Play it Filthy (Kings of the Tower Book 4) Read online

  Play it Filthy

  Kings of The Tower Book Four

  May Sage

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Epilogue

  Chapter 1

  "Mr. Ashworth. Welcome to New York."

  Ed glanced at the executive assistant sent by his American headquarters and inwardly groaned. Another model-type with long nails and tons of makeup. He doubted she could type at a decent speed. Why was it that everyone assumed that he was more interested in his employees' proficiency with their tongues than in their efficiency?

  He could be wrong. Maybe she was pretty and smart.

  "Any news on the Kings deal?" he asked her.

  The assistant stumbled to open her bag and pull out a tablet. Starting it up took her a whole three minutes. His driver had arrived by the time she said, "Kings? We have an email from King Industries from yesterday…hang on, let me read it."

  He tried not to let his annoyance show, because he was going to have to work with the girl until he found a decent replacement.

  "Please do. In silence."

  He got in the car and checked his own messages, definitely rattled. Edmund Ashworth wasn't one to let things rattle him, but he had to admit: Hester was getting on his nerves. Quite an achievement for a little old lady he'd never even seen.

  He had started a simple transaction that should have been completed within seventy-two hours a month ago, and he still wasn't any closer to buying the harbor he needed.

  Bloody hell, they'd warned him that doing business with the Kings wasn't easy, but he had imagined power struggles in the boardroom. That hadn't made him flinch. Fucking businesses was what he did. Ed had never thought that'd he'd get cock-blocked by an octogenarian before he'd even gotten to first base.

  "The email says that Mr. Desmond King is currently unavailable, except for emergencies."

  He tapped his armrest impatiently. From one corner of the world to the next, a meeting with him was considered an emergency. Who the fuck did those Kings think they were to dismiss him like that for a whole fucking month?

  "Who signed the email?"

  "A Hester Hall, sir."

  That twat again. She was seriously getting on his nerves. Some nobody called Hester shouldn't have that much power over the schedule of a man like Desmond King.

  "Try to go around her. She's got something against me personally."

  He didn't think they'd ever come across each other, but he had no other explanation as to why the deal was still not going through.

  The driver started the car, and they left the private airport, heading toward the center of the city.

  Ed was a London man through and through, but he did love the energy in NYC. He wasn't exactly here for a leisure trip, but he'd try to make the best of it.

  "To the Trent residence, sir?" the driver asked through the intercom. "No, directly to the lawyer."

  He had an estate to settle, and a huge family of vipers to deal with. If he could manage that in a couple of weeks and close the King deal, too, he'd be on his way back to Europe in time for his grandmother's birthday. God knew Cici Trent would have his balls if he didn't make it.

  The driver joined the New York traffic, and they advanced at a snail’s pace. Ed’s fault for arriving in the middle of the day, but he hadn’t had much choice in the matter. One does not schedule a trip like this one in advance.

  His great-uncle, Malcolm Trent, was one of the very few people he could stand from his grandmother’s side of the family. The man had been smart, funny, and, unlike most of the Trents, kind. He’d struggled since his stroke, and his passing, though deeply affecting Edmund, hadn’t been a surprise, or even a sorrowful event. He’d hated to see the man suffer.

  For a time, Malcolm had stayed in Fairweather, the Ashworths’ land in northern England, but the Trents had bullied him into going to a luxurious care facility in upstate New York a year ago. Ed knew it wasn’t out of concern for his well-being. When Edward Trent passed away thirty years ago, Malcolm had inherited a share of his father’s company, like all of the nine Trent children, Cici included. Edward’s will had been written in a way that obliged the beneficiary to keep ten percent of their inheritance in trust for their children and grandchildren; a trust managed by a third party.

  The nine Trent ancients had gotten about a billion apiece, but there was a large chunk they’d just had to sit on, unable to get their greedy paws on it. The trusts were only passed to the children when they got married, as per Edward’s stipulation. The man had fought in both World Wars, for heaven’s sake; it wasn’t a surprise that he’d been so old-fashioned.

  Almost all of Edward’s children had had at least two kids of their own, and those two kids popped out two or three children each. There were hundreds of thousands in trust. Cici didn’t give two shits about her father’s money; she’d married Edmund’s granddad, an Englishman with lands and a title. The rest of her siblings were another matter.

  Malcolm was the exception in the large Trent litter. Unlike the rest of them, he never married and never fathered any children. He had access to his entire inheritance, and he’d invested it wisely.

  Malcolm wasn’t an asshole; he’d given his siblings jobs when they’d needed them, cuts of his company’s profits, allowances. They’d always acted like ungrateful assholes entitled to it. Malcolm hadn’t even been invited to his own niece’s wedding fifteen years ago, because he’d come out of the closet and introduced his boyfriend the year before that.

  The Trents had never been Ed’s favorite people, but the event created a real divide in the family. He’d been twenty-two at the time; old enough to take a stand. From that point onward, he hadn’t even spoken to anyone using that last name, save for his uncle.

  The stroke hadn’t changed anything. The Trents continued to ignore Malcolm. When his partner died, they didn’t so much as send a sympathy card.

  About a year ago, Malcolm’s doctor had told them that they needed to get ready; his body and mind were failing him. He didn’t have long to live.

  Edmund didn’t know how the Trents heard of that, but they closed in on the sick old man, involving lawyers, sending investigators, doctors, until the poor old guy cracked, telling them he’d go to New York. They claimed the Ashworths were only taking care of him to get to his fortune. Yeah, right. Like Ed, or anyone in his family, needed it. They’d wanted to get their paws on him in his final hours, and peek at his will.

  Abut sixteen hours ago, the call Ed had dreaded for months had come in the night. Ten hours later, after working through the night to settle every important document on his desk, he was on the first flight to NYC.

  He was named executor of Malcolm’s will, so it was time to see if the Trents had gotten their wish.

  Chapter 2

  Hester wasn't much of a homebody. She lived in a modern, luxurious, and spacious NYC building free of charge, courtesy of her high-powered position in King Industries, but as excited as she had been about it when she'd first started this job, five years later, she had to admit that she hated the place. It was sterile—a chrome and glass clinic. She wasn't allowed to paint walls, change the carpets, or basically do anything that might have added some life to the place. So she just slept the
re, and spent her time elsewhere.

  Waking up at five-thirty, she stumbled to the bathroom and brushed her teeth before grabbing her gym bag and heading right to work.

  It was a short walk from the employee apartment to the Kings and Knights tower, Desmond King’s base of operations.

  "Hi, Bruno."

  "Miss Hall," the night security guard greeted her. "It's quiet today."

  "Good, thank you."

  She wasn't that much of a workaholic that she'd head to work by six; at least, not when she didn't have a pressing project on her plate. Instead of heading to her office, Hester took an elevator heading underground, to the gym.

  She started with a leisurely swim before going for a quick run, then attended a yoga class and enjoyed a long shower.

  The gym was state-of-the-art, like everything else owned by the Kings. Any employee in this building could use it, but she was one of the few who could boast of having her own changing room with a spa and a mini bar. One of the many benefits of being Desmond King's executive assistant.

  At eight, Hes got dressed and headed up to the penthouse.

  "Miss Hall."

  "Good morning, Chris," she said, greeting her own assistant with a warm smile. "You're early."

  "So are you."

  Neither of them technically started before nine. How sad that two twenty-somethings showed up an hour early at work most days. Except when she looked at her bank account’s balance. It wasn’t sad at all then.

  "Did you have a chance to look at today's schedule?"

  "Not many changes; Slate asked if they could be seen at five rather than twelve. I said yes on your behalf; hope you don't mind."

  "Of course not."

  Especially not for a partner as important as William Slate.

  “Great initiative. Anything else?"

  "Another email from Ashworth," Chris said with a grimace.

  Hes sighed.

  Ashworth. The self-important Brit who wanted to buy—and no doubt, destroy—one of their harbors in southern Italy.

  He wasn’t someone she could ignore, even if she’d wanted to, so Hes had reported his offer to Desmond immediately. Des had been clear: his priority was Ryn right now, at the end of her pregnancy. No harbor was worth his time. He'd given Hes full power to do as she pleased with the situation.

  Hes had contacted Ashworth, telling him she'd meet him to discuss the specifics. She'd even offered to fly to London; something she didn't do for just anyone. But Ashworth wouldn't deal with anyone except Desmond King.

  Hes knew what she’d signed up for from the beginning: a career in this industry meant dealing with misogynistic pricks on a daily basis. But there was something in his tone that seriously set her teeth on edge.

  Hester had reread his first email so many times she knew it by heart. She recited it to herself when she was hitting her punching bag.

  “Dear Hester,

  I don’t think you understand the situation. I, Edmund Ashworth the Second, owner of Ashworth Incorporated, wish to speak to your employer, Desmond King. Desmond King. No one else.

  Kindly arrange this meeting.

  Regards,

  Ed.”

  Her jaw set, she headed inside her corner office and zeroed in on her computer. The lights turned on as she advanced into the large space, and the blinds of the floor-to-ceiling windows rolled up automatically. By the time she’d logged in, the office was bathed in sunlight.

  A thick red carpet, ergonomic chairs that looked like they’d been borrowed from a space ship, plants in every corner, a large painting on one of her walls, and a highlighted statue of a fairy pouring water into a vase of lilies on the other one caught her eyes. This was her domain. A lot more personal than her apartment; she felt comfortable here.

  Her fists unclenched. While the email had been sent from Edmund Ashworth the Second’s email address, it was signed “Jennifer Vogan, Personal Assistant.”

  She could have been pissed that the man hadn’t even bothered to email her himself, but she was just glad that she didn’t have to put up with his condescending bullshit. Jennifer Vogan was considerably friendlier and more professional.

  “Dear Ms. Hall,

  I hope this email finds you well.

  Mr. Ashworth is currently in the city for a short amount of time for personal reasons, and hopes that he may be able to set up a meeting with Desmond King. I took the liberty of sending this request to the board of King Industries, and as you have been in touch with Mr. Ashworth in the past about this matter, I thought it best to inform you, and copy you in on my email.

  Kind regards,

  Jennifer.”

  Hester smirked. Clever girl. She was strong-arming her and serving it up with a side of flowers and syrupy sweetness. If Hes had acted without the consent or knowledge of her boss, she’d be a sweaty mess right now, and move heaven and earth to set up the meeting.

  Instead, she grabbed her phone, and dialed a familiar number.

  “Hestie!” Callum said. “I was waiting till nine to call you. Foolish of me. I see you’ve been naughty again, crushing the hopes and dreams of proud men all across the globe.”

  She laughed. “I guess you’ve seen the request. I should hope that Ashworth’s hopes and dreams don’t revolve around a harbor. That’d be sad if they did.”

  “Hey, I don’t judge; whatever floats his boat. I pulled the conversation up for a laugh. Shit, what an asshole.”

  “You’re telling me.” She rolled her eyes. “Listen, Des won’t see anyone right now; maybe you can meet him?”

  Hester guessed that while a dick like Edmund Ashworth the Second wouldn’t speak to a female nobody, he’d probably readily accept Callum King as a substitute.

  “I could,” Cal said, musing. “And I will if you want me to, but I’m not inclined to pacify a man like him. The harbor is a King Construction property, and King Construction is currently in your hands. I say we make him go to you. Or we don’t sell it. It’s making a profit, isn’t it?”

  She smiled. “Thanks, Cal. I just figured we might want to play nice, given the weight of his wallet and his influence.”

  “Whatever. Ashworth is all about land development. K.C. is the only part of our enterprise that could interact with him. If he wants to have a relationship with it, he needs to go through you. Especially if you survive the year.”

  She beamed. “Nine months to go. Still not resigning.”

  Three months ago, right before starting his paternity leave, Desmond had come to her office with an insane proposal.

  “You’ve shadowed me for half a decade. You have the knowledge and connections to run this show, and you also have my trust. I’m a husband, and I’m going to be a father. I won’t pull the kind of hours I was doing until now ever again, even after Ryn gives birth. So, here’s the deal. I’m leaving you in charge for a year; my brothers and I are a phone call away, and you’ll have every resource you need. If you can handle it, we’ll share the responsibilities when I come back.”

  She hadn’t really understood what he meant, until he added, “With you as COO.”

  It had been an entire quarter and she didn’t think it had hit home yet. Her, Hester nobody, an orphan no one had wanted, a kid no one played with, the boring teenager with glasses, the prudish college girl who didn’t attend parties. COO of King Tech and King Construction.

  The very thought made her dizzy.

  “And you won’t resign,” said Cal. “Not in your nature. All right, I’ll email poor Jennifer, and send her back your way.”

  Chapter 3

  She was kidding, right? She must be kidding. There was no way that this was the answer from King Industries’ board.

  "Read the reply, word for word."

  "‘Dear Ms. Vogan,

  Please relay my thanks to your employer for his interest in our property; however, I regret to inform you that my brother, Desmond King, is currently unavailable. As the harbor you're interested in falls under the umbrella of King Constructi
on, you will need to directly contact them. I'm attaching the direct contact details of the executive currently in charge—"

  Jennifer lifted her head, and winced. "It's a new number and email address, but he's written Hester Hall's name. The reply is signed by Callum King himself."

  Ed's fist clenched.

  "Dammit."

  "I've taken the liberty of asking around about King Industries and Ms. Hall, while you were in your meeting, sir."

  One of Edmund's eyebrows crooked; the assistant might not be completely useless after all.

  "Well?"

  "It is my understanding that anyone currently in business with Desmond King is contacting him through Hester Hall. He has taken an indefinite leave of absence, between the upcoming elections and his wife's pregnancy."

  Shit. "Then who's taking care of his business, his brothers? The board?" he asked.

  When he'd enquired about the Kings, he'd been told that each specific brother was in charge of one or several of their businesses, and that they didn't step on each other’s toes, hence why he'd gone through Desmond, who owned King Construction.

  "My understanding is that it's mostly ruled by Hester Hall."

  He was going to get a headache. "She's his secretary."

  "Not quite. According to my research, she's the highest paid employee in King Industries, second only to the King brothers themselves. It is my understanding that she's a vice president of sorts, without the formal title."

  Well, that certainly changed things. Edmund ruminated on the new piece of information, making a mental note to fire whoever had done the primary findings about King Industries.

  He cursed out loud. Damn sexism. If he'd read "vice president" under her name in their email correspondence, he would have acted very differently.