He lets me sit in almost every meeting, unless it's of the highest confidentiality. And he shows me that he's as well loved by his employees as he is patient and kind, attentive and thorough. There's no reason for him to know everyone's children's names, but he does. There's no reason for him to attend almost every birthday celebration, but he does.
On a quieter Wednesday morning he pokes his head into my office, "Grab your coat!"
"Why? Where are you going?"
"Luna Pham, you talk too much."
I jump up, matching his energy." You knew this about me from the first time you met me, no use complaining about it now."
"Shut up, and grab your coat. I'll meet you at the elevator in two minutes.
Butterflies erupt in my stomach.
Kingsley is gorgeous, passionate, kind and even funny. But spontaneous isn't how I've come to think of him.
His life doesn't really allow it. A million people want his time and attention for a million different things and I've found that he compartmentalizes his day so that he can jump from task to person to project with as much efficiency as possible. That doesn't exactly lend to field trips in the middle of his work day.
"Where are we going?" I say, when he guides me into the elevator.
"Field trip," he says, his eyes glinting with mischief.
"I'm scared."
"Good," he says, with a wink.
He leads me out of the Baxter building entrance and starts to run.
"Where are we going?" I shout, my lungs exploding with air and laughter.
"Enough with the questions, Pham. Just trust me for once."
"I trust you!
We run for what feels like one end of the Thames to the other, and after fifteen minutes, I stop, unable to run anymore, gasping, "My legs are falling off!"
Kingsley laughs and steps in front of me, bending over, "Jump on! We're almost there!"
"You're crazy!" But I climb on, anyway and he takes off.
A month ago, I didn't think I'd be running around London with a billionaire as my carriage, that's for sure.
But in this moment, I can't think of a single time in my whole life when I've been happier.
My six foot four human horsey finally stops at a construction site in Holborn. Scaffolding covers the front facade of a three-level building, that looks like it was once a hotel or a luxury office space. A construction sign hangs on the fence that surrounds the property.
"What is this?"
"This, Luna, is your father."
I slide down his back, a little unsteady when I hit the ground. "Er... I'm going to need more... context."
"This is The Hamilton House. This was something your father was working on. He had told me, in cryptic terms, that he was working on a little boutique hotel, something that was just for him, for fun. But I hadn't been able to find a trail of where it was. Until now.'
"How?"
"Luna…"
"Right, don't ask." I walk around the property, peering through the wire fence, trying to get a better look. The long winding driveway is about a hundred feet long leading to the front of the property that has gilded windows and dramatic arches adorning those windows.
