Compromising Kessen, Page 3

  Duncan frowned. “Cheer up! It’s not as if she’s some spoiled American brat; she graduated with honors from Harvard, of all places.”

  “Brains don’t get you into Harvard; connections get you into Harvard,” Christian argued, feeling a sudden headache at the back of his head. “Have you seen her photograph?”

  Duncan looked amused. “Everyone’s seen her photo, old man. It’s everywhere.”

  Christian did not like where this conversation was going. He didn’t have time to worry about a spoiled American princess who wanted to inherit her daddy’s fortune. What he actually wanted was to go to a pub and drown his sorrows in a pint, but that never worked out right for him the next morning.

  Duncan put both his hands on Christian’s shoulders. “Come now, how bad can she be? She’s obviously educated. She probably has good teeth, and it wouldn’t kill you to spend some time with a woman, especially after the disgraceful way Jenifer treated you.”

  “How did you find out about that?”

  Duncan’s answer was a shaking of his head “It’s not every day a Vandenbrook is dumped by a Hanford.” He smiled. “A match from heaven—that’s what it was, and you know it.”

  “Oddly enough your sympathies are not alleviating my headache,” Christian said.

  “Wasn’t trying to.”

  Christian snorted. “How about I pay you to pick up the girl?”

  “How about you set me up with one of the Hanford daughters and pay me to pick up the girl?”

  Christian grimaced. “Done.”

  Duncan tipped his hat. “Pleasure doing business with you.”

  Christian’s only response was a low moan and a few words not appropriate for the rest of London society to hear. He did, after all, have a name to live up to.

  Christian decided it was best to walk to his house rather than call for a car. He was in a foul mood—a mood which wouldn’t change despite his desperate attempts.

  His job at Newberry and Co. had been something dreams were made of. He was VP of Marketing for the London branch, and although his father decided it was an acceptable job for someone of his title to possess, he hadn’t been thrilled to hear about Christian’s plans to continue working there after his internship ended.

  He shouldn’t be surprised. His father tried to control everything in his life, from whom he dated, to whom he would marry, to what job he would have. His father had a desire for Christian to enter into politics. Christian, however, had other ideas about his future.

  Marketing had always been his passion, so when an internship opened up at Newberry and Co., he decided to take it. Four years later, he was now the VP and couldn’t be happier, until his father’s proclamation.

  It’s not that he needed the money or the title. He had plenty of money without his trust fund. It was the principle of the matter. After all, he was the only son. The dukedom was supposed to pass to him, not fall out of the family completely because of his stubborn father. Not that he was worried about his father finding the fountain of youth any time soon. It was the simple idea that everyone was aware of the discontent within his family. Besides, going down in history books as the one Vandenbrook who received the title and single-handedly destroyed the happiness in his family did not have any appeal.

  The fact it would slowly kill his mother, who was already peeved at him for the situation with Jenifer, did nothing for his headache or indigestion.

  He groaned as he approached his street. Kensington Palace Gardens The most sought-after street in the world, or one of them, at least. It was once called Billionaires’ Row because of the wealthy families who resided there. In all actuality, most of them were millionaires, but to most people it was basically the same thing.

  He shared a house with his parents, still a thought that kept him up at night. It was incredible how much control they still had over his life at twenty-nine. “Settle down!” they would say each time he turned down another girl. “Find a different job!” they would say each time he came home late from work. “Marry a blue blood!” his father would yell each time he turned down another marriage proposal from a titled family.

  Oftentimes, his life felt like the novels written about his family. Authors had no idea how close to the truth they were when they spoke about the heritage of his family. If anything, they weren’t painted nearly as mad as they actually were.

  It was the only cheerful thought of the night. His family being humiliated in modern literature. It was enough to bring a large smile to his face. He decided to whistle all the way to his house, all the while imagining how poor Duncan was going to fare with the lovely Lady Newberry. Without a doubt, she would be a handful.

  It was a wonder she didn’t already have her own silly American reality television show. She looked the part, with her bleached blonde hair and tall super-model figure. The sight of her appalled him, only because it made him realize how much he despised Americans in general—their incessant need for coffee, fame, and fortune. Did any of them sleep? Ever?

  He doubted it. Of course, it had been ages since he had slept a full four hours, so he probably shouldn’t be passing judgment.

  Tomorrow was going to be his monthly meeting with store managers. He liked to hold the meetings at the actual stores, so he could keep an eye on their marketing strategies and help them implement higher sales volumes.

  His morning was to be spent at one of his favorite stores in the heart of London; if he was lucky, he would get to serve tea and coffee to guests. He did love customer service. As well he should; he would have a lifetime of interacting with people once he was officially the Duke of Albany.

  He quietly let himself into the house and tumbled onto his bed. He had exactly five hours before he needed to be up and ready.

  ****

  Kessen woke up to a flight attendant hovering over her with a bottle of water and two aspirin. Thank God for small favors, she thought, greedily grabbing both from her hands.

  Vaguely she remembered telling the flight attendant to have those waiting for her when she woke up. A migraine was starting just as the flight took off. Kessen knew she needed medicine before and after the flight to make sure she didn’t throw up from the pain.

  She buckled her seatbelt and waited for landing. By her calculations she should be in London in about twenty minutes. She took a few moments to fix her hair and went into the tiny bathroom to change into her jeans and a Yankees t-shirt. Looking in the mirror, Kessen had to laugh. All she needed was an “I heart New York” hat and fanny pack, and she would be set. Fitting the part of the most annoying American tourist ever to set foot in London actually cheered her up quite a bit.

  Before returning to her seat, she threw on her leather bomber jacket and put on some lip gloss. They landed soon after, and within minutes she had her carry-on luggage and was cursing herself for not packing lighter.

  Someone called her name in what could only be described as an annoyingly thick British accent, causing Kessen to wince. This was her reality for the next few months. It was enough to send her straight back to the plane to demand a refund.

  Amazingly, the massive throng parted just in time for her to see a nicely dressed man about her age, carrying a large sign which had her name spelled incorrectly. Rather than Kessen it said Kissin.

  She groaned and rolled her eyes behind her sunglasses before coming to an abrupt stop right in front of him.

  “Are you Kessen?” he asked, his accent still thick, but a little softer on the ears than it had previously been. Perhaps her sleepy ears had been playing tricks on her.

  “That would be me.”

  “Good—ness ,” he said out loud. “Sorry, I meant to say that in my head; it came out wrong.”

  Kessen laughed groggily and held out her hand. “It’s nice to meet you—?”

  “Duncan,” he said, shaking her hand. “Duncan Dickerson.”

  “Aw, really?” she teased, squinting her nose.

  “Unfortunately, yes.” He shook his head and led her out to
the baggage claim. “How many bags do you have?”

  “Do you want me to lie or tell the truth?”

  “Lie,” he answered quickly.

  “One.”

  He laughed heartily, and then turned to look at her again, this time quizzically. “Please don’t take this the wrong way, but you are not at all what I expected.”

  Kessen could only imagine what he expected; probably something akin to a Paris Hilton poster child primed for reality TV on HBO. Looking at Duncan, she realized it wasn’t just her who had misconceptions. Actually, he wasn’t what she expected either.

  “Do you want to further explain, or should I go with the assumptions I already have?”

  Duncan smiled again, and this time it lit up his whole face. He was quite attractive, a tad short and not as stocky as she liked her men, but attractive. In fact, he reminded her a little bit of Nick, which caused a tug on her heart. She missed him dreadfully.

  “Let’s go with what’s in your head.”

  “Crazy spoiled American who used Daddy’s connections to get into Harvard. Sound pretty close?”

  “Deathly.”

  “Perfect,” she said turning back towards the carousel. There was an uncomfortable pause before she turned to face him again. She thought he would be staring; instead—wonder of all wonders—he was texting.

  “Updating your status online?” she asked knowingly.

  “How did you guess?”

  She smiled tightly, and then answered, “Technology and men—it’s like crack.”

  He seemed to enjoy that answer and beamed even more. His smile could light up a black hole.

  Chapter Four

  By the time they reached the waiting car, she had successfully learned all of Duncan’s favorite places to go in London. Naturally, he had assumed she wanted to know all the shopping destinations, but she was actually more interested in the architecture. Go figure. Men usually took one look at her and deemed her stupid, cursed with a life fit for the runway and credit cards with no limit. This was obviously how Duncan had viewed her; except he now knew she had a personality, which she should be grateful for.

  “Where are we going first?” she asked once she was seated comfortably beside him.

  He seemed to be hiding something because his eyes were positively twinkling. “Um, I have a meeting with Newberry and Co. managers. Do you mind stopping by with me? We could get you some tea or something while you wait. It will only be a few minutes.”

  She wasn’t given a choice in the matter, mainly because he was driving and didn’t look like a person who was easily bossed around. “Sure, that’s great,” she heard herself saying. “Stupid tea,” she muttered under her breath.

  “What was that?”

  “Oh, nothing,” she said breathlessly, fitting the part of stupid blonde with no goals in life.

  He chuckled to himself all the way to the store, which wasn’t all that far away. They were inside within minutes. Duncan dragged her to the counter for her order, while simultaneously introducing her as the daughter of Lord Newberry.

  His announcement was followed by dead silence, including from the customers. Upon looking around, she also noticed a painfully large number of them had their mouths gaping open.

  “This is fun,” she said sarcastically to Duncan. He laughed and hit her on the back like they were old friends.

  Duncan didn’t seem to care if she was uncomfortable. Instead he cleared his throat. “Christian wouldn’t happen to be, um, working today, would he?”

  The girl at the till gave him an odd look, then shrugged her shoulders and called for Christian. A tall man dressed in designer jeans and a black blazer approached. Kessen nearly choked on her gum when she looked into his icy blue eyes.

  His penetrating gaze took her in, appearing to assess her in an instant, in all her American glory. His demeanor immediately changed, and he appeared as though he wanted to kill her, and she had no idea why. After all, she was a paying customer, wasn’t she?

  She looked for Duncan, but he had walked away. Where was the little traitor?

  “May I help you?” the man named Christian asked. He had unruly chestnut hair, which went past his ears in an unprofessional way. He more than likely needed the job to stay in the boy band that wasn’t taking off like he had hoped. She smiled at her private joke, and then winced when she looked into his face.

  He lifted his eyebrow as if to say, “Are you as stupid as you look?”

  She swallowed and looked at the menu, which had never happened before in her life. Having been raised in the company, she had it memorized. For crying out loud, she helped design it. Yet the way Christian was looking at her made it difficult to even remember her name.

  From a marketing standpoint, his face was perfect for the company posters. Her mother would have loved watching Kessen in this uncomfortable situation, considering she was normally so sure of herself. The wistful memory jolted Kessen out of her confused fog.

  “I’ll have a large coffee with cream.”

  He rolled his eyes. “Of course you will.”

  “Excuse me?” she asked a little loudly, putting her hands on her hips.

  “Oh, I’m sorry. Did you need to be excused for something?” he snapped. His face contorted with a mix of humor and irritation.

  Her mouth dropped open. “Why are you being so rude?” This time she tried to whisper so people wouldn’t stare.

  “I wasn’t. I merely stated it was normal for someone like you to order coffee rather than tea. You’ve probably never even had tea before. It comes from a leaf, by the way.”

  Sarcastic laughter bubbled out of her. “Wow, your intelligence is intimidating. Thanks for the botany lesson. And you’re right, I don’t like tea. I hate tea.”

  She leveled her eyes with his, as she confidently stood her ground. She refused to back down just because the man in front of her had issues with Americans and apparently all things coffee.

  He looked like she had just slapped him. “How dare you come in here and say you hate tea! Do you even know what this company stands for?”

  “Stuffy old British people who think tea solves everything?” She put her finger to her head to show deep thought. “Am I close?”

  “I hate Americans,” he muttered under his breath.

  “Well, I hate England!” she said, albeit a little too loudly. She winced when she looked at their audience—most of them looking at her as if she had just burned their beloved flag. Oh, well. Might as well seal the deal. “And I’m sorry,” she said. “But tea doesn’t solve anything! It’s not going to cure cancer, and the world has progressed to more than just one type of drink … yes, there is a thing called water, and there’s soda, and juice, and heaven forbid, coffee. Broaden your horizons, pop star.”

  The barista’s eyes looked as if they were going to bug out of her face. If possible, steam would have been billowing out of Christian’s ears. He leaned inches in front of her face. Kessen’s breathing became labored, but not out of attraction. If they were both men, punches would have already been thrown.

  Just then, Duncan came out of hiding and sauntered behind the counter, slapping Christian on the back.

  “Christian, meet Lord Newberry’s daughter, Kessen. Kessen, meet your new business partner, Christian—” He looked like he was going to say Christian’s last name, then appeared to change his mind as he looked toward her. “Just Christian.”

  You could have heard a pin drop in that shop. Kessen prayed the earth would swallow her up; she even closed her eyes to prepare for it, but was sadly disappointed when nothing happened. Instead she held out a shaky hand to Christian and offered a sweet, searing smile.

  “Wow, nice dental plan. Hey, are your teeth real?” Duncan asked as Christian maneuvered everyone out of earshot from the rest of the customers.

  Kessen smiled, thinking he was kidding, but he looked as serious as could be.

  “You’re joking right?” she pleaded. “Who asks someone if their teeth are real? Th
at’s like asking a woman if her b—”She stopped short and reddened. Christian let out a bark of laughter.

  “What was that, love?” His deep laugh openly mocked her.

  “I want my coffee.” She pulled off her sunglasses and crossed her arms.

  Christian gazed at her briefly, and then turned to grab the coffee abruptly, breaking all eye contact.

  ****

  It was so much worse than he could have possibly imagined. Bright green eyes searched his when she pulled off her sunglasses. Pictures had not done the girl justice whatsoever. Long platinum blonde hair gave her the stereotypical look of an American heiress, but those eyes. Her eyes were brilliant. If only he could get her to keep her mouth shut, lest he become entangled in another argument in front of customers. What in the blazes was wrong with him? How unprofessional could a person get? Especially one raised to be a duke! Luck had not been on his side this week. He could only hope his father wouldn’t catch wind of the Marquess getting into it with a beautiful blonde customer at one of the local stores.

  Christian put the lid on her coffee and handed it to her. She appeared to be about twenty-five, though he couldn't really tell. She certainly had enough spirit to set the room on fire. He struggled to regain his composure.

  Duncan cleared his throat. “Is your eye color real, too?”

  Christian had never been so irritated. Duncan was having the time of his life. Of course he would bring her here and dangle her like a carrot. He knew Christian’s reputation with women. It was a challenge; that’s what it was. Duncan was flaunting the daughter of Lord Newberry like a lamb to the slaughter. Christian would not fall for it, not in a million years. So what if he was a playboy? That had been years ago. His reality was a somewhat broken heart after this week. It didn’t help that in his current state, he could see himself causing the irritating woman physical harm.