“Mr. Payne! Can you tell us why you’re quitting the team? What are your plans for senior year? Is there a chance you might return to the field next year?”
Killian grimaces as the shouts continue, turning to shield me from the commotion. “Let me deal with this. Can you grab the coats?” He cups my cheek, ducking down to press a kiss to the corner of my mouth. A burst of bright camera flashes makes me flinch. “I’ll just be a second.”
“O-okay.” We split apart, but I look back, watching him pull himself to his full height as the first reporter asks his question. I’ve seen some of these guys doing press before, and they’re all terrible at it. I’ve always wondered why they need to bother. They’re good at what they do on the field. Isn’t that enough?
But not Killian.
He holds eye contact, and when he answers, he projects his voice, lifting his chin in a way that would look arrogant on someone else. He has presence, exudes an authority and competence that I know Forsyth’s athletic department is going to sorely miss. Football or not, watching him standing there, commanding the attention of the people before him, I know that’s where he’s meant to be. Leading.
I finally turn away and approach the coat check, unzipping my purse for the ticket. Unfortunately, there’s no one behind the little desk. I’m peering impatiently into the closet when I hear, “The President is a bit dry, isn’t he?”
My stomach drops at the voice.
Saul Cartwright. “I don’t blame you for making a break for it. Pretty little thing like you, on a night like this? You should be out painting the town.”
I wasn’t surprised he was the one to present Killian’s award. He’s the Athletic Director, after all. But now that I know Ted is likely one of the Kings—and Saul being more likely than the rest—my heart rate jacks up to eleven.
I turn reluctantly, forcing myself to meet his gaze. “I’m in a hurry, so if you’ll excuse me…”
His eyes fall to my chest, ignoring my brush off. “You look lovely tonight, Story.”
I try not to let him see the way my muscles stiffen at the way he’s looking at me. “Don’t let Killian hear you say that. Not if you want to keep your fingers.”
“Ah, yes.” He glances back at his star player, so surrounded by the reporters that he doesn’t even notice us. “I’ve heard he’s become quite protective of you. The other Lords, as well. A spirited bunch, aren’t they?” The smug tilt to his mouth deepens. “Not as hardy as my Dukes, but passable, I guess.”
Impatient to leave, I circle around the desk and step into the closet, scanning it for our jackets. It’s jammed packed, though. I can’t tell one black coat from the other, but one thing is painfully noticeable.
Saul’s presence behind me in the doorway.
When I turn, dread pooling in my stomach, I see him standing with his hands in his pockets, deceptively casual-looking. Fucking stupid, letting myself get cornered. So anxious to get back to my Lords that I disregarded everything they’ve taught me.
Saul’s eyes flash with satisfaction. “You know, I caught your little show in the pit. That sure is some pussy you’ve got.” From a distance, no one would know he was talking about something so crass, and so brashly. “I was… well, disappointed. You were always so pure back in the day. Those little rainbow panties…” He wets his lips, for the first time acknowledging that he remembers me from my sugar baby days. In all our interactions, Cartwright has never openly admitted it—not that he needs to. He was one of my more memorable customers, a pale, perverted face on the other side of my computer screen, plying me with filthy compliments. But I’ve learned that he’s way more than just some old guy paying for underage pussy. He’s even more than the director of athletics at this school. He’s a King—the leader of the Dukes, and one-fifth of the upper echelon that keeps the Royal machine chugging along.
I clutch my purse to my stomach, willing the champagne from earlier to remain down as I frantically search for an exit. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
He dips his head, looking at me through his lashes. “Oh, Sweet Cherry. Give me more credit than that. I was a loyal follower.” He props his hand on the doorframe, looking completely comfortable to block my way. “If you want to know the truth, at first, I was just watching to case the goods. See whether Payne was shirking his duties. But there you were, sweetheart. The real deal.” The endearment makes my chest throb. Only one person calls me sweetheart. “I was the first one to sign off on you, you know. This new girl we’ve got lined up…” He pulls a face, flicking his wrist. “She doesn’t really do it for me. Not as cute as you are. Not as…innocent. Bustier. She’s got that slutty look about her.” His eyes slide down my body and he adjusts his belt, hiking it up against the early stages of a paunch. “Some men like that, I suppose. I hear she’s a fighter. You’re more gentle. Our sweet little cherry.”