King's Rule - Jackie Ashenden

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and letting him do things for me. I hated the thought. That might have worked for my mother, but I’d never wanted it for myself. I’d wanted to do things my way, using the things I was good at, such as drawing and design, not because I happened to be beautiful and good at giving head.

      At that moment my phone started buzzing in my pocket. Weird—who’d be calling me? I had a few friends, but they only ever texted.

      Digging the phone out, I slid off Mum’s bed and went into the hallway, ignoring her frowning after me. The call was from a number I didn’t recognise, which instantly made me suspicious. Hopefully it wouldn’t be the debt collectors already.

      I hit answer anyway. ‘Hello?’

      ‘Poppy.’ The voice was deep, dark and cold, scraping deliciously over my nerve-endings, making me shiver helplessly and sending my heartbeat into the stratosphere.

      ‘Xander?’ I couldn’t quite believe it was him calling, but it was; I’d recognise that voice anywhere. ‘Wh-What the hell do you want?’ Hating the sound of my stutter, I moved into the tiny lounge of the apartment and went over to the big sliding window that let out onto the even tinier balcony. It was hot outside but Mum had bat ears and I didn’t want her overhearing.

      There was a pause down the other end of the line.

      ‘I wanted to reiterate that the job offer is still open,’ he said at last.

      Well, that was unexpected.

      I pulled shut the sliding window then leaned back against the hot glass. ‘So, after backing me against a door and intimidating the hell out of me, you’re saying you still want to employ me?’

      Another pause, even longer that time.

      ‘Yes. I was...out of line.’

      I blinked in surprise, staring at the dusty expanse of cheap infill housing laid out beneath the balcony, but not seeing the ugliness of it this time.

      ‘Please don’t tell me this is an apology.’ I couldn’t quite keep the shock from my voice.

      ‘All right, I won’t tell you,’ he said stiffly. ‘But I lost my temper back there and I shouldn’t have done what I did.’

      Holy shit. It was an apology.

      For a second I didn’t know what to say. But I was saved from having to, because he kept on talking. ‘Still, I don’t take manipulation well, and I didn’t like you using a private promise to get me to do what you wanted.’

      Ah yes, that.

      A little wash of shame went through me. Okay, I shouldn’t have used that to get what I wanted, not when it was something my mother might have done, but...well... I’d been angry and frustrated, and not thinking straight. Which was totally his fault.

       Really? His fault?

      ‘How was I to know that was important to you?’ I said defensively, ignoring the thought. ‘But...’ I took a breath, then forced the rest of the words out ‘... I guess I shouldn’t have said it.’

      An awkward silence fell.

      I gripped the phone tightly. If he wanted anything more from me, he was shit out of luck. That was as far as I was prepared to go.

      ‘Does that mean you’ll take the job?’ he asked finally.

      I didn’t want to. I really didn’t want to.

      ‘What’s the salary?’ I tried to make it sound like a question and not a demand.

      Another pause. Then he named a sum that nearly made my eyes pop out of my head. Jesus, that much for answering phones and getting coffee? Really?

      ‘That’s...’ I cleared my throat ‘...not bad.’

      ‘Are you going to take it? Yes or no?’

      I closed my eyes against the bright sun, trying to ignore the feeling of foreboding that curled inside me, along with an excitement I didn’t want to acknowledge.

      ‘I’ll think about it,’ I said, unable to help digging at him a little.

      ‘No, you won’t think about it.’ His voice was flat. ‘I need an answer now.’

      A shiver snaked down my spine at the demand in his tone.

      Oh, God, why did I like that?

      ‘Fine.’ I tried to sound casual. ‘I’ll take it. I guess it won’t be—’

      ‘You start at eight-thirty tomorrow morning,’ he interrupted. ‘Don’t be late.’

      Then he ended the call before I could say a word.

       CHAPTER FIVE

      Xander

      POPPY WAS LATE.

      I stood by the windows in my office, looking down at the view of the street far below and the entrance to the building. The stream of people flooding into the offices had slowed to a trickle, just the late arrivals now, rushing towards the doors.

      By God, one of them had better be her.

      I shouldn’t be surprised that she wasn’t here yet but somehow I was and now my temper was straining at the leash.

      Maybe she wouldn’t turn up at all.

      Maybe she’d been playing with me when she’d said she’d take the job. Certainly she’d done enough of that as a kid. When I was supposed to be looking after her she’d suddenly disappear, which then involved a frantic search for her, only to have her turn up, sometimes hours later, in her bedroom or somewhere innocuous, looking all innocent.

      Or when I was busy with study and needing quiet, she’d come into whichever area I was studying in and start playing loud games. Or sing. Or play music.

      Even in my bedroom I wasn’t safe since her room had been next to mine. She’d put her music on and turn the volume up, the bass thumping through the walls. And when I politely told her to turn it down, she’d ignore me.

      She seemed to live to drive me crazy and it looked like nothing had changed.

      Turning from the window, I went back to my desk and tried to finish some last-minute tasks I had to tie up before I could get stuck in to my project. But as the minutes ticked by I found it harder and harder to concentrate.

      Insanity. I’d never had this problem before. Normally the issue tended to be that I got so consumed in work that I lost track of time, not that I couldn’t concentrate in the first place.

      Eventually, I shoved my chair back, got to my feet, pacing like a caged animal to get rid of the impatience that burned in my blood.

      Fifteen minutes late and counting.

      Was she doing this deliberately? Didn’t she understand what a ‘good reference’ meant? Yes, she might have got caught up in traffic or missed the bus, or train, or whatever transport situation she had to contend with, but at the very least she could have texted me that she’d be late. That would have been the courteous thing to do. Then again, when had Poppy ever been courteous?

      Never. Not even the first day she’d arrived at our house. I’d been all set to welcome her, to try to be the kind of big brother figure my own brothers had been for me—someone she could count on to protect her, to take care of her. But she’d responded to all my attempts at friendly conversation with silence. Her chin had been set, her gaze hostile, and nothing I said or did had made any difference.

      She seemed hell-bent on hating me right from the get-go.

       If she knew what you’d done she’d hate you even more.

      The thought insinuated itself in my head, snide and sharp. I

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