The King (The Original Sinners: White Years, #2)(69)

“Fuck,” Kingsley said.

“It was delivered to the church two hours ago. I listened to it.” S?ren spoke in French now, a wise move considering they were surrounded. “You seem to be confessing to sleeping with my Eleanor. Which is an impressive feat since you’ve never met her.”

“I lied because—”

“I know why you lied, and I appreciate it. But someone clearly does not appreciate it.”

“I’ll handle it,” Kingsley said, and took the tape from him.

“Is this something I need to be concerned about?”

“Non,” Kingsley said. “It’s mine to deal with, not you.”

“Do you know who sent it?”

Kingsley shook his head. “I talked to the man on the tape— Robert Dixon. He swears it wasn’t him. I believe him, but he’s not telling me everything. He admits to taping us, but he tapes everything out of paranoia.”

“You’ll let me know if this situation gets out of hand?”

“It won’t get out of hand,” Kingsley said. “But just in case…”

“What?”

“Pack a bag for Denmark.”

S?ren started to say something, but Sam picked that inopportune moment to interrupt.

“Is this him?” Sam asked. Even without the Roman collar, S?ren had a priestly air to him. It was no wonder Sam had known who he was without an introduction. “I’m Sam. You must be Our Father Who Art in Connecticut.”

“A pleasure,” S?ren said, and kissed her hand.

“No. Stop.” Kingsley took S?ren’s hand away from Sam’s. “Take two steps back right now. She’s my secretary. You aren’t allowed to f lirt with her.”

“I wasn’t f lirting,” S?ren said. “Merely being polite.”

“He’s worried because he thinks you’re prettier than he is,” Sam said to S?ren.

“He is prettier than I am,” Kingsley said. “It’s the eyelashes.”

“You do have unusually dark eyelashes for a blond,” Sam said, studying S?ren. “How do you do it?”

S?ren answered, “Mascara.”

“No offense, Padre, but between the two of you, Kingsley would win the pretty boy competition.”

“I’m not the least offended,” S?ren said.

“It’s the long hair. All boys should have long hair.” She pulled his hair, and he slapped her hand away. She slapped back.

“Children,” S?ren scolded. “Behave.”

“Sorry. I love the hair,” Sam said.

“He certainly wears it to his advantage. I approve of the wardrobe change, as well. Your doing?” S?ren asked Sam.

“All my idea. He wants to be a king. He should look like a king.”

“You’ve succeeded,” S?ren said. “He looks positively majestic.”

“See?” Sam said. “I win. You lose. You have to dress like this forever.”

“I surrender,” Kingsley said.

“So, let me ask you two a question.” With her glass of wine, Sam pointed first at him and then at S?ren. “How are you going to get away with the fact that he’s him and you’re a priest? I mean, is it safe for a priest to be in the house of a strip club-owning, S and M club-creating, blackmailing blackmailer, Kingsley the Edge?”

“Of course I can be in Kingsley’s home without any fear of censure,” S?ren said. “I have a very good excuse.”

“What’s the excuse?” Sam asked.

S?ren answered before Kingsley could stop him.

“We’re related.”

Sam’s eyes went laughably wide.

She eyed Kingsley. Then S?ren. Then Kingsley again.

“You’re both white boys. You’re both good-looking. You know, for men. Other than that, I don’t see the resemblance.”

“Related by marriage,” S?ren said. “I was very brief ly married to Kingsley’s sister before she passed away.”

“Oh,” Sam said, nodding. “But Kingsley, you said your sister married—”

Kingsley glared at her. He’d told Sam his sister had married the man he was in love with. Tonight was not the night to dredge all that up.

“Married who?” S?ren asked, looking from Sam to Kingsley and then back at Sam.

“I told Sam my sister married a pompous arrogant selfimportant overeducated pretentious bastard.”

“That would be me,” S?ren said, raising his glass.

“Gotcha. Well, I’ll leave you two bros-in-law to catch up. There are women in this room who have never had a multiple orgasm. They need me. I have heard their cries in the night.”

“Go answer the cries,” Kingsley said.

Sam bowed to them both and stalked off.

“What was she going to say?” S?ren asked.

“Nothing,” Kingsley said. “Nothing at all.”

S?ren watched Sam as she disappeared into the crowd.

“What do you know about her?” he asked.

“Everything I need to,” Kingsley said.

“That’s an excellent nonanswer.”

“Why do you ask? She’s my secretary, not yours.”

“I could spend the next two hours telling you everything I know about my secretary, Diane. I know where she was born, where she grew up, where she went to school, who she’s dating, who her parents are… Can you say the same about Sam?”