“What—you’re still wearing that same tacky tracksuit.”
He gestured to his ugly outfit. “It’s the uniform.”
“Okay, then so is the hoodie.”
He shook his head. “That’s not a king’s uniform. Don’t matter. We’ll get it sorted. Come in. You’re early.”
“Didn’t have much else going on,” I muttered, letting him lead me into a crowded office space, tacky motivational signs up on the walls, whiteboards crowded with information. A corkboard stocked with documents, including the awful paper detailing my plan—if you could call it that—to get a hot girlfriend instead of going to Missouri. I was surprised to see I wasn’t the only name pinned to the board. Maybe he did have other clients. Or maybe he made them up to look more legit.
“That’s about to change,” he said, shutting the door behind me. “I’ve come up with step one of the plan.”
What would Guin say if she saw me like this? Falling for some obvious scam just because I was lonely? My face burned with embarrassment. He saida king isn’t ashamed,but I must not have been a king, because I was pretty fucking ashamed. “The plan to make me stupid rich with a hot supermodel girlfriend,” I said, and he responded without a hint of irony.
“The plan to make a king out of you.” He handed me a folder, a few documents inside. Well…documentswas a stretch. A few pieces of paper with his, uh, diagrams.GALLEY LAUNCH PARTYwas the big text on the first one greeting me. “In this city, connections separate the kings from the nobodies. You won’t get anywhere if you don’t know the right people.”
“So you’re, uh, going to send me to a launch party?” I said, flicking through the pages. He was… earnest. Did he actuallybelieve his own bullshit? It was all documented like he was doing a corporate proposal.
“You need to meet the right people. To get connections, and to develop a king’s mindset. Being around other kings makes a king out of you.”
“I’m pretty sure, historically, kings don’t tend to get along with one another…”
Once again, he ignored me. “Jackson Dale’s the guy. CEO of a consultancy tech group called Galley, hosting a launch party at the Williamsburg Waterfront for a new subsidiary of his company. You’re gonna show up, yeah? Make an impression.”
I prickled all over, my body shutting down at the idea. It was all fun and games in theory, but I thought we’d be talking manifestation rituals and helping me set goals, not sending me to a party where I definitely didn’t belong. “I’d make an impression, that’s for sure,” I said, closing the folder. “How do you even know about this?”
“You can’t be a kingmaker without knowing a thing or two,” he said. “I’ve got my sources.”
“Okay. Cryptic.”
“But you can’t go looking like that,” he said. “You’re getting a makeover first.”
I felt my face burn. “What? I look fine.”
He ignored me. “We’re gonna get you a haircut, right off the bat. And then a nice outfit. We’ll get you in a good suit, a good styling. Don’t worry, I know the right people.”
“I cannot afford a fancy suit,” I said, and he waved me off.
“Relax. It’s taken care of.”
“What? You’re not comping me a suit. You wouldn’t even buy me a slice of pizza.”
“And you’ve gotta get interesting, too,” he said, ignoring me. “A king ain’t boring. When people ask you about yourself, you’ve gotta have something to tell ‘em.”
“I’m not boring.” I shot back defensively on autopilot, even though I knew full well I was the most fucking boring person in the city. Unfortunately, this was the one time he actually listened.
“Tell me what’cha already got, then. What’s your claim to kingship?”
“Uh.” I scratched the back of my head, my face burning. “I didn’t realize I’d be coming in for an interview.”
“That’s what I thought.”
“Jesus, lay the fuck off, Kingmaker.”
“Do you like music?”
The question threw me off my defensive posture, and I frowned. “Uh—sure?”
“We can work with that. You’re gonna be in the music industry. There’s a recording studio downstairs from here, and you’re gonna go meet some up-and-coming talent, so you can chat about it to people you meet at the launch party.”
