s any of your business, but yes. When women see me, they see a meal ticket. Why would I ever want to entertain their silly fantasies that they may be the one to make me change my ways and commit not only myself but also half of my fortune to them? No fucking way that’s ever going to happen.”
I roll my eyes. “Not all women think that way.”
“Are you telling me that you don’t?”
“No,” I answer automatically. “My family is already wealthy. Why would I need to marry for money?”
“For the same reason a lot of women do. Soon, I’ll be taking your father’s company. How long do you think it’ll take before your family’s fortune runs out? Doesn’t that scare you?”
“No,” I repeat. “That’s not going to happen. My father—”
“Yes, it will. Neither of you can stop the inevitable from happening. The contacts we’re meeting in Vegas are long-time business associates of mine, and there’s nothing you’ll be able to do to steal them away from me, which is why it doesn’t bother me to bring you along.”
I open my mouth to fire back in my defense, but he keeps going, cutting me off.
“Honestly, if I were you, Margo, I would probably just quit now and work on finding a wealthy schmuck to marry. You’ve got a nice ass and decent sized tits, so I’m sure you won’t have a problem securing a cushy future as long as you don’t mind fucking some old, ugly motherfucker.”
I grip the armrest of my seat and dig my nails into the cream-colored leather. It takes everything in me to not jump up and smack the ever-living shit out of this man.
I take a deep breath and count to five in my head before I blow the air out slowly through my nose. This helps me refocus and not fall into the little game he’s playing with me.
I swallow hard. “I’ll keep that in mind, but I would much rather spend my time figuring out ways to take you down.”
“Suit yourself. But I’m warning you, Ms. Buchanan, I don’t play fair.” There’s a wicked gleam in his eye, and there’s no telling what he’s planning to do to torture me, but I have to be ready for any move he tries to make.
My father is counting on me to figure out a way to save his company and my family’s future.
Alexander
NO MATTER THE TIME OF day, the lights in Las Vegas are always putting on a show. The limo pulls up to the Hard Rock Casino, and I glance over at Margo as the driver stops the car.
She hasn’t said much to me since our heated little discussion. Every time we talk, I seem to piss her off, which is exactly what I want to do. I want to become the itch festering under her skin that she’s dying to scratch. The more she hates me—the more she’ll think about me and how much she can’t wait to be rid of me.
So why do I feel like a bastard and have this urge to apologize?
I shake my head to purge myself of the crazy thought. I need her out of my fucking hair. Her presence distracts me, and that’s not good. I need a clear head for business. This weekend is going to be pure torture.