Drawn to Mr. King: A steamy age gap office romance (The Men Series – Interconnected Standalone Romances Book 3)
Drawn to Mr. King: Chapter 2

Present Day

“WHAT ABOUT JAPAN? WHAT was that like?” Lydia pops another fizzy cola bottle sweet into her mouth as she stares off into space.

I frown as I reach for some paperwork. She lifts one butt cheek up from its position on my desk so I can extract the paper from underneath her.

“You know, there’s a perfectly adequate chair over there that you could wheel over?” I tut as I smooth the creases out of the client brief I was looking over before she arrived.

“I’ve heard Japanese men can be really kinky,” she says as she chews.

“I wouldn’t know,” I murmur, pulling my pen from behind my ear and making some notes on the paper.

A cartoon man needed for a haemorrhoid cream advert to be run in a monthly golfing publication. Seriously, I couldn’t make this up. My boss, Phil, must hate me if these are the jobs he’s assigning me.

“What’s the matter? You look like someone killed your hamster. You know, if you had one,” Lydia pipes up.

I thrust the paper into her hands, and her eyebrows shoot up as she reads. “Ugh. Phil is such a loser, Meg. Take it as a compliment, though. If he’s giving you assignments like this, then he must feel threatened. You’re way more talented than most of the people on this floor.” Lydia doesn’t even bother to lower her voice, and I sink low into my chair, hoping no one heard. “I mean, who else gets private commissions from swanky London hotels?”

“It was one time,” I correct her. “And besides, that was a favour I did for Rachel’s boyfriend when his company was let down last minute.”

Although, honestly, my housemate’s now ex-boyfriend did me a huge favour asking me to fill in when another artist let his property development business down. The money I earned from that paid off my overdraft. I always thought they were great together, too… until they broke up. It just shows, you never know what’s around the corner.

She waves her hand in the air and wrinkles her nose. “Yeah, yeah, I know. But it’s just the beginning. You’ll have been noticed. You won’t have to work in this dump much longer. You’ll be able to start up your own freelance business, just like you wanted. The world is your oyster.”

Lydia grins at me as though everything is as simple as; you want it, you go for it, you get it. I wish I still had her youthful optimism, but time has taught me you don’t always get what you want. Not easily, anyway. Success is a bumpy road.

“Oh God, don’t look now.” Lydia slides off my desk and leans over my shoulder, feigning fascination with the haemorrhoid brief on my desk.

“What are you doing?” I whisper.

I glance around the modern office. There are around twenty designers working on this floor. A mix of artists, graphic designers, and digital imagers. My speciality is illustration, hence why I get the butt cream adverts, and Frankie—the guy who I reckon invented Geek Chic, judging by his outfits—gets the cool jobs. Last month he was working on a tour company’s travel brochures. The sight of those white sand beaches made me wonder why I ever left my job as a flight attendant. I could be sunning myself on one of them right now, instead of waiting for Phil’s big meeting that he’s been harping on about since Monday.

“Shh!” Lydia elbows me in the ribs. “Oh, yes, Megan. I see what you mean,” she says, her brows knitted in concentration.

My forehead wrinkles as I look at her in confusion.

“Hi, Megan.” Tim from accounts passes my desk, clearing his throat.

“Hi, Tim.” I smile, noticing Lydia’s eyes have gone wide, and she’s keeping her gaze fixed on the desk.

“Lydia,” he nods, “red is your colour. You’re like a cherry on a Bakewell tart.”

“Er… thanks, Tim,” Lydia murmurs, rolling her eyes once he’s walked away.

I look at her and bite my cheek. “What was that?”

“Oh God, Meg. It’s so embarrassing. He tells me I’m like a sunset if I wear orange, a daffodil on a spring day if I wear yellow. I’m tempted to come in naked just so he’ll cut it out,” she huffs.

I can’t stop my giggle from spilling out, “Coming in naked would not help. He’s got it bad for you, Lyds.” I tip my head forward and let my giggle morph into a laugh.

“Stop!” she cries, folding her arms across her chest. “He’s weird—kind of hot, in a Clark Kent way, with those glasses and the button-down shirt—but still weird. I bet his mum packs his sandwiches for him.”

“Yep, and a Cherry Bakewell,” I snort as Phil comes out of his office and announces it’s time to start the meeting. “Seriously,” I turn to Lydia as we walk together into the boardroom down the hall, “that’s cheered me right up. I wasn’t feeling too hot this morning.”

“Menopause?” Lydia looks at me in pity, and she pats my arm as we take a seat at the long table.

“Piss off!” I whisper. “I’m only thirty.”

Her pretty twenty-two-year-old face grins at me as she winks. “Just messing with you.”

I shake my head. How fun it must be to be an intern and go out getting pissed and having wild sex every weekend. When I was twenty-two, I had just come out of a six-year relationship and still lived at home with my parents. Even now, my life resembles that of an old spinster. Besides work and my barre classes, I’m a hermit. Maybe Lydia’s right. My eggs are probably shrivelling up right now, bored with waiting.

“Thank you, everyone.” Phil rubs his hands together as he stands at the head of the table. “So, I bet you’re all really excited to know what the big secret is?” He grins at the table as twenty faces stare blankly back at him. “Right, well. The wait is over.” He waves his hands in front of him, and a memory of a Friends episode with jazz hands pops into my mind. Someone coughs and Phil clears his throat, loosening his tie before continuing. “So, it seems they have chosen us as the company to work on the new children’s book line, White Fire.”

There’s a split-second pause as his words take effect, then excited chatter erupts around the table. Phil looks pleased with himself, a grin spreading from ear to ear as the overhead light shines on his bald head, illuminating it like a bulb.

I wonder if he applies lotion to it to make it shine like that.

“I thought he was going to tell us he was changing the coffee brand in the kitchen. This is actually big news.” Lydia grins at me, her eyes bright.

I remove my gaze from Phil’s head. “Yeah, I’ll say. This is incredible, Lyds.”

White Fire has been the most anticipated book series release since… I don’t even know when. It’s a children’s series based around a magical, alternate world and time travel. I never imagined our company getting the contract. Sure, we’re good and have talented designers. But we are small compared to some London giants.

This is a huge deal.

Phil claps his hands to get everyone’s attention. “Now, I know you’re all very excited. This is an enormous project, and it will involve you all. The reason for this meeting is to announce the news to you and to introduce you to the company we will work closely alongside.” He looks over towards the door as it opens. “So, I’m very pleased to introduce you to some of the team from King Publishing.” He holds up an arm like an assistant on a gameshow giving the ‘ta-dah!’ moment as a woman and two men enter the room.

She’s smiling, and first impressions tell me she will be approachable. The first guy looks nice enough, too, giving a small wave as he comes in. But it’s the last man that catches my attention.

My body seems to know what’s happening before my mind has a chance to catch up, judging by the way all the small hairs on the back of my neck have stood up.

My eyes lock on him as he walks in and stands with the other two at the front of the room. He’s cool and unhurried in his designer wool suit. He smiles and nods an acknowledgement to each person around the room. His dark hair with a touch of silver catches the light as his deep grey eyes land on me. If he’s surprised, then he doesn’t show it. He holds my gaze and lifts a hand to his chin, rubbing his thumb across his lower lip as though deep in thought. The action only makes my eyes drop to his mouth, and I swallow as I cross my legs and press my thighs together, willing the pulsing between them to stop.

“Who’s the fox?” Lydia whispers behind her hand.

I stare back into those eyes as Phil goes through the introductions. It seems the fox at the front of the room—still staring at me intently, his grey eyes burning into my skin—is Jaxon King, head of King Publishing.

Well, knock me over with a feather.

The man who, one month ago, gave me the best mind-blowing sex of my life.

All. Night. Long.

Jaxon King… who’s still watching me with those gorgeous stormy eyes.

The man who, the next morning, promised to call during the week to take me for dinner, telling me he had never had a night like ours in his entire life.

Still staring… and, God, his lips are as delicious as I remember.

Also, the man who never called.

Ever.

He is still sex on legs, though.

Pig.