Page 9 of Lavish

No matter what I did, it didn’t go away. No massage, or coffee, or LED light therapy could fix it. At this point, it was second nature to run on fumes. I was tired.

I couldn’t remember the last time I took a real breath.

And then—like a crack in the foundation of my own thoughts—came the whisper:

What if I leave?

My heart stuttered, and I froze. What if I just…walked away? The thought was a live wire in my mind, too loud, too sharp.

But how could I leave when I’d spent years proving I could run King Developments?

I shoved the thought down before it could take root.

I wasn’t going anywhere. This was mine. This wasme. I worked for this. I didn’t miss him. I missed who I was when I thought I could have both him and King Developments.

I closed my eyes for a beat. Just one. Then I opened them.

“This backsplash is crooked,” I said tightly, voice cool again. “Fix it.”

It was all for a good cause. To make King Developmentsuntouchable—not just successful. We would own all of California in real estate development. Was it right, what I did over the years for that goal? No. But brute force was necessary. I’d wiped all but one competitor from town.

That was my plan.

Plans kept things from slipping. Spreadsheets didn’t lie. They didn’t whisper behind your back or flip on you in the press. They didn’t make your heart hurt. I could rely on formulas. People? Not so much.

If I got the Harrington estate, Mama would have no choice but to admit I was the future of King Developments. That’s what I was looking forward to next.

It wasn’t just a win. It wasthewin.

I wasn’t fucking around anymore.

“We followed your specifications. I thought you—” the contractor said.

What I wanted was to take over King Enterprises. What I got was King Developments, our real estate arm of the enterprise, and hadn’t I learned to do a lot with a little?

“You thought wrong,” I cut him off sharply. “Now explain to me why I’m looking at this bullshit?”

His jaw flexed. He didn’t answer fast enough.

Buzz.

Buzz buzz.

Texts. Emails. More things to sign off on coming through my phone.

The contractor stumbled out some piss-poor excuse.

“I’m not paying premium for fucking mediocrity,” I hissed. “You don’t get to take shortcuts onmyjob. You understand that, right? Or do you need someone to draw you a picture?”

“N-no, Miss King…”

Buzz.

Buzz.

Buzz buzz buzz.

I exhaled sharply through my nose.