The King
35
“KINGSLEY, ARE YOU even listening to me?”
“What is it you do for a living again?” he asked, glancing around his still-empty strip club. Was there any place in the world more desolate or depressing than an empty strip club?
Maggie glared at him from across the table.
“I’m a lawyer. Specifically, your lawyer.”
“Then, no, I’m not listening to you.”
Maggie sighed and ran her hands through her hair. She was one of the highest paid and most respected attorneys in all of Manhattan. But right now she looked like a beautiful if exasperated ex-lover in a dark red suit. Which she also was.
“You remember you’re paying me seven-hundred dollars an hour for this conversation?” she asked him, the toe of her red stiletto clicking on the floor in irritation.
“Now I’m listening. What’s happening to my club?”
Maggie capped her pen and tapped her legal pad with the end.
“Nothing,” she said. “Unfortunately. There is no organization in the city that works slower than the health department. And that’s on a good day.”
“And this is not a good day?”
“No, it’s not a good day,” Maggie said, ripping off a sheet of paper and tossing it in the air. He did always adore her dramatics. “All the paperwork is ‘in process,’ which is their fancy way of saying ‘we are doing nothing with this case, so sit there and shut up.’ You must have seriously pissed someone off.”
Kingsley stretched out his legs, threw his feet on to the seat of the chair next to Maggie, and crossed his boots at the ankle.
“It’s possible.”
“Oh, I know it’s possible. I used to sleep with you, remember? You’re the most infuriating man I’ve ever met and, considering the only people I know are other lawyers, and I’m using the term people loosely, that’s saying something.”
Kingsley narrowed his eyes at her. He’d met Maggie years ago when he’d been sent on a long undercover assignment in Manhattan. Older, rich, well-respected and powerful, Maggie was also a sexual submissive who loved nothing so much as spending all night on her hands and knees for a man. He’d taken great pleasure in giving her knees rug burn for two months straight.
“You miss me, don’t you?” he asked her.
“No.”
“Do you think if I hadn’t gone back to France, we still would be together?” he asked.
“Kingsley?” Maggie reached across the table and snapped her fingers in his face. “Pay attention. Your club has been closed for a month. Can we talk about how much money you’re losing and why?”
“I have plenty of money.”
“Do you not care about the people who work for you who lost their jobs?”
“I’m still paying them.”
“When did you become so altruistic?”
“I’m a very giving person. Orgasms, beatings, rug burn,” he reminded her.
“I’m leaving. When you’re ready to discuss your legal situation, call my office.” She gathered her things and stood up. Kingsley took her by the wrist and pulled her back down to her chair. As he expected, she didn’t put up a fight.
“I’m sorry,” he said, moving his chair directly in front of hers. “I am. This is my own fault, which is why I don’t want to talk about it. But I need to. I need you.”
Maggie exhaled heavily. She took Kingsley’s hands in hers. On her left hand she now sported a wedding band. His beautiful, servile, submissive Maggie, who had once spent twenty-four hours straight chained to his bed...was now married. And to a librarian of all things.
“Tell me what’s going on. The truth,” she said. “I can’t help you if you won’t tell me what’s happening.”
“I fell in love,” he said.
She smiled at him sympathetically. “The root of all evil. Who is she? Or he?”
“She’s a hotel called The Renaissance.”
“Your strip club is closed. You’re being investigated for tax code violations. And your friend Irina’s being deported. And this is all about real estate?”
Kingsley nodded.
“Well,” she said. “That’s Manhattan for you.”
“I want to open a new club,” he began. “A club for us. For our kind. The world’s largest S and M club. I found a place I wanted, but it’s owned by Reverend James Fuller.”
“Reverend Fuller? The Reverend Fuller? The Reverend Fuller who opens legislative sessions with prayers, held the Bible for the mayor when he was sworn in and baptized the governor’s granddaughter? That Reverend Fuller?”
“The same,” he said.
“Okay. Tell me everything.”
He told her. He told her about Sam and The Renaissance, about trying to buy it from Fuller and having his offer refused. He told her about the church, the camps and the teenage kids being tortured for being gay. He told her that while he could find another building for his club, he loathed Fuller so much he refused to give up.
“Maggie,” he said, raising her hand and kissing it. “This is my city now. This is my home. I can’t let Fuller bring his empire into my city. You know what I am. I was sleeping with another boy when I was sixteen. Fuller would have sent me to one of those fucking conversion therapy camps if he’d had the chance. Me and him. And Fuller’s not sorry. He only closed the camp because two of the campers made a suicide pact.”