King of Sloth (Kings of Sin #4) by Ana Huang

“Ah, you’re one of those.” He acquiesced, but his smile hardened at the mention of his father. “Uptight rule follower. Got it. You should’ve introduced yourself that way instead of with your name.”

My favorite pen cracked from the force of my grip.

I wasn’t a superstitious person, but even I could tell that didn’t bode well for the future of our relationship.

I’d been right.

I let him slide when it came to certain things because the Castillos were my biggest contract, but my job was to keep his family’s reputation pristine, not kiss the heir’s ass.

Xavier was a grown man. It was time he acted like it.

“That’s quite a threat,” he drawled. “Every party and woman? You must really like me.”

He slunk out of bed with the lazy grace of a panther awakening from slumber. A pair of gray sweatpants rode low on his hips, revealing golden-brown skin and a V cut one wouldn’t expect from someone who spent the majority of his days partying and sleeping. Inky tattoos swirled up his bare chest and shoulders and down his arms in intricate patterns.

If it were anyone else, I would’ve admired the raw masculine beauty on display, but this was Xavier Castillo. The day I admired anything except his commitment to non-commitment was the day I could somehow physically cry again.

“Don’t worry, Luna,” he said, catching my scrutiny with a small grin. “I won’t tell your other clients I’m your favorite.”

Sometimes he called me by my actual name. Other times he called me Luna. It wasn’t my nickname, middle name, or any name close to Sloane, but he refused to tell me why and I’d given up on getting him to stop or explain long ago.

“Be serious for once,” I said. “The event is honoring your father.”

“Even more reason not to go. It’s not like my old man will be there to accept the award.” Xavier’s smile didn’t budge, but his eyes flickered with a spark of danger. “He’s dying, remember?”

The words crashed between us and sucked all the oxygen out of the room as we stared at each other, his unflappable calm a rock against my mounting frustration.

The Castillos’ father-son relationship was notoriously thorny, but Alberto Castillo hired me to manage their reputation, not their personal issues—that was, until what happened behind closed doors spilled into the public eye.

“People already think you’re a good-for-nothing trust fund brat for shirking your responsibilities after your father was diagnosed.” I didn’t mince words. “If you miss an event honoring him as Philanthropist of the Year, the media will eat you alive.”

“They already do, and honor?” Xavier raised his eyebrows. “The man writes a check for a couple million every year, and he not only gets a tax write-off but also fawning praise for being a philanthropist. You and I both know the award doesn’t mean shit. Anyone with deep enough pockets can get it. Besides…” He leaned against the wall and crossed his arms. “Mykonos is way more fun than another stuffy gala. You should stay. The ocean air will be good for you.”

Dammit, I recognized that tone. It was his “you can put a gun to my head and I still won’t cave because it’ll piss you off” tone. I’d heard it more times than I cared to count.

I did a quick mental calculation.

I hadn’t gotten to where I was in my career by fighting losing battles. I needed to be in London tonight, and our window for a timely departure was rapidly shrinking. Missing my rendezvous was not an option, but if Xavier stayed in Greece, my job required me to stay as well and look after him.

Since I didn’t have the time to guilt, threaten, or persuade him into doing what I wanted like I usually did, I was left with one last resort.

A bargain.

I crossed my arms, mirroring his stance. “Let’s hear it.” His brows arched higher.

“Your condition,” I said. “The one thing you want in exchange for attending the awards ceremony. Anything involving sex, drugs, or illegal activities is off the table. Other than that, I’m willing to bargain.”

His eyes narrowed. He hadn’t expected me to give in so easily, and if I didn’t need to be in London by eight p.m., I wouldn’t have. But I couldn’t miss my date, so a deal with the devil it was.

“Fine.” Xavier’s cheeks dimpled with his signature smile, though a shadow of suspicion remained on his face. “Since you’re so forthcoming, I will be too. I want a vacation.”

“You’re already on vacation.”

“Not me. You.” He pushed off the wall, his steps languid yet deliberate as he crossed the room and stopped mere inches from me. “I’ll attend the gala if you promise to join me on vacation after. Three weeks in Spain. No work, just play.”

The request soared from so far out of left field I gave myself whiplash trying to follow it. “You want me to take three weeks off work?”

“Yes.”

“You’re out of your mind.”

I’d taken a total of two vacation days since I started Kensington PR, my boutique public relations firm, six years ago. The first was for my grandmother’s funeral. The second was when I was hospitalized with pneumonia (chasing paparazzi in the dead of winter would do that to you). Even then, I’d kept up with emails on my phone.