Ruthless King (Mount Trilogy #1)

Temperance hugs the documents to her chest. “If it’s that much of an issue, I can—”


I force a smile on my face and squeeze my thighs shut. “Of course not. I—it will be fine. I’ll take care of Odile. You draft up the fancy presentations and make it look as expensive as we’re going to be.”

“We got this, boss. They’re not going to walk away now. I’ve heard the GM has a fondness for Seven Sinners, especially the Spirit of New Orleans blend, so don’t be surprised if you get requests the night of the event to put a case or six aside for him.”

Temperance refers to our most exclusive whiskey that isn’t even available for purchase yet, except by the glass in our restaurant. I took a risk and had sample bottles made and sent to every heavy hitter in town as a gift. I made the decision in the fog of grief and out of desperation with one look at how badly our financial position was after Brett’s skimming of the accounts. The gesture was too expensive, and so far hasn’t yielded much in return. But maybe this is fate. Everything happens for a reason, right?

Like the vibrator between my legs being controlled by the most dangerous man I’ve ever met?

Suddenly my closely held belief in pre-destiny and fate and all that goes along with it is called into question.

Everyone comes into your life for a reason . . . or that’s what I always thought. I can’t come up with a reason for Mount. I’m sure no one can.

Temperance pauses at the door. “I’ll let you figure out how you’re going to work on Odile. I’ll be in my office running copies and binding presentations if you need me.”

I manage the barest of nods as Temperance scoots out of my office, already worrying about the next thing on her to-do list.

That was me just over a week ago. Hell, that was me since the day I took the reins as CEO. All business. It turned out to be my saving grace, and the only way I could cope with the betrayal and fallout from Brett’s death.

Hate.

Anger.

Rage.

How sad is it that those emotions are taking up more room in my heart than anything positive in these last months?

What is happening to me?

A con artist with an expensive drug habit and a mistress.

A man who thinks the rules don’t apply to him.

As my thighs clench again involuntarily, I swear to myself.

He will not break me.





Keira





I’m seated at the table across from the Voodoo Kings’ assistant general manager, the public relations director, and the special event coordinator of the football team when Carlie, one of my waitresses, brings out the first flight of whiskey.

If anyone thinks I’m above getting these men drunk, they’d be wrong. They have the power to sign the contract that will help haul my company’s ass out of hot water, and that means I have no choice but to get this contract signed.

Am I proud of it? Not particularly. Am I willing to do it anyway? Absolutely. Am I also thanking the good Lord above that not a single one of the people sitting across the table from me is female and would likely see right through my ploy? Damn right.

“Gentlemen, let’s start this meeting off properly—with a damned good whiskey made in our hometown in the Irish tradition of my family.” I reach for a glass and lift it toward the center of the table.

They each grab their own glass. None of them seem to notice Temperance doesn’t. While I’ve been sipping on whiskey like mother’s milk for almost thirty years, she barely drinks at all. I tease her about being a cheap date.

Each man raises a glass, and we clink the rims together.

“Sláinte,” I say as a burst of vibration unleashes between my legs, and I nearly drop my drink.

The men tip back their whiskey, not noticing that I’m struggling to lift mine to my lips because of the waves of pleasure tearing through me.

I chug the drink, needing it now more than ever, and shift in my chair, praying this is going to stop as quickly as the last one.

The assistant GM leans forward, his eyes not on mine, but on the deep V cut of my blouse.

“So, Keira. I understand you’ve been doing a bang-up job with the distillery since you took the helm from your dad.”

I’m too distracted by the vibrations between my legs to decide if he’s giving me a compliment or mocking me.

“The last few months have been a little trying, but like my ancestors, I push forward.” I have no idea where that response comes from, and force my lips to curve into a smile as an orgasm builds in my core. “Tenacity and the Irish go hand in . . . hand.” I struggle to get the last word out.

I’m in serious danger of coming when the vibrations suddenly stop. I don’t know if I want to kill the man with the remote or kiss him for not making me embarrass myself in public.

Kiss him? Are you freaking insane, Keira?

The pleasure recedes as quickly as it started.

Never. I’ll be like freaking Julia Roberts before she stupidly fell for Richard Gere in Pretty Woman. No kissing on the mouth. Ever. I’m making it a rule.

“Tenacious, indeed. Must go along with that red hair of yours. Do you have the temper to match?”

Again, the assistant GM’s eyes are on my cleavage, and I can’t help but look down in response.

Oh. f*ck.

My nipples, in the sheer bra Mount picked, are on high beams. They clearly haven’t gotten the memo that there’s no longer an orgasm coming.

I return my glass to the table harder than necessary, and the thwack of glass against metal causes his eyes to jerk up to my face.

“I don’t have a temper. That’s a redhead myth.” I smile as I lie, something I’m entirely too good at today for comfort. “Now, let’s discuss the amazing package we’ve put together for you.”

Thankfully, Temperance takes this as her cue to jump in. “As you’ve requested and we briefly discussed, we’ve come up with a perfect solution to any PR issues with our valet parking—”

“I still think you’re insane if you think these guys will take it well when you won’t hand their keys back at the end of the night,” the PR director says, interrupting her.

The event coordinator looks at him. “You deal with the bullshit these ass*oles pull more than anyone, and I agree with you.”

All three men look across the table, their gazes shifting between Temperance and me, and she takes the lead. “We’ll spin it as a complimentary black-car service. They can have as much fun as they want. Indulge and then be delivered home without a single worry.”

The GM huffs. “Maybe if you put a hooker in each car, then you’d tempt some of them.”

The vibrator springs to life again, but this time only for an instant. Long enough for my nipples to have zero hope of disappearing from view through my blouse.

I grip the edge of the table, and words I never intended to say spring from my lips. “If that’s what it takes . . .”

All three men zero in on my face. A smug smile drifts over the assistant GM’s lips, and the toy comes to life again.

I’m going to kill Mount.