King of Sloth

Ten seconds after meeting my most lucrative client, and I already hated him.

“Remove your feet from my desk and sit like a proper adult.” I didn’t care that Alberto Castillo was paying me triple my usual fee to look after his son. No one disrespected me in my own office. “Otherwise, you can leave and explain to your father why you got dropped by your publicist on the very first day. I imagine that’ll have a negative impact on your cash flow.”

“Ah, you’re one of those.” He acquiesced, but his smile hardened at the mention of his father. “Uptight rule follower. Got it. You should’ve introduced yourself that way instead of with your name.”

My favorite pen cracked from the force of my grip.

I wasn’t a superstitious person, but even I could tell that didn’t bode well for the future of our relationship.

I’d been right.

I let him slide when it came to certain things because the Castillos were my biggest contract, but my job was to keep his family’s reputation pristine, not kiss the heir’s ass.

Xavier was a grown man. It was time he acted like it.

“That’s quite a threat,” he drawled. “Every party and woman? You must really like me.”

He slunk out of bed with the lazy grace of a panther awakening from slumber. A pair of gray sweatpants rode low on his hips, revealing golden-brown skin and a V cut one wouldn’t expect from someone who spent the majority of his days partying and sleeping. Inky tattoos swirled up his bare chest and shoulders and down his arms in intricate patterns.

If it were anyone else, I would’ve admired the raw masculine beauty on display, but this was Xavier Castillo. The day I admired anything except his commitment to non-commitment was the day I could somehow physically cry again.

“Don’t worry, Luna,” he said, catching my scrutiny with a small grin. “I won’t tell your other clients I’m your favorite.”

Sometimes he called me by my actual name. Other times he called me Luna. It wasn’t my nickname, middle name, or any name close to Sloane, but he refused to tell me why and I’d given up on getting him to stop or explain long ago.

“Be serious for once,” I said. “The event is honoring your father.”

“Even more reason not to go. It’s not like my old man will be there to accept the award.” Xavier’s smile didn’t budge, but his eyes flickered with a spark of danger. “He’s dying, remember?”

The words crashed between us and sucked all the oxygen out of the room as we stared at each other, his unflappable calm a rock against my mounting frustration.

The Castillos’ father-son relationship was notoriously thorny, but Alberto Castillo hired me to manage their reputation, not their personal issues—that was, until what happened behind closed doors spilled into the public eye.

“People already think you’re a good-for-nothing trust fund brat for shirking your responsibilities after your father was diagnosed.” I didn’t mince words. “If you miss an event honoring him as Philanthropist of the Year, the media will eat you alive.”

“They already do, and honor?” Xavier raised his eyebrows. “The man writes a check for a couple million every year, and he not only gets a tax write-off but also fawning praise for being a philanthropist. You and I both know the award doesn’t mean shit. Anyone with deep enough pockets can get it. Besides…” He leaned against the wall and crossed his arms. “Mykonos is way more fun than another stuffy gala. You should stay. The ocean air will be good for you.”

Dammit, I recognized that tone. It was his “you can put a gun to my head and I still won’t cave because it’ll piss you off” tone. I’d heard it more times than I cared to count.

I did a quick mental calculation.

I hadn’t gotten to where I was in my career by fighting losing battles. I needed to be in London tonight, and our window for a timely departure was rapidly shrinking. Missing my rendezvous was not an option, but if Xavier stayed in Greece, my job required me to stay as well and look after him.

Since I didn’t have the time to guilt, threaten, or persuade him into doing what I wanted like I usually did, I was left with one last resort.

A bargain.

I crossed my arms, mirroring his stance. “Let’s hear it.” His brows arched higher.

“Your condition,” I said. “The one thing you want in exchange for attending the awards ceremony. Anything involving sex, drugs, or illegal activities is off the table. Other than that, I’m willing to bargain.”

His eyes narrowed. He hadn’t expected me to give in so easily, and if I didn’t need to be in London by eight p.m., I wouldn’t have. But I couldn’t miss my date, so a deal with the devil it was.

“Fine.” Xavier’s cheeks dimpled with his signature smile, though a shadow of suspicion remained on his face. “Since you’re so forthcoming, I will be too. I want a vacation.”

“You’re already on vacation.”

“Not me. You.” He pushed off the wall, his steps languid yet deliberate as he crossed the room and stopped mere inches from me. “I’ll attend the gala if you promise to join me on vacation after. Three weeks in Spain. No work, just play.”

The request soared from so far out of left field I gave myself whiplash trying to follow it. “You want me to take three weeks off work?”

“Yes.”

“You’re out of your mind.”

I’d taken a total of two vacation days since I started Kensington PR, my boutique public relations firm, six years ago. The first was for my grandmother’s funeral. The second was when I was hospitalized with pneumonia (chasing paparazzi in the dead of winter would do that to you). Even then, I’d kept up with emails on my phone.

I was work. Work was me. The thought of abandoning it for even a minute made my stomach cramp.

“That’s the deal.” Xavier shrugged. “Take it or leave it.”

“Forget it. It’s not happening.”

“Fine.” He turned toward the bed again. “In that case, I’m going back to sleep. Feel free to stay or fly home. It doesn’t matter to me.”

My teeth clenched.

That bastard. He knew I wouldn’t fly home and leave him here to sow chaos in my absence. With my luck, he’d throw a public orgy on the beach tonight just to set tongues wagging and drive home the fact he wasn’t at the gala when he should be.

I glanced at the clock on the wall. We needed to leave in the next fifteen minutes if we were to make it to the gala in time.

If it weren’t for my eight o’clock date in London, I might have called Xavier’s bluff, but…

Dammit.

“I can do two days,” I said, relenting. One weekend wouldn’t kill me, right?

“Two weeks.”

“One week.”

“Deal.” His dimples blinded me again, and I realized I’d been tricked. He’d deliberately started with a higher offer to barter me down to his original plan.

Unfortunately, it was too late for regrets, and when he held out his hand, I had no choice but to shake on the time frame I’d proposed.

That was the worst part about Xavier. He was smart, but he applied it to all the wrong things.

“Don’t look at me like I killed your pet fish,” he drawled. “I’m taking you on vacation. It’ll be fun. Trust me.”

His smile widened at my icy stare.

One week in Spain with one of my least favorite people on the planet. What could possibly go wrong?

CHAPTER 2

Xavier

Nothing brightened my day more than riling Sloane up. She was so predictable in her responses and so spectacular in her anger, and I loved seeing her ice-queen façade melt long enough to reveal a glimpse of the real person underneath.

It didn’t happen often, but when it did, I added it to the mental drawer where I collected all things Sloane.

“Ah, you’re one of those.” I flicked a gaze over my new publicist’s tight bun and tailored dress. “Uptight rule follower. Got it. You should’ve introduced yourself that way instead of with your name.”

The glare she bestowed on me could’ve leveled an entire city block.

Objectively, Sloane was one of the most beautiful women I’d ever met. Blue eyes, long legs, symmetrical face…Michelangelo himself couldn’t have sculpted a better female form.

Too bad none of that came with a sense of humor.

She said something sharp in response, but I’d already tuned her out.

Fuck my father for forcing me into this stupid arrangement. If it weren’t for my inheritance, I’d tell him to piss off.

Publicists were glorified babysitters, and I didn’t want or need a babysitter. Besides, as pleasing to the eye as she was, I could already tell Sloane was going to be a major buzzkill.

That’d been our first meeting. My initial animosity toward her had run out of oxygen since then, leaving…hell, I didn’t know. Curiosity. Attraction. Frustration.

Much more complicated emotions than hostility, unfortunately.

I didn’t know when the switch flipped, but I wished I could go back and unflip it. I’d much rather hate her than be intrigued by her.

“Stand up straight,” Sloane said without taking her eyes off the man beelining toward us. “You’re at a black-tie event, not the beach. Try to pretend you want to be here.”

“There’s alcohol, food, and a gorgeous woman by my side. Of course I want to be here,” I drawled, telling the truth in the first part and lying my ass off in the second.

My gaze skimmed over her quickly enough to escape her notice, yet long enough to imprint the image in my mind. On anyone else, her simple black gown would’ve been boring, but Sloane could wear a grocery bag and still blow everyone else out of the water.

The silk skimmed her lean frame, highlighting her flawless skin and smooth, bare shoulders. She’d swept her hair into a fancier version of its usual bun, and other than a pair of small diamond-drop earrings, she wore no accessories and barely any makeup. She’d obviously dressed with the intention of blending in, but she could no more blend into a crowd than a jewel could blend into mud.

I’ll be honest—I hadn’t expected her to accept my deal. I’d hoped she would, but she was married to her job and the gala wasn’t that important. It was a run-of-the-mill event honoring my father, not the Legacy Ball or a royal wedding.

The fact she would give up a week of precious work time in exchange for my attendance here? It reeked of fishiness, but I wasn’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth.

I’d been dying to get Sloane away from the office for a while. She was wound so tight she was bound to explode, and I didn’t want to be there when it happened. She needed a release. Plus, the trip was the perfect opportunity to corrupt her—get her to let her hair down (literally and figuratively), loosen up, have some fun. I would pay to see her lounging on the beach like a normal person instead of making people cry on the phone.

Sloane Kensington needed a vacation more than anyone else I knew, and I needed—

“Xavier!” Eduardo finally reached us. My father’s best friend and interim CEO of the Castillo Group clapped a hand on my shoulder, interrupting my thoughts before they strayed down a dangerous path. “I didn’t expect to see you here, mijo.”

“Me neither,” I said dryly. “Good to see you, tío.”

He wasn’t my biological uncle, but he might as well have been. He and my father had been friends since childhood, and he’d been one of his most trusted advisors before my father fell ill. Eduardo was currently running the ship until the board made a final decision on whether to wait for my father to get better or find a new permanent CEO.

Eduardo turned to Sloane and gave her a customary Colombian cheek kiss. “Sloane, you look lovely,” he said. “I assume I have you to thank for this one showing up. I know how hard it is to wrangle him, eh? When he was a kid, we called him pequeño toro. Stubborn as a little bull.”

Her earlier ire melted into a professional smile. “It’s my job. I’m happy to do it.”

She was as good a liar as I was.

The three of us chatted for a bit until another guest pulled Eduardo away. He was accepting the Philanthropist of the Year award on behalf of my father since I’d refused to do it, but everyone seemed eager to talk business instead of charity with him.

Typical.

I caught Sloane checking her watch again as we wound our way toward our table. “That’s the dozenth time you’ve looked at your watch since we arrived,” I said. “If you’re that eager to leave, we can skip the boring ceremony and get hammered at the bar.”

“I don’t get hammered, and if you must know, I’m meeting someone in an hour. I trust you can behave yourself after I leave.” Despite her cool tone, visible tension lined her jaw and shoulders.

“Meeting someone this late in London?” We settled in our seats just as the emcee took the stage and applause filled the room.“Don’t tell me you have a hot date.”

“Whether I do or don’t is none of your business.” She picked up the calligraphed menu card and scanned it for walnuts, no doubt. Sloane had a strange vendetta against them (and it wasn’t an allergy; I’d checked).

“I’m surprised you find time to date.” The emcee began his welcome speech. Reason told me to drop the issue, but I couldn’t. There was something about Sloane that always made reason fly out the window. “Who’s the lucky guy?”

“Xavier.” She dropped the menu and looked at me. “Now’s not the time. We don’t want a repeat of the Cannes fiasco.”

I rolled my eyes. Get caught dozing off once during a major awards speech and I was suddenly the bad guy. If these types of events weren’t so damn boring, maybe I’d have an easier time staying awake.

People didn’t know entertainment these days. Who wanted stuffy elevator music and the same boring drinks they served at every gala? No one. If I cared enough, I’d give the organizers a few pointers, but I didn’t.

The servers brought out the food, which I ignored in favor of more champagne as the ceremony trudged on.

I tuned it out and ruminated on what type of guy Sloane might be seeing. In all our years working together, I’d never seen her with or heard her mention a date, but obviously, she had to have been with someone.

She was prickly as hell, but she was also beautiful, smart, and accomplished. Even now, there were multiple men sneaking peeks at her from surrounding tables.

I downed my drink and glared at one of them until he looked away, his face red. Sloane was my date in name only, but it was bad form for other people to ogle her when she’d come with me. Did no one observe proper etiquette anymore?

The room erupted into its loudest round of applause. Eduardo stood, and I realized the emcee had just announced my father as the organization’s Philanthropist of the Year.

“Clap,” Sloane said without looking at me. A tight smile affixed her face. “The cameras are watching.”

“When aren’t they watching?” I clapped half-heartedly for Eduardo and Eduardo only.

“It’s my honor to accept this award on Alberto’s behalf tonight,” he said. “As you know, he’s been my friend and business partner for more years than I can count…”

Sloane glanced at her watch and gathered her belongings when Eduardo wrapped up his thankfully short speech.

I straightened. “You’re leaving already?” It’d only been fifty minutes, not an hour.

“In case there’s traffic. I trust you’ll behave in my absence.” She emphasized her last sentence with a warning stare.

“The minute you leave, I’m throwing my drink in another guest’s face and hijacking the music system,” I said. “Sure you don’t want to stay?”

She didn’t look amused.

“Do that, and our deal is off,” she said flatly. “I’ll check in at the end of the night.”

She slipped discreetly out of her chair and toward the exit. I was so focused on watching her leave, I didn’t notice Eduardo’s approach until he placed a hand on my shoulder.

“Do you have time to talk? There’s something we need to discuss.”

“Sure.” With Sloane gone, I’d do anything to get out of sitting here with the most boring tablemates in existence.

I followed Eduardo into the hall. Now that the ceremony was over, the guests had resumed their drinking and mingling, and no one paid us much mind.

“I was going to call and tell you, but in person is better.” Free from the watchful eyes of photographers, Eduardo’s mouth settled into a grim line that had my pulse quickening. “Xavier…”

“Let me guess. It’s my father.”

“No. Yes. Well…” Eduardo wiped a hand over his face, uncharacteristically hesitant. “His condition is stable. There’s been no change.”

A twist of either relief or disappointment loosened the knot in my chest. How fucked up was it that I had mixed feelings over what should’ve been good news?

“That means he’s not getting worse, but he’s also not getting better,” Eduardo said. “You haven’t visited him in months. You should see him. It might help. The doctors say having loved ones around—”

“The key phrase is loved ones. Since my mom isn’t around, I guess he’s fucked.”

The only person my father had ever truly cared about was my mother.

“He’s your father.” My honorary uncle’s mouth thinned.

“Deja de ser tan terco. Haz las paces antes de que sea demasiado tarde.” Stop being so stubborn. Make amends before it’s too late.

“I’m not the one who needs to make amends,” I said. There were only so many times a guy could try before he gave up, and I’d reached my limit years ago. “Anyway, good talk, but I have somewhere else to be.”

“Xavi—”

“Safe travels home.” I turned. “Say hi to everyone else for me.”

“It’s your family’s company,” Eduardo called after me. He sounded resigned. He’d only taken the interim CEO position because I’d turned it down, and I knew he clung to the hope that I’d magically “come to my senses” about continuing the family legacy one day. “You can’t run from it forever.”

I didn’t break my stride.

With the ceremony done, the gala was basically over, which meant I wouldn’t be breaking my deal with Sloane if I left.

The reminder of her and where she was right now—probably on some date with some asshole—darkened my already-thunderous mood.

I usually tried to look on the bright side, but fuck it, sometimes a guy had to wallow.

I grabbed my jacket from coat check and climbed into one of the black cabs waiting outside the event space.

“Neon,” I said, naming the city’s hottest new nightclub. “I’ll tip you a hundred pounds if you can get me there in under fifteen minutes.”

The cab pulled away from the curb. I stared out the window at the passing lights of London, eager for the moment I could drink away any thoughts of Eduardo, my father, and a certain publicist who occupied my waking moments far more than she should.

CHAPTER 3

Sloane

The “red man” signal warning pedestrians not to cross the road stared me down. I ignored it and power walked across the street, tuning out the blaring car horn of an oncoming truck.

I was already late, and if I didn’t take off my shoes soon, my bloodied feet would kill me faster than getting hit by a car. Four-inch stilettos looked great, but they weren’t made for ten blocks of city walking.

Unfortunately, London traffic was a shitshow, so I’d ditched my cab after being stuck on the same street for twenty minutes.

By the time I reached the hotel, my dress was stuck to my body with sweat and I could barely feel my feet, but I made it to the penthouse without incident (unless I counted the other guests’ horrified stares).

Please don’t be asleep.

I knocked on the door, my heart in my throat.

Please don’t be asleep. Please don’t be—

My breath exhaled in a puff of relief when a familiar round face answered the door.

“There you are.” Rhea ushered me in, her eyes darting toward the entrance like George and Caroline would walk in at any minute. She put her job in jeopardy every time she texted me, but we both took our risks for the same reason. “I was afraid you couldn’t make it.”

“I got held up by traffic, but I wouldn’t miss it for the world.” I took off my shoes and sighed. Much better.

With Rhea’s help, I quickly cleaned my bloody feet before walking into the suite’s living room. My heart clenched when I saw her sitting on the floor, watching a kids’ cartoon about ballerinas. She always gravitated toward shows about dance or sports.

Her back faced me, but she must have had a sixth sense because she turned the instant I entered the room.

“Sloane!” Penny scrambled to her feet and ran toward me. “You came.”

“Of course I came.” I bent down to hug her. God, she’d grown so much since the last time I saw her.

She buried her face in my stomach, and if I could cry, I would’ve at how tightly she clung to me. Besides Rhea, I was probably her first hug of the day.

Her nanny left the room, giving us time alone, and I eventually, reluctantly released her so I could fish her gift out of my bag. “Happy birthday, Pen. This is for you.”

My half sister’s eyes lit up. She took the gift and unwrapped it, taking great care not to rip the silver-striped paper.

She was Penelope to her parents and Penny to everyone else, but she’d always be Pen to me. The sister I never knew I needed, the only one who’d cried when I left, and the only Kensington I still considered family after my grandmother died.

She finished unwrapping the gift, and her delighted gasp brought a smile to my face.

“The new American Sports doll!” She clutched the precious item to her chest. “How did you get this?”

“I know people. Your older sister is pretty cool, you know,” I teased.

The limited-edition doll was one of the most sought-after toys in the world. There were only two dozen in existence, but my friend Vivian’s husband pulled some strings and got me one in time for Pen’s birthday.

She couldn’t play with it openly, but one of the upsides to her parents’ neglect was that they wouldn’t notice or question how she’d gotten the toy.

“So, how does nine feel?” I sat next to her on the floor. “You’re almost in the double digits.”

“Gross. Soon I’ll be old like you—ah!” Pen erupted into hysterical giggles when I tickled her side. “Stop! I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” She gasped. “You’re not that old.”

“That’s what you get for insulting me,” I quipped, but I stopped tickling her, mindful not to overexert her. I always trod a line between treating her like a normal kid while knowing she wasn’t, at least not in terms of physical stamina.

Two years ago, Pen was diagnosed with chronic fatigue syndrome, or CFS, after an unusually lengthy bout of mono. Characterized by extreme fatigue, sleep issues, and joint and muscle pain, among other things, CFS had no cure or approved treatment. It was difficult to determine the cause, though her doctors suspected it was triggered by a change in the way her immune system responded to illness, and the best we could do was manage the symptoms.

Despite having no FDA-approved treatments, CFS had spawned a thousand and one snake oil salesmen who promised a “cure” via special vitamins, antiretrovirals, and other “miracle” medications. Pen’s parents had flushed a ton of money down the drain trying to find something that worked. Nothing ever did, so eventually, they gave up and simply shoved her at home where they didn’t have to think about her.