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

  "Shit. We're going to have to smooth things over with her. Contact her and set up a meeting. Somewhere nice, block a good hour of my time."

  He wanted a piece of property that wasn't for sale; that meant that he was in need of her, not the other way around. Ed was all for a hostile takeover, but deals like these needed a different approach. He should have flattered, cajoled, and seduced.

  "Continue asking around; I want everything there is to know about Hester Hall by tomorrow."

  "Certainly, sir."

  Edmund eyed Jennifer curiously. First impressions weren't always accurate, apparently.

  "Good job today."

  Visibly surprised, she beamed.

  "David, take Ms. Vogan wherever she wants to go before clocking out," he told the driver before getting out of the car.

  He checked his watch; he was a little early.

  A lesser man might have postponed further unpleasantness until the next day. After the last twenty-four hours, he deserved some rest. Ed hadn't slept since Saturday night; he was restless, exhausted, and jet-lagged. But he also was an Ashworth, and Ashworths didn't let discomfort keep them from doing what they had to do.

  He walked into the lobby of the hotel his secretary always booked, and strode to the receptionist. "Ed Ashworth. Have the Trents arrived?"

  The receptionist smiled. "Certainly, sir. They've been shown to a conference room on the second floor. We've also received a number of suits for you; they've been brought up to your suite."

  "Excellent."

  "Hugo can show you to the conference room…."

  "No need. The sun room, or the blue room?"

  "The sun room, sir. Should we call for refreshments?"

  He shook his head. "That won't be necessary. We won't be long. If you could send a steak to my room in half an hour, I'd be grateful. Blue, cheese on the chips."

  "Of course, sir."

  "Cheesy chips? That's on the menu?" a bewildered voice asked right behind him.

  Edmund turned, mildly irritated at being interrupted.

  One glance at the woman and all annoyance fled out the window.

  Holy shit.

  She wore a cream suit, skirt and blazer, very well cut and fitted around her delightful curves. Her red plump heels were the exact color of her lipstick, and her hair was tied in a severe ponytail at the top of her head. The professional attire had no right to be quite so appealing. Taking her in from head to toes, Edmund itched to ask if she wanted to join him and share his chips. But he knew he was likely to fall asleep before he had a chance to find out what was under any of her clothes, so he didn't bother.

  "No, but they have chips, they have cheese."

  The beautiful blonde smiled secretively, like she'd just told herself a private joke. Ed's relatives were waiting upstairs, and he desperately needed food, then sleep. He didn't have time to find out what amused total strangers.

  "Something I missed?" he asked her.

  "Nothing. You just remind me of my boss."

  Ed chuckled. "How so? It can't just be the receding hairline."

  She beamed. "No, just the belief that the world should and would bend to your will if you only demand it."

  "Because I asked for cheese on my chips?"

  "Because you asked for something that's not on the menu, and took it for granted that it would be available for you."

  "Which it is," he challenged.

  He could have been irked by her assumptions, and her accusations, but the woman only succeeded in intriguing him. He wasn't used to being talked to like that by anyone but his family. Cici and his mother did call him out on his shit; his granddad had, too. That was about it.

  "Which it is," the spitfire repeated.

  "Miss? May I help you?"

  The reception desk had opened a second station. The woman stepped forward.

  "I have a meeting at five with William Slate."

  "Of course. Mr. Slate is expecting you. If you'd follow me, Ms. Hall."

  "Call me Hester."

  Chapter 4

  Ed didn't recall a time when he'd been more distracted. He couldn't afford to be. Distractions were dangerous when dealing with the likes of the Trents.

  Hester Hall.

  How many Hester Halls could there be in the city?

  All right, stupid question. It was NYC, so probably dozens. But how many could be found in an exclusive part of Manhattan, wearing an expensive suit, and having a meeting with the likes of William Slate, tech mogul?

  Shit.

  He'd assumed that the woman would be ancient, because that name was incredibly outdated, right up there with Gertrude.

  It wasn't like he could talk. He was Edmund, a name pulled right out of a classic novel. But a woman who looked like her shouldn't be a Hester. She was hot like a Roxy, sensual like a Vivienne, elegant like a Lucinda.

  Hester was unique, and now it meant a combination of the three to him.

  Ed opened the door of the sun conference room and was pulled out of his musing by the sight of the four people he detested most in this world.

  Out of Malcolm's eight siblings, five were still alive; one of them, Cici, hadn't bothered to come for this, completely disinterested in Malcolm's money. She'd show her face at the funeral, and that was that. The other four stood there: Alice, Bernard, Daniela, and Charles.

  "Ladies, gentlemen."

  He greeted them like strangers, because they were nothing to him.

  "I thank you for meeting me on such short notice. I trust it wasn't too much of an inconvenience. I am the executor of Malcolm's will, and I thought it might save some time to state the terms of his legacy to all of you at once. You are, naturally, more than welcome to check with his attorney."

  The four vipers exchanged worried glances. They knew that intro couldn't be good for them.

  Ed attempted not to feel too smug as he said, "You've all been granted one percent of his company. You'll get dividends quarterly. Malcolm's company will carry on being run by the very competent team he employed. His estate is being donated to various charities—the full list is at the attorney's. You will need to go and sign your acknowledgment to receive your shares."

  "You're joking."

  "There's no way he'd do that. No way."

  "He was our brother! Our own brother! And he gives us nothing?"

  Now he couldn't help smirking.

  "He gives you one percent of his very lucrative business, which should provide you with hundreds of thousands per year."

  "That's outrageous! And what did he give you?"

  "Yeah, where is the rest of the money? He owned at least sixty percent of his company, anyway."

  The corner of Edmund's mouth hiked up. "Well, I don't see how it's any of your business, but there's no harm in telling you—and I'm sure you'll read it when you check, and re-check, the will. My cousin Vanessa, who was so kind as to visit and enquire about Malcolm through his life, has been given five percent. So has Cici. His partner’s family, who'd been supportive of him before and after their son's death, has received ten percent. I have been granted twenty percent of his company, which makes me chairman of the board. I have my plate full, so I'll hire a proxy."

  "That's absurd!"

  "He obviously wasn't in his right mind!"

  Edmund tuned his great-aunts and uncles out. Who knew four old harpies like them could make so much noise. Feeling lightheaded, hungry, and tired, Ed smiled broadly. "Well, I believe that's the end of the discussion. If you have any queries, you know where the attorney is."

  He turned toward the door.

  "Don't you dare leave! You did something to him. You engineered all this! Brainwashed him while he was with you in England…"

  "This isn't the end of it!"

  Unfortunately, they were right, it wasn't. He still had to put up with them until the funeral, but for tonight, Edmund was done.

  He made his way to his penthouse suite and found his room service had been delivered. Pulling the domed lid off the sm
allest plate, he smiled at seeing a portion of cheesy chips, reminding him of the fiery beauty he'd met downstairs.

  He ate one of his fingers before grabbing the tray to the low table in front of a large leather chesterfield. The food was gone in under ten minutes. Ed pondered the thought of taking a shower, and opted against it. Instead, Edmund got the letter out of his breast pocket and read it again.

  Hey Ed,

  If you're reading this, I'm dead. Don't you dare feel sad or sorry for me. I lived the life, in every way, for long happy years.

  I want that for you, too. You work too hard, take things too seriously. Man, you'll have white hair before you hit forty if you continue to carry on like that. Here's something that could help.

  Along with the short note dated a year ago, there was a key in the envelope; an old-fashioned metallic key embossed with a K. He examined it closely, frowning. There was no explanation at all about what it opened.

  Deciding it was a problem for tomorrow, he crashed on his bed, and fell asleep within instants.

  Ed woke up at five. As he'd slept through the night, he might have beaten jet lag for once.

  Checking his emails, he was surprised to find a message from Jennifer, sent yesterday around eight in the evening.

  She'd attached a file on Hester Hall.

  Clicking on it, Edmund stilled. The photo at the top of the file was indeed of the woman he'd seen the previous afternoon: she wore a long black dress in that picture, and stood next to Desmond King.

  Hester Hall, born May 23, 1990, which made her twenty-eight. She'd finished high school in 2004, at age 14, got accepted to Columbia with a full ride scholarship. She majored in business, and joined the workforce at 18, taking a job way beneath her as a secretary. Edmund guessed that as a kid and a woman, she couldn't find anyone to take her seriously. She changed job four times until 2013, when she was employed by the Kings.

  Jennifer had listed all of the deals she'd worked on, on behalf of the Kings. Shit. If he'd had that file in front of him when he'd first been in touch with her, he certainly wouldn't have shoved his foot in his mouth.

  He thanked his assistant and mused over the situation.

  He really should have acted differently.

  This year would mark the tenth anniversary of his father's death. Every year close to Valentine's Day, his mother spiraled dangerously, but the anniversaries were worse.

  Forty years ago, Lola had been in Italy, watching the yachts and sailing boats in a harbor when she met a handsome Italian who owned a schooner called My Queen that stayed docked all year around. He'd converted it into a restaurant.

  Lola Ashworth never married Roberto, but she'd loved him with all her heart. Edmund wouldn't believe in love if he hadn't seen it with his own eyes throughout his entire childhood.

  His mother spoke about that harbor every time they saw each other. How she'd loved walking in the dockyard, watching the Mediterranean Sea, enjoying the fresh air, and above all, watching the boats.

  The owner of the harbor had sold to the Kings fifteen years ago. Roberto had still owned his schooner; he had it moved to Marseilles. After he passed, like everything else he owned, it went to Lola and Ed. My Queen was still serving delicious food at a dock, but it was past time it returned home. The idea had entered Ed's mind a while back, but he'd concentrated on a number of business matters that took precedence. With Malcolm's illness, and now his death though, he’d decided to act, now, before it was too late. His mother wasn't very old, she had long years before her, but accidents happened. He didn't want to live with the guilt of knowing he could have done that for her but prioritized a farming project.

  He needed that harbor, no matter the cost. Hopefully, Hester Hall would see things his way.

  Chapter 5

  "Good morning, Chris!"

  "I have news," Hester's assistant announced excitedly. "Ashworth asked for a meeting."

  "He's been asking for a meeting for a month," Hester reminded him, rolling her eyes.

  "No, I mean he isn't asking for Desmond. He's asking for you. And being nice about it, too."

  Hes whistled, impressed. She got to her own computer and checked said email, finding it perfectly polite and civilized. He'd be glad to meet "at her convenience," now. Did the guy have a split personality?

  Mildly intrigued, she made a pleasant and short reply proposing three different times and venues; today here at the office, Thursday for lunch, or Friday at five. His reply came quickly, accepting the first offer.

  "Chris, do you mind pulling info on that guy? Let me know anything of relevance."

  "Already done. Thirty-five, running a family firm, hands in various pies, rich, and granddad is a duke. Silver spoon type."

  She'd pegged him right from the start. Hester remembered the man she'd met just the previous evening; a tall, handsome, dark-haired guy with a fascinating behind and the most delectable British accent. Another man who could have fit that description to a tee.

  "Any clue why he wants that harbor?"

  "None. His company focuses on land ownership and development. He has farms all over the globe, including here in the States. A harbor in a small town? It's random."

  They'd bought the harbor he wanted because they'd renovated a nearby palazzo a while back; owning the harbor had considerably facilitated their importing of materials. Palazzos weren't the sort of places one could touch up using modern materials; the Italians had always been a lavish sort, particularly in the time of the Medicis. They'd needed the finest rose marble and antique sculptures from Greece, and transporting that sort of thing was safer by sea than air or roads. The harbor had been going for a cheap price, and Desmond figured that buying it would be less of a hassle than paying a fee every time their ships docked. The harbor ran itself with no interference from them, turning in a small profit, and it was simply too inconsequential to have thought of spending time looking for a buyer.

  What could a man like Edmund Ashworth want with it?

  Hester was intrigued for all of ten minutes. Then, attacking her work for the day, she put it out of her mind; she'd find out soon enough.

  The day passed in a blur; the development team of King Tech was ready to present a new product to the board, so they were abuzz with energy and required all of Hes's attention. In the meantime, King Construction was celebrating their twelve-year anniversary and asking Hes to extend their considerable budget or contact a venue they couldn't book.

  She was being torn in two, as was her norm. Chris kept her supplied with coffee and reminded her of any engagements fifteen minutes before they happened, allowing her to retain her sanity.

  "Hes? The front desk gave me the heads-up. Ashworth is on his way up."

  Hester glanced at the clock on her laptop and frowned, keeping up with the conversation she was having on the phone.

  "Excuse me one second, Frank." To Chris, she mouthed, "make him wait."

  Edmund was twenty minutes early. Shit, who even did that in business?

  Returning to her call, she said, "Sorry, I had a scheduling mishap. Carry on."

  Frank wanted Desmond to sit in on the board meeting when he presented his product, of course; she had to placate him, explaining why it wasn't possible at the moment. Designers were very much like artists when it came to their creations: proud and incapable of understanding the fact that it wasn't the absolute priority of everyone else in the business. Hester knew she had to play nice, simply because the man was a genius. If she offended him and he resigned on a whim, she could kiss her promotion goodbye.

  Their conversation ran over by five minutes. She found herself smirking when she checked the time again, four past three. She'd made the proud Brit wait.

  Using the internal messaging system, she let Chris know that she was ready to receive Ashworth. A moment later, her eyes widened and her jaw dropped as she watched a dark-haired, green-eyed, tall, handsome man stride confidently inside her office.

  The guy from yesterday.

  "Mr. Chees
y Chips," she said out loud.

  Edmund Ashworth smiled, no surprise in his expression. Of course. He'd heard her name the previous day.

  "The one and only," he replied, taking a seat in front of her without being invited. "This's a lovely office. And with a view."

  Small talk. She could do that. "Yes, I love the city."

  "Do you?" he asked. "With the traffic, the skyscrapers, the pollution…"

  "We can't all own castles and acres of land in Austen country."

  "Just a house," Edmund replied. "The castle is in ruins and the manor belongs to Uncle Marvin."

  She had to laugh. "Let me guess. A windy, remote moorland farmhouse."

  "Ah! The lady believes me to be despicable enough to reside in Wuthering Heights. Am I Heathcliff or Catherine in that scenario, I wonder?"

  "That remains to be determined."

  “I've always felt a kinship to that poor fellow. 'If you ever looked at me once with what I know is in you, I would be your slave,'” he quoted effortlessly.

  If Edmund was endeavoring to make her forget her first impression of him, it was working.

  "A fan of the classics?" she asked, reluctantly impressed.

  "Not at all. Give me a good Stephen King any day. But if you'd met my grandmother, you'd understand why I can quote Bronte, Austen, Shakespeare, Dickens, and all that lot."

  Still, he was a reader, unlike practically every man she knew.

  A very handsome, currently perfectly charming reader with a lovely smile.

  Shit. He was trying to make himself look amiable and she was falling for it, hook, line, and sinker.

  "We're very much off subject. We have a harbor to discuss, I believe."

  "Indeed, we do. I want it, you own it. Name your price, and we can begin negotiating."

  Hester couldn't help herself; she grinned.

  "Mr. Ashworth—"

  "Ed."

  "Ed, then. We purchased that harbor because it's a few miles north of Venice, and it's deep enough to dock a larger ship. The location has been extremely useful in the past, and should we purchase property in the area again, we may need it. Price isn't the only thing we'll need to discuss."