Page 1 of Anti-Hero (Kensingtons: The Next Generation #2)

I don’t have many problems.

My biggest one? She’s standing forty feet away, wearing a silk dress that’s either blue or gray. I’ve spent the past ten minutes deliberating which color the flawless fabric is, and I still haven’t chosen one.

I’m not an indecisive person.

Except around Collins Tate.

I talk to—fine, flirt with—her; she rolls her eyes and walks away. I say nothing; she walks away. I’m trying to avoid the walking away part, so my dilemma on how to act around her is obvious.

What is she doing here? Last I heard from Lili, her former college roommate was living in Chicago with a boyfriend.

But my sister sniffed out my interest in Collins a long time ago, so she’s stingy with details about her friend when she’s annoyed with me about something.

Since Lili’s annoyed with me a lot, I haven’t gotten an update in a while.

“Don’t you think so, Christopher?”

“Mmhmm,” I murmur, then swallow a sip of scotch so Joseph Thorne knows not to expect a more verbose response. Expensive alcohol soaks my tongue and burns a smoky trail down my throat, but I barely register the rich taste.

Who knows what I’m agreeing to? And I don’t really care. This conversation doesn’t matter. Joseph simply wants to be seen with me so he can brag we have a close association later.

My gaze returns to the redhead in the blue-gray dress. Collins’s hair isn’t really red though. It’s more of an auburn—a warm brown, russet, or mahogany—that changes color depending on the light. Copper, in direct sunshine.

If I ever confessed I’d spent a single second contemplating the shade of her hair, I’m certain the woman in question would laugh in my face.

Collins categorized me as Lili’s irritating little brother the first time we met, and nothing I’ve done or said since to change that perception seems to have made any difference. Not for lack of effort either.

I drain the remains of my scotch and clap Thorne on the shoulder, cutting him off mid-sentence. “I need another round. Can I borrow some cash?”

Joseph blinks at me. His mouth is open, stuck on whatever he was in the middle of saying. Another slow blink. His eyes are flat brown, a similar shade to the ancient wood paneling the walls of the hotel ballroom.

“Oh, uh … um …” Thorne flounders for a few seconds before he glances around, hastily flagging down a waiter. Joseph sets his tumbler on the silver tray and digs through his pockets for his wallet. Very carefully, he slides out a crisp hundred.

I keep a polite smile fixed on my face for the entire excruciatingly long process.

“It’s, er, I believe it’s an open bar?” Sweat shimmers on Joseph’s forehead as he tentatively offers the bill to me, the wealthiest person in the room.

“I know,” I confirm cheerfully. “Nice talking to you.”

Joseph blinks again, the motion reminding me of a sleepy owl, before I spin and stride toward the bar set up in the opposite corner of the ballroom. With a little luck, I’ll be able to avoid him the rest of the night.

“Talk later, Chris!” Joseph calls before I’m out of earshot, shouting the last word the loudest. No doubt an attempt to advertise our false chumminess.

My fist clenches, crumpling the brand-new bill in my grip.

Joke’s on him really. I despise being called Chris. Anyone who knows me at all is aware of that and calls me Kit instead.

“Macallan. Neat,” I request from the bartender—the same floppy-haired guy who served me and Joseph earlier—stuffing the wrinkled hundred into the tip jar, which only contained a ten, when he turns away to pour my drink from one of the assorted bottles behind the makeshift bar.

“What’d you do to Thorne?” Flynn Parks—my best friend—appears beside me. He glances toward the spot where I left Joseph, amusement written across his face. “He looks more … confused than usual.”

“I asked him for a favor.”

“That’ll do it. What the hell for?” Flynn questions.

I rest my elbow on the counter, narrowly missing a stack of cocktail napkins, so I can look to the left less obviously. “To play Robin Hood.”

Flynn shakes his head once. “Thank fuck you came. I was worried this party might be dull.”

“It is dull,” I reply.

Flynn talked me into coming tonight because he wanted a final romp with a summer fling who worked at the reception desk here. Up until I spotted Collins, I was thoroughly regretting agreeing.

This isn’t just the end of summer; it’s my final weekend of freedom. On Monday, I start working at Kensington Consolidated. I’m the company’s newest employee … and its future CEO. Not to be dramatic, but life as I know it—light on the responsibility and heavy on the fun—is about to be over.

“Your drink, sir.”

I thank the bartender before he moves on to serve the blonde woman who appeared on my other side. She orders an Aperol spritz, then blatantly begins eye-fucking me.

I’m good at sex. I’ve slept with a lot of women, and every single one sang—screamed, more precisely—my praises.

And lately, it’s felt stale. Empty and predictable.

We flirt. I buy her a drink. We flirt more.

I say I’m not looking for anything serious, and she agrees.

We fuck. She asks for my number. I reiterate I’m not looking for anything serious. The end. Happily never after.

And it’s not because I don’t believe in love.

It’s because I do .

My elbow drops from the counter. “Did I see Perry?” I ask Flynn casually.

He sighs. “Shit. Yeah. I should say hi. Wanna come with? Make it bearably awkward?”

“You’re needier than a girlfriend,” I say, then push away from the bar.

Flynn snorts as we angle left, toward the high-top table where Perry is standing. They’re scattered throughout the room so people have a spot to set drinks and eat the finger food being circulated.

“How the fuck would you know, Kensington?”

“I don’t need to jump off the Empire State Building to know that Kensington Consolidated would have to look for a new protégé.”

Not that they’d have to look very hard. Half the board would prefer my brother, Sebastian, anyway.

My best friend chuckles. “Don’t let the ladies hear you comparing commitment to a death sentence, man. Might kill the mood.”

“You have a lot to learn about women.”

Some of them set their sights on me because I’ve never been in a serious relationship. They want to be the one who can claim to have changed me—tamed me. And I get plenty out of letting them try.

Flynn grins. “That’s not what your sister said.”

I snort. Most of my friends have hit on my sister at some point, but I’ve never interceded. I know the definition of hypocrisy . And now …

“Her duke could get you beheaded, Parks. Historically, they take punishment pretty seriously across the pond.”

“She’s really with that Marlborough guy?”

“I think so.”

It’s hard to tell what Lili is really thinking most of the time.

She learned, same as me and Bash, that privacy isn’t a privilege naturally extended to Kensingtons.

It’s a boundary line you have to patrol and protect.

And when it comes to my sister’s love life, I’m not in the habit of asking for details.

But there’s something going on between her and Charlie Marlborough.

She asked for him, after her accident at the company’s annual gala, looking so devastated that I would have told the Brit to fuck off, title or no title, if he hadn’t appeared equally gutted.

And Lili’s supposed to be in Ireland for work, but she posted a photo in London yesterday.

Charlie lives in England, and I doubt that’s a coincidence.

“What’s Perry doing here?” I ask as we continue crossing the room.

“He moved to New York,” Flynn replies. “He clerked for a year after law school and is starting at a firm downtown next week.”

“What firm?”

“Dunno. Ask him. He’ll probably try to sign you as a client.”

“I have a lawyer.”

Lawyer s actually. Public fascination with my family doesn’t prevent people from trying to sue, extort, or blackmail us.

Perry spots us heading in his direction and waves.

I raise my glass in a silent cheers.

Flynn groans under his breath. “Don’t you dare ditch me once we get over there! I hang out with your cousins.”

“You beg me to hang out with Wren.”

“No shit. She’s?—”

“Off-fucking-limits,” I finish for him.

Flynn rolls his eyes. “Uh-huh. Good luck scaring off every dude in New York.”

We reach Perry before I can reply.

I won’t have to scare off anyone. Wren can take care of herself. But since she and Rory don’t have a brother, I feel some responsibility to warn away anyone I know is bad news. Flynn might be a fantastic best friend, but he has as little experience with commitment as I do.

“Flynn!” Perry greets his cousin cheerfully. “Christopher!”

But I note how his knuckles have whitened around his glass. The contents are completely clear, suggesting he’s drinking straight vodka or water. Based on our prior interactions, I’d bet heavily on the latter.

“Nice to see you, man.” I set my tumbler down on a customized coaster and shake Perry’s hand.

As soon as the pleasantries are complete, I glance around, tuning out Flynn’s stilted small talk with his cousin.

Flynn will probably grumble about my lack of support later, but his dislike of Perry has little to do with Perry himself.

It’s fueled by Flynn’s resentment toward his dad’s side of the family.

Really, I’m doing my best friend a favor, urging him to move past old grievances and form his own conclusions about his cousin.

Finally .

My jaw flexes as I focus on the opening that leads to the restrooms. I force the taut muscles to relax. Make my eyes wander rather than allowing them to remain fixed where they want to be.

As soon as I’ve completed a lazy perusal of the room, my attention snaps back to her. This time, she’s looking back at me.

Collins considers changing direction when our gazes collide. I watch the urge flit across her face before determination replaces the initial impulse for avoidance.

That’s my girl .