“Then we got a plan,” he said, and he took a piece of paper from the seat next to him and put it down on the table, a marker in his hand just as suddenly, as he drew scribbles on the paper like a business student trying to bullshit on a whiteboard through a presentation he didn’t prep for. He drewNEW YORKon one side,MISSOURIon the other, andKINGon the top, an arrow pointing from it to New York. “A king don’t run.”
“Great diagram, Kingmaker.”
“You came from Missouri to claim your territory. Now you’ve suffered a defeat, but that don’t mean you back down. What do you think woulda happened if Napoleon gave up after Waterloo?”
I blinked. “Uh, probably pretty much exactly what did happen.”
He ignored me, writing downAPRIL, MAYandJUNEon the paper. “We’ve got two months and a couple days for your offensive. But deadlines are good for you. You’re about to tap into your inner king, Julie. Before the end of June, you’re going to transform your life.”
“Uh-huh, right, sure. That’s what every con artist says.”
He grinned. “You read the sign, didn’t you?” He took another paper from the seat next to him—another copy of the sign. I guess he was still trying to plaster them up and get clients. He pointed a marker to theSUCCESS GUARANTEEDat the bottom. “I only charge after you’ve succeeded.”
“Uh-huh…” I narrowed my eyes. “That sounds like a good way to get taken for a ride.”
He chuckled, putting it away. “That’s that small mindset again, Julie. You gotta level up past that. Kings think in abundance. Think from my perspective. Would I rather charge a nobody, or would I rather charge a king?” He gestured between us. “This way, you and I both get to win.”
Kingmaker had not, I got the sneaking suspicion, made a single king. “Right.”
“What’s your kingdom?”
I shrugged, taking another bite of pizza and talking with my mouth full. “I preside over the domain of a mouse in the building called Harold.”
“I gotta know your vision. What’s the life you’re trying to conquer for yourself? You had a vision when you came to New York.”
I shrugged more dramatically this time. “I don’t know. Counting my stacks drinking champagne in the back of a limousine with my hot girlfriend.”
Mortifyingly, he started writing them down on the paper,COUNTING STACKS, DRINKING CHAMPAGNE, LIMOUSINE, HOT GIRLFRIENDin a bulleted list. I blushed, swatting at his hand.
“What—don’t write that down!”
“A king ain’t ashamed of his drive to conquer,” he said, capping up the marker. “If you could hit a button and have wads of cash and a hot girlfriend who will drink champagne with you in the back of a limousine, would you hit the button?”
“Well—who wouldn’t?” I shot back hotly.
“That’s not a king’s answer, Julie.”
“Oh my god.” I dropped the pizza crust onto the plate, putting my hands up, and I shouted it loud enough the whole parlor could hear me. “Yes, I’d hit the button to have a million dollars and a hot girlfriend! Call me crazy!”
He nodded, looking satisfied. “You’re gonna be a king, Julie. What do you say? Let’s make it happen.” He held a hand out across the table for me, and I looked at it like he was offering me a dead rat. “Riding a limousine with your supermodel girlfriend drinking the good champagne.”
This was really fucking stupid. Like,reallyfucking stupid. I wasn’t one to fall for get-rich-quick schemes.
But I’d wound up here even knowing the whole time it was a bad idea. He wasn’t charging me until I, quote,became a king.
And besides, I was, uh, lonely. Getting to yell at Kingmaker and cry on him felt like it was something I needed for a while. I hadn’t really had a friend in a while. Even Guin had mostly been ignoring me for the last few months of our relationship, if you could call it that.
I clasped Kingmaker’s sweaty hand. “Limousine ride with my supermodel girlfriend,” I said. “I’m counting on you, Kingmaker.”
Chapter 2
Julie
Honestly, I kind of expected that Tasty Slice was Kingmaker’s only office space—not that I would consider it an office space, but I was inclined to think nicely of it after the staff were sweet and happily comped me the slice of pizza, wishing me luck with Kingmaker—but when he asked me on Friday to come meet him with the plan he’d devised, he sent me the location to a complex that seemed like it actually charged rent with contracts. Probably not contracts a lawyer had ever seen, but contracts nonetheless.
It was a dilapidated building that had clearly been a warehouse once, but judging by the signage around the construction barriers I had to slip through to get to the doors, it had been converted over the years. Legally, probably not. But de facto, judging by how long it seemed to have been like this. Downstairs seemed to be a music studio, and I could hear the low rumble of the bass from within, and upstairs were people’s offices, scribbled on a sign that looked like the offices were switched out frequently. Kingmaker’s was one of the fresher ones. I wasn’t sure I liked that.
But I was sure that he was judging me as soon as he saw me, because when I knocked on his door, it opened to where he gave me a once-over and said, “Do you only have the one outfit?”
