Mr. King [Book 1]

Sixteen

"Would you like some tea, Miss Mason?" Mr. King asked once they arrived back at the penthouse.

"I'd just like to go to bed," she told him, feeling defeated.

"Just one cup. It will help you sleep," he pressed, giving her a look that she couldn't say no to.

"Fine. Just one cup," she agreed, and followed him to the kitchen where she watched him put a kettle on.

She excused herself to the bathroom, needing a moment to gather her bearings without Mr. King's constantly watching her. It had been a stressful evening, especially with the added stress of him tagging along to the hospital, becoming privy to a part of her life she didn't talk about.

She blew out a breath as she stood in front of the mirror. She looked absolutely exhausted, and felt it too. She quickly wiped her fingers under her eyes, trying to rid herself of the faint smudging of her makeup before she pinched her cheeks to try to pink them up a bit.

She stood there for a few extra moments staring at herself, replaying memories of the night in her mind — her father in the hospital bed, his disrespectful attitude toward everyone, Mr. King stepping in to defend her honor...

She didn't even know what to think. Why would he step in like that? She blew out another breath before gripping onto the door handle to exit the bathroom.

When she walked back into the kitchen, Mr. King was carefully preparing two cups of chamomile tea — one for her and one for himself.

It always impressed her to see him move so fluidly in the kitchen, whenever she got the rare glimpse of it. He was a natural, and she quietly wondered what it would be like to have a man like him take care of her. The thought ravaged her mind for longer than she should have let it before she shook it out of her brain.

Scenarios like that were cruel, because she knew it would never happen. They were on different wave-lengths, practically living in different dimensions. He could fuck her better than anyone ever had, and stand up for her to her father when no one else would, but at the end of the day, she was still his housekeeper.

"Thank you," she said quietly when he set a steaming hot mug of tea in front of her as she sat at the island counter.

"You're very welcome, Miss Mason," he said as he leaned back against the countertop, never taking his eyes off of her as he dunked his tea bag in and out of his own mug.

"I-I... I just realized I didn't make you dinner," she said, standing up quickly.

"Sit down, Miss Mason," he said sternly. She immediately did as he said, cowering in her seat.

"I am quite capable of making something. Are you hungry?" He asked curiously.

"To be perfectly honest, no," she said, shaking her head as she lifted her cup to her mouth and took a sip of the hot tea.

"Thank you for driving me to the hospital. And... and for standing up to my father," she said, sending him a sincere, apologetic look.

"He never did apologize," Mr. King seethed under his breath.

"He never will," Katherine said matter-of-factly.

Mr. King watched her, and she could see questions swirling in his eyes, and more than anything in the world, she did not want to answer them, so she looked away, focusing on her tea.

"Is he always like that?" He asked a moment later, causing her to flinch slightly from his words.

"Yes," she whispered as she lightly nodded her head.

"Has he always been like that?" He asked, his voice sounding dark and angry.

"Not when I was little. Not before my mom died. But... but I think he was that way with her. And... and now..." She trailed off, realizing she was answering the questions she didn't want to answer.

"And now?" Mr. King pressed, and Katherine sighed.

"Now he usually takes out all his anger on me. Unless there are other people around, like tonight. I-I try not to get involved with his life anymore. I've moved out and moved on, but... but there are times when I can't avoid him. Times like tonight," she went on to explain.

"Is he violent with you?" Mr. King asked, his voice coming out ragged and fierce. Her eyes shot up to his, feeling overwhelmed by the emotion in his words.

"I-I..." She stammered, but her voice cut short.

"Katherine," Mr. King pressed, his thunderstorm eyes focused straight on her.

"He... he never used to be when I was little," she admitted, bowing her head, breaking their gaze.

"And now?" He asked sharply.

"Not now. But... but before. When I was in high school," she admitted, feeling embarrassed that she let her father dictate her life for so long.

"What kind—tell me," Mr. King's fiery voice made her skin prickle with fear, but she wasn't afraid of him – she was afraid of letting out her demons.

"Not what you're thinking," she said, shaking her head, still keeping her eyes from him.

"You have no idea what I'm thinking," he growled through his teeth.

"He used to hit me, that's it. He never... he never sexually abused me. But... but I used to have to... I'd have to cover up bruises on my body so that people at school wouldn't see them," she confessed, feeling ashamed of herself and of her father.

"'That's it'?" Mr. King spat out her words angrily.

"It's over," she snapped back, looking up into his stormy eyes.

"God damn it," he growled, letting out a large sigh as he set his mug down hard on the countertop. Katherine jumped at the sound it made hitting the surface. Why was he so angry over it?

"Mr. King..." She breathed, wanting to calm him down.

"I-I didn't know. You should have told me," he growled, violently running his fingers through his hair.

"What? No. I-I don't... why would I—no," she stammered, feeling her cheeks heat up with embarrassment as she stood up from the chair.

Apparently, in this man's mind, a fitting resume would have her entire fucking life story written in fine detail, itemized and particularized to his liking. Just, no.

"You allowed me to... to spank you," he gulped, saying the word as if it held a whole new meaning of dirty.

"Harrison," she breathed, shaking her head as her stomach turned.

"I wouldn't have—I just... I didn't know," he stammered, looking so afflicted and vulnerable.

"It's okay," she told him as she walked slowly around the counter toward him.

"It's not okay, Katherine," he retorted, looking at her with a stern eye.

"I allowed it, because you're not him. Because it was completely different with you. It was completely different," she found herself saying, comforting him when she wasn't sure why she should.

He took a deep breath as he looked at her, his face evening out – the storm in his eyes passing in an instant.

"I'm sorry, Katherine," he apologized quietly. Her eyes looked between his, trying to read him, but he was a closed book.

And after a few weighted moments, he stepped around her, and made his way out of the kitchen. She was left standing there, feeling completely blindsided by almost everything involving him. He was a complete fucking mystery to her – one that she was certain she would never figure out.