King of Sloth (Kings of Sin, 4)

The society papers called them The Modern Jet Set. The trashier gossip columns derided them as Heirs and Spares—the children of the rich who squandered their days drinking and partying instead of doing anything useful with their lives. I simply called them Xavier and Friends (derogatory).

Eight minutes after I left Pen’s hotel, I strong-armed my way into Neon, where Xavier and Friends had taken over the VIP room. The scene was almost a replica of the photos splashed across Perry Wilson’s latest blog post.

One of Xavier’s friends was snorting cocaine off a bottle girl’s stomach, another was giving someone a lap dance, and a half dressed couple was basically having sex in the corner.

Lounging amidst the hedonism like a king surveying his court was Xavier, one arm tossed over the back of a velvet banquette while the other held a bottle of tequila.

Xavier, who was supposed to be at the awards gala happening this very second.

Xavier, who desperately needed more of an image cleanup than usual after Perry Wilson’s hit piece about his birthday party gone wild in Miami a few months ago.

Xavier, who’d promised me he wouldn’t step foot in a nightclub until we fixed said image.

I barely felt the pain in my feet as I stalked toward the banquette and stopped directly in front of him, blocking his view of the crowd. The women fluttering around him must’ve picked up on my intent to kill because they scattered faster than falling leaves on a gusty day.

Xavier took a long swig of tequila before addressing me. “First Mykonos, now this.” A slow smile spread across his face. “You stalking me, Luna?”

“If I were, you make it easy.” I held up my phone, which displayed a lurid photo of Xavier tossing back a shot while a pretty blond straddled his lap. Castillo heir ditches gala honoring his dying father! “No clubs until we fix your image, and you were supposed to stay for the entirety of the gala. That was our deal.”

“No, our deal was that I stay for the entire ceremony, which I did. The ceremony and the gala are not the same. As for the club thing…” A casual shrug. “Maybe you should’ve put it in writing.”

I grabbed the bottle from his hand. What I really wanted was to grab him and shake him, but I was mindful of the cameras “secretly” trained on us. People were less discreet than they thought they were.

“Get up,” I said through gritted teeth. “We’re going back to the hotel.” Where I can knock some sense into you in peace.

“How was your date?” Xavier ignored my order and flicked his gaze over my face, down my dress, and to my feet. A tiny pinch formed between his brows.

“Fantastic.” I didn’t dispel his assumption of why I’d left the gala early. “Less fantastic was getting another Perry Wilson notification about you.”

A strange glow of satisfaction settled in his eyes. “Did it interrupt your evening?” he asked silkily. “My bad.”

I kept my expression neutral as I shifted my stance and carefully stepped on his foot with a razor-sharp stiletto. The table hid what I was doing from prying eyes, so from a distance, it looked like nothing was wrong.

Xavier’s cockiness instantly disappeared beneath a grimace. “You have thirty seconds to get up, or you’ll lose not only a toe but a much more important part of your anatomy.” I cocked my head and tapped a finger against the tequila bottle. “Did you know there are online tutorials for everything? Including how to castrate a home invader with common household items.”

To his credit, he didn’t flinch at the word castrate. “Let me guess. You’ve watched all of them, overachiever.” He slunk deeper in his seat and stared up at me with hooded nonchalance. “Relax, Luna. It’s Friday night. Take the stick out of your ass and have a little fun.”

A muscle twitched beneath my eye. Do not take the bait. “I’m not here to have fun.” It came out as a near growl.

“Obviously.” Xavier gave me another once-over. “It’s too bad you’re wasting a perfectly nice dress on such a boring end to the night. Speaking of which, how did your date feel about you leaving early?”

“They felt it was in their best interest to do as I say.” I stepped harder on his foot, a smile flashing at his renewed grimace. “Since I’m having such a boring night, I’m tempted to spice things up. Of course, I can’t guarantee my idea of a fun time matches yours—especially when you’re surrounded by your friends, and the chances of embarrassment are high.” My smile disappeared. “Rest assured, I will drag you out of here like you’re an insolent child throwing a temper tantrum, and no, I do not care if I’m the one who has to clean up the mess afterward. It would be worth it for the shit you’ll get from your friends for the rest of your days. So unless you want that to happen, get the hell up.”

Xavier listened to my tirade without a hint of concern. After I finished, he yawned, stretched his other arm over the back of the banquette, and cast a pointed glance at the heel impaling his five-thousand-dollar shoe. “Can’t get up unless you let me go, sweetheart.”

I didn’t take my eyes off him as I released him, suspicious of his sudden obeisance.

He unfolded himself from the banquette and stared down at me, a glint of amusement reentering his eyes. Even when I wore my Jimmy Choos, he towered over me by a good three inches.

I hated it.

“In my defense, I did fulfill my end of our deal,” he said. “Like I said, the ceremony and gala are two different things. The ceremony ended when Eduardo finished his speech, which also happened to be when you left. So don’t try to use it as an excuse to back out of our vacation.”

“That’s semantics.”

“Maybe,” he drawled. “But it’s also the truth.”

“And what about your promise not to go clubbing until we fixed your image?”

“My image was fixed. There hasn’t been a single bad story about me for weeks.” Xavier’s eyes gleamed with laughter. “You never specified your definition of a ‘fixed image,’ Luna. It’s not my fault if we have different ideas of what that means.”

God, he was insufferable. Even more annoying was the fact he was right, but I would rather throw myself off Big Ben than admit it. “Just shut up and follow me,” I snapped, wishing I had a wittier reply.

“Yes, ma’am.” His cheeks dimpled. “I love a woman in charge.”

I ignored the sexual innuendo and turned on my heel. He followed me to the exit without saying goodbye to his friends.

I didn’t know if he’d tired of arguing with me or if I’d genuinely scared him with the threat of embarrassment—I doubted it—but the reasons for his about-face didn’t matter. The only things that mattered were if he listened to me and stayed out of trouble.

“What’s the story behind the bracelet?” he asked on our way down the elevator.

“Excuse me?”

“The bracelet.” Xavier tipped his chin toward the friendship bracelet on my wrist. “You weren’t wearing that at the gala.”

My muscles coiled. Only my best friends knew about my visits to Pen, and there was no way I was adding him to that trusted circle.

“It was a gift.” I didn’t elaborate.

“Hmm.” A shadow of knowing passed over his face. For someone who’d been drinking all night, he was shockingly observant.

Luckily, he didn’t press the issue, and we walked the remaining distance to the main exit in silence.

However, I should’ve known the peace wouldn’t last.

“New terms,” he said when we climbed into the back seat of a cab. “You can’t be such a buzzkill when we’re on vacation.”

“Then don’t take me with you.” I answered a work email about a potential new client without looking up. It was still business hours in New York.

“Nice try. For someone who’s stalking me, you don’t seem to like my company much.” He placed a hand on his chest with a mock-wounded look. “It hurts my soul. Truly.”

“What would hurt more is getting cut off.”

Xavier was set to inherit billions of dollars if and when his father died. However, his current income came from an extravagant annual allowance that would immediately cease if he violated one of the two terms: 1) He must retain me as his publicist, and 2) He couldn’t do anything that damaged the family reputation.

There was a three strikes policy for the second condition, and somehow, I was in charge of determining whether Xavier was in compliance. He’d raised holy hell when he first found out about it, but he’d settled into grudging acceptance since.

I didn’t abuse my power. However, I was this close to adding a second strike to his record (the first had been his twenty-ninth birthday in Miami).

“Maybe,” Xavier said, sounding unconcerned. “Regardless, you can’t do that on vacation.” He nodded at my phone.

“What, check my emails?”

“Exactly. A vacation isn’t a vacation if you’re working the entire time.”

I scoffed. “If you think I’m spending an entire week without checking my emails, you’re more delusional than I thought. I run a business, Xavier, and if you want me in Spain, then you’ll agree to my terms.”

“I see.” He cocked an eyebrow. “I never took you for a liar, Sloane. Our trip hasn’t even started, and you’re already going back on your word.”

He might as well have slapped me in the face. “Excuse me?”

I’d been called many things in my life, but I’d never once been called a liar. Sure, I might’ve bent the truth at times—which publicist worth their salt didn’t?—but when it came to promises, I kept mine. Always.

That was one of the reasons I’d agreed to this stupid bargain with Xavier in the first place. I’d promised Pen I’d see her tonight, and the only way I could do that was by giving in to his demands.

“No work, just play,” he said. “I distinctly remember that being one of the terms when you agreed to them. Checking emails is considered work, which means you’d be reneging on your promise.”

Dammit, he was right. Again. I’d somehow blocked out that condition of our deal, if only because it was so absurd. I couldn’t ignore my messages for a week, but I couldn’t go back on my word, either.

“I propose an amendment,” I said tightly. “I can check my personal emails at any time, and I can check my work ones if all I do is delegate them to my team.”

Xavier’s eyes narrowed. Several beats passed before his face relaxed into a smile again. “Amendment accepted. Now—”

“Ahem.” The driver cut him off before he could finish his sentence. Apparently, he’d tired of our conversation “Where to?” he asked pointedly.

Xavier and I answered at the same time. “Claridge’s.”

“Stansted Airport.”

“You promised me a vacation,” Xavier said when I stared at him. “Time to put your money where your mouth is.”

“We literally arrived in London hours ago, and we don’t leave for Spain until tomorrow.”

That much travel in one day made me want to die. “Check your watch. It’s five past midnight.”

It was, indeed, five past midnight. I just kept taking losses tonight.

Note to self: in the future, specify a departure time and not just a departure day.

“My luggage is at my hotel. I need to get it,” I said, trying to stall.

“Already taken care of.” He held up his phone. “I just messaged my hotel butler. Our luggage will be waiting for us on the jet when we arrive.”

“It’s too late.” I grasped for another excuse to delay the trip. “It’s dangerous to fly at this time.”

Xavier didn’t deign to acknowledge my ridiculous statement.

Red-eye flights took off after midnight all the time.

The cab driver twisted around to glare at us. “Claridge’s or Stansted?” he demanded. “I don’t have all night.”

“Stansted. Sorry, my man.” Xavier shoved a handful of bills toward the front seat. “Appreciate it.”

Mollified, the other man grabbed the cash and sped off.

I guess I wasn’t the only one who bribed drivers when the occasion called for it.

“Relax, Luna.” Xavier laughed as we wound through the near-empty streets at a breakneck pace. “You’re officially off the clock for the next week. Enjoy it.”

I pressed my lips together.

All I have to do is get through the week without slipping up. I wasn’t sure what “slipping up” would look like, but foreboding inched beneath my skin the closer we got to the airport.

I didn’t know what would happen when I didn’t have the buffer of work to shield me, but if Xavier thought he could trick me into letting down my guard in Spain, he had another thing coming.

Vacation or not, I was still me. I didn’t let people see past what I wanted them to see, and nothing would change that—not even a forced week off with my client nemesis.