Fake Empire(26)

“You can call me Royce,” he replies, adopting a similar pose beside me as he orders a drink. I hide my surprise. Royce Raymond is a media mogul, whose production company consistently churns out blockbuster hits. There’s not an actor in Hollywood who doesn’t want to work with him. He’s famous for his hands on approach to everything. Supposedly, not even a PA gets hired on one of his sets without his say so. He’s just as well known for his antisocial tendencies, which include snubbing many of the coveted invitations he receives. I’m shocked he’s here.

“I’m glad you could make it. Royce.”

The older man makes an unintelligible sound.

“Are you in New York for long?” Last I knew, his primary residence was in Los Angeles.

“Long enough.”

“Long enough for what?”

“You’ll be taking over for your father soon?”

“That’s the general assumption. You’d have to ask him for the specifics.”

“I’ve never much cared for Arthur. Too power-hungry for my taste. Although…I suppose you’re the one who just married billions.”

I hold his gaze as he studies me appraisingly. “Money isn’t the only reason I married Scarlett.” I expect the words to sound false. To ring with insincerity. They don’t.

“A bold statement for a man who just inherited an empire.”

“Don’t confuse me for my father.”

“If that were the case, we wouldn’t be having this conversation, Crew.”

“What conversation would that be?”

Royce smiles. “You know I have no children of my own.”

“I do.”

“I’m…entertaining the idea of passing the torch. Would that interest you?”

“A partnership?”

He shakes his head. “Full ownership. It’s been fifty years. Nothing lasts forever. When I find the right person, it will be time to move on.”

“I assume you know I have no experience in the film industry?”

He chuckles. “I’m looking for someone with good business sense and a moral compass. The latter is difficult to find in this world.”

“Thank you?”

Another chuckle. “I’m not looking for a figurehead to collect a hefty percentage. That, I could find easily. I’ve never entertained any of your father’s offers because I’ve seen what happens to companies underneath the Kensington Consolidated umbrella. I know how business works. But it’s not how my business works—how it will ever work.”

“You would want me to choose,” I realize.

“Arthur is…what? Fifty-four? Fifty-six? I wouldn’t be expecting him to hand the biggest office over anytime soon, son or not.”

“I’m happy in my current position.”

“I’m certain you are. But it’s different to inherit versus to earn. I built everything I have, same as your great-grandfather.”

“Because you had to, in order to succeed. Kensington Consolidated is my legacy. No sane person would turn their back on a thriving birthright to hack it on their own.”

“I’m not sure your new wife would appreciate that characterization.”

I open my mouth, then close it. “That’s different,” I finally manage.

“Is it?” Royce challenges. “I find it difficult to believe there wasn’t a place at Ellsworth Enterprises for Hanson’s only child.”

“I believe Scarlett had diverging interests. Ellsworth doesn’t own any magazines.”

“They offer limited opportunities in other ways as well.”

“Perhaps,” I acknowledge.

Royce picks up the glass the bartender delivered without me noticing. “Think it over. And congratulations. I expect great things from you and the new Mrs. Kensington.”





The end of the reception passes more quickly. The important, older guests begin to leave. I’m left to drink and talk with people I consider friends.

The wedding planner, a petite woman named Sienna, is the one who tells me it’s time to make our grand exit.

“Where’s Scarlett?”

“Changing. She’ll meet you in the lobby.”

When I get to the lobby, Scarlett is already waiting. She’s wearing another white dress. This one has straps and no train. The silky material clings to her curves, covering her from head to toe in an ivory waterfall.

All I get is a cursory glance. “Good. You’re here. Let’s go.”

I grab her hand before she can take a step. She doesn’t ask what I’m doing. Doesn’t move as I release my grip and trail my fingers up her arm. Her hair is still pulled back in a fancy knot, baring her shoulders and neck. I trace all the exposed skin, savoring the goosebumps that raise on her skin.

I take another step closer, pressing my body against her side.

She inhales sharply. In the wide, empty space, it’s all I can hear. The music and chatter coming from the ballroom sound distant and muffled.

Neither of us say a word. This is a silent truce.

My hand falls away.

Your move.

Scarlett turns, so our bodies are flush. Her eyes scan my face. I have no idea what she’s looking for.

I don’t know if she finds it or not. But she does kiss me, which is what I was looking for.