The Fearless King (The Kings #2)(11)
He released her and stood. “We’ll fight this, Jo. We’ll win.”
She wished she believed that. Journey watched her brother walk out of her office and then sat there for a long time, thinking. Anderson would fight until his dying breath to ensure their father didn’t win. If things started looking dire, he might do something he couldn’t take back, promise or no. He’d throw away everything he’d worked so hard for. For her. For Bellamy. For Eliza.
She couldn’t let him.
She stared at her phone. She’d been the victim, the helpless little sister, the one in need of being protected, for as long as she could remember. Journey had never been strong enough to fight her own battles. She wasn’t sure she was strong enough now.
But she couldn’t sit back and do nothing while Anderson went to war for them yet again, taking all the risks so no one else had to shoulder that burden. Elliott was focusing on her because she was the weak link, but the second he decided Anderson was more trouble than he was worth, he’d cut her brother’s legs out from underneath him.
She couldn’t let it happen.
Journey dialed before she could talk herself out of it. As soon as the line clicked over, she spoke in a rush. “I changed my mind, Frank. If your offer still stands, I…I need help.”
*
Few things surprised Frank these days. People were nothing if not predictable, and he’d made his fortune being able to guess their moves before they made them. He hadn’t expected Journey to call. He sure as fuck hadn’t expected her to request his help less than twelve hours after he’d brought her to orgasm on his office floor.
He strode through the front doors of the Lotus, the restaurant he’d set as their meeting location. It was a little Greek place he’d scooped up right around the time he made his first million. The owners had been the same family since he was a child, and the recession hit them hard. They would have lost everything, so Frank had quietly bankrolled a face-lift and some key advertising for the place. He let them maintain independence for the most part, but they had meetings once a quarter to ensure the restaurant was following the trajectory he wanted for it.
Mira herself met him at the hostess stand. She looked like he imagined mothers were supposed to look—soft and curvy for excellent hugs, laugh lines from a life well lived, and a wardrobe of dresses in some of the strangest patterns he’d ever laid eyes on. Today, tiny cats danced across a minty background, setting off her brown skin and curly dark hair. “Mr. Evans! Let me look at you, let me look at you.” She took his hands and held them out to the side, surveying his body critically. “Have you lost weight?”
“How could I, Mira? You send your son around once a week with your cooking.” He pressed a quick kiss to her cheek and disengaged their hands. “The gyro on Monday was wonderful.”
“Flatterer.” She smiled. “You’re here to meet the young lady?” She waggled her dark eyebrows. “Is it serious?”
He shook his head. “Sorry to disappoint, but it’s business.”
“This is disappointing. You won’t be young forever.” She shooed him. “Go to your meeting. I’ll send the boys over with today’s specials in a bit. Wine?”
He glanced at his watch. “It’s ten in the morning.”
“Iced tea, then.” She didn’t wait for an answer, which was just as well.
Frank gave himself a full ten seconds to enjoy the fond pestering. Before she died, his mother had been more occupied with escaping her pain in any way she could than she was with asking him about his life. It gave him a whole lot of freedom as a teenager, and he’d never felt the lack until he met Mira. She was what a good mother looked like.
No point in going over this yet again.
He made his way to the little table tucked into an alcove of sorts near a stained-glass window that overlooked the street. The morning sunlight shone through, turning Journey King into a piece of art, color washing over her blond hair and pale skin, painting her in reds and oranges and blues. She glanced up as he approached, but she didn’t smile. She also didn’t look like she’d gotten much sleep.
Frank thought over the information Mateo had provided this morning. Journey King wouldn’t be the first person to have two shitty parents, and her lazy-ass father coming back to Houston couldn’t be a pleasant thing. As best Frank could tell, Elliott Bancroft was a playboy who liked spending money more than he liked working to make it, and between his wife and his family, he never went without despite showing no evidence of working a day in his life. If he was back in Houston and meddling with Kingdom Corp, he had some kind of ulterior motive.
Journey eyed him as if she expected him to come across the table at her. Skittish…edging straight into terrified. What the fuck is going on? He didn’t have all the puzzle pieces, and the lack of information grated. Frank carefully leaned back, giving her the illusion of more space. “Considering how last night went, I didn’t think I’d hear from you.”
“You mean after the pity orgasm you gave me?” She lifted a single shoulder, as if she begged men to touch her—to fuck her—every damn day. “That’s just sex, Frank. This is business.”
Liar.
“I’m not petitioning for sainthood, Duchess. I don’t dole out orgasms to brighten people’s day.”