Compromising Kessen (Vandenbrook #1)(8)

He shouldn’t be surprised. His father tried to control everything in his life, from whom he dated, to whom he would marry, to what job he would have. His father had a desire for Christian to enter into politics. Christian, however, had other ideas about his future.

Marketing had always been his passion, so when an internship opened up at Newberry and Co., he decided to take it. Four years later, he was now the VP and couldn’t be happier, until his father’s proclamation.

It’s not that he needed the money or the title. He had plenty of money without his trust fund. It was the principle of the matter. After all, he was the only son. The dukedom was supposed to pass to him, not fall out of the family completely because of his stubborn father. Not that he was worried about his father finding the fountain of youth any time soon. It was the simple idea that everyone was aware of the discontent within his family. Besides, going down in history books as the one Vandenbrook who received the title and single-handedly destroyed the happiness in his family did not have any appeal.

The fact it would slowly kill his mother, who was already peeved at him for the situation with Jenifer, did nothing for his headache or indigestion.

He groaned as he approached his street. Kensington Palace Gardens The most sought-after street in the world, or one of them, at least. It was once called Billionaires’ Row because of the wealthy families who resided there. In all actuality, most of them were millionaires, but to most people it was basically the same thing.

He shared a house with his parents, still a thought that kept him up at night. It was incredible how much control they still had over his life at twenty-nine. “Settle down!” they would say each time he turned down another girl. “Find a different job!” they would say each time he came home late from work. “Marry a blue blood!” his father would yell each time he turned down another marriage proposal from a titled family.

Oftentimes, his life felt like the novels written about his family. Authors had no idea how close to the truth they were when they spoke about the heritage of his family. If anything, they weren’t painted nearly as mad as they actually were.

It was the only cheerful thought of the night. His family being humiliated in modern literature. It was enough to bring a large smile to his face. He decided to whistle all the way to his house, all the while imagining how poor Duncan was going to fare with the lovely Lady Newberry. Without a doubt, she would be a handful.

It was a wonder she didn’t already have her own silly American reality television show. She looked the part, with her bleached blonde hair and tall super-model figure. The sight of her appalled him, only because it made him realize how much he despised Americans in general—their incessant need for coffee, fame, and fortune. Did any of them sleep? Ever?

He doubted it. Of course, it had been ages since he had slept a full four hours, so he probably shouldn’t be passing judgment.

Tomorrow was going to be his monthly meeting with store managers. He liked to hold the meetings at the actual stores, so he could keep an eye on their marketing strategies and help them implement higher sales volumes.

His morning was to be spent at one of his favorite stores in the heart of London; if he was lucky, he would get to serve tea and coffee to guests. He did love customer service. As well he should; he would have a lifetime of interacting with people once he was officially the Duke of Albany.

He quietly let himself into the house and tumbled onto his bed. He had exactly five hours before he needed to be up and ready.

****

Kessen woke up to a flight attendant hovering over her with a bottle of water and two aspirin. Thank God for small favors, she thought, greedily grabbing both from her hands.

Vaguely she remembered telling the flight attendant to have those waiting for her when she woke up. A migraine was starting just as the flight took off. Kessen knew she needed medicine before and after the flight to make sure she didn’t throw up from the pain.

She buckled her seatbelt and waited for landing. By her calculations she should be in London in about twenty minutes. She took a few moments to fix her hair and went into the tiny bathroom to change into her jeans and a Yankees t-shirt. Looking in the mirror, Kessen had to laugh. All she needed was an “I heart New York” hat and fanny pack, and she would be set. Fitting the part of the most annoying American tourist ever to set foot in London actually cheered her up quite a bit.

Before returning to her seat, she threw on her leather bomber jacket and put on some lip gloss. They landed soon after, and within minutes she had her carry-on luggage and was cursing herself for not packing lighter.

Someone called her name in what could only be described as an annoyingly thick British accent, causing Kessen to wince. This was her reality for the next few months. It was enough to send her straight back to the plane to demand a refund.

Amazingly, the massive throng parted just in time for her to see a nicely dressed man about her age, carrying a large sign which had her name spelled incorrectly. Rather than Kessen it said Kissin.

She groaned and rolled her eyes behind her sunglasses before coming to an abrupt stop right in front of him.

“Are you Kessen?” he asked, his accent still thick, but a little softer on the ears than it had previously been. Perhaps her sleepy ears had been playing tricks on her.

“That would be me.”

“Good—ness ,” he said out loud. “Sorry, I meant to say that in my head; it came out wrong.”