Ethan
I didn't expect to find Preston Kingsley waiting in my office when I returned from a late lunch, seated in my chair with his feet propped against my desk like he owned the building rather than a minority stake several tiers removed from actual authority.
"Cousin," he said, not bothering to rise. "I hope you don't mind. Your assistant stepped away and I figured I'd make myself comfortable."
"I do mind." I crossed the room and waited pointedly until he removed his feet, then took the chair myself, forcing him to relocate to the seat across the desk, a small but deliberate reassertion of territory. "What do you want, Preston?"
Preston Kingsley was Gerald's son, a few years older than me, groomed since childhood for a position in the family business that had been quietly, gradually e
