The Lawyer by Charlotte E Hart

Chapter Eleven

LANDON

Catching hold of another passing glass of champagne, I amble into the drawing room, about ready to leave before the rest of this evening has begun. Several guests and colleagues ambush me on the way through the crowds, all of them patting me on the back and wishing me well as the new head at the company. At least the dinner is over, and I'm not listening to my mother's constant diatribe.

A photographer stands over to the right of the entrance, busily snapping pictures of everyone in their gowns and tuxedos. I know the feeling well. My fake smile has been firmly in place since the limo dropped me here, as has this fucking bow tie. At the moment, and after this week’s debacle, I couldn’t give a fuck for any of this. That article in the FT, the same one I couldn’t do a thing about, has wound me up past sense. So much so that I duck through the hallways and head out onto the back terrace as soon as I’m able to disengage from small talk and cordial greetings.

My fingers ease into my shirt collar, pulling at the restriction that normally means nothing, and I lean on the stone balustrading to stare out at the view. A celebratory ball is the last thing I should be giving any time to. In fact, if it was up to me, this occasion would never have even happened. Father insisted, not me. A commemorative moment, he said. Something to show the world how far we’ve come. I’m not sure how far we have come in reality. Sharks? Yes. Manipulative? Yes. Brilliant at coercing whatever we need? Yes. Mostly. Apart from this FT crap. But whether that makes us something to be celebrated or not is questionable, to say the least. Especially considering our momentous inability to behave like a family unit.

Being here seems to be bringing all kinds of shit back into my thoughts. Not much of it is pleasant.

“Hi.”

I turn my head, looking at Willow as she crosses the terrace. It's the first time I've seen her tonight, and the whole fucking vision makes me stand up straight, unable to dislodge the imprint she’s making on me. Black lace and jewels encase her body, all of it proving that the curves I've been imagining are exactly what I thought they'd be. She looks good enough to eat, let alone admire from afar. “Good evening.”

“You look sad.” She takes a sip of her drink, looks over my tux. “Not much good for a party. Shouldn’t you be having fun?”

“It’s a party? I hadn’t noticed.” What I have noticed is the way her dress clings like silk over a sculpture. “You’ll have to show me where the fun is.”

She steps closer, not remotely bothered by the fact that I’m blatantly looking at things I should not be looking at. “I think you probably know all about fun, Landon. In fact, behind all those sharp suits and cutting words, I think there might be someone entirely different lurking underneath.”

“Lurking?”

“Lurking.”

My brow arches, lips twitching as I watch her take another sip of champagne. A little flirting here and there is one thing, but the way she’s looking at me now is far past a little flirtatious. “I don't lurk.”

“Perhaps you should. If you’re looking for fun. Dark corners and all that.” She raises her chin and stares away from me, her forearms resting on the balustrade. It makes me skim more of those curves, all too absorbed in the thought of a dark corner that might be available. “So anyway, what do you think of the setup? Good enough for the Broderick CEO?” she asks.

Assuming she means this party rather than her. “It’s fine.”

Sighing, I drink some more and look out at the blackness before me, trying to ignore my thoughts about her. It's just like I remember the grounds being. Far-reaching, distant. As cold as father was, irrespective of the weather.

“Fine? All my hard work and it’s just fine?”

“Exemplary then. The old place looks good.”

She chuckles and drinks again. “Better. I think so, anyway. Everyone seems to be having a good time. Apart from you.”

At the moment, I can think of several far more interesting ways to have a good time, none of which include being here, and all of which involve me finding out what’s under her dress. “Have you been to the ballroom? They’re all dancing in there. Your mother picked the band, by the way. Don’t blame me for it.”

I chuckle at that and listen to it in the background, part enjoying the sound. “She used to have that kind of music playing here when we were young. All fucking summer long.” The memory makes me lean back with her, both of us staring out into the night.

“Why here?”

“You really should learn who you're working for. This is the home of the Broderick family. I spent a lot of my youth here.”

“Oh, no, I didn’t know that.” She turns her head to look at me, champagne going to her lips again. “It’s quite a family home. And it will all be yours, I presume.”

“I suppose. I don’t think I’ve been here for twenty years. It doesn't mean much to me.”

She smiles, eyes sparkling under the terrace lights, lips wide and soft. “Why not? I love the countryside. I never had much of a chance to go and enjoy it, though. I could spend hours walking here.”

“I’m sure we can find a reason for you to visit again.”

“We could?”

“Mmm.”

She blinks and stares at me, a seductive little smile touching her mouth. “And why would we do that?”

Why the hell I'm continuing to smile with her is a more important question.

I don’t stop, though. Nor do I stop letting my gaze roam over lines that have become part of my every day. Long, shapely legs. A smooth, toned stomach. A face worthy of angels. My head dips down to note the shoes tonight—elegant, high, and extravagant. “Perhaps so you can experience something other than London’s facade for a while.”

I can’t even refuse the need to glance at her neckline this evening, especially considering that the swell of her breasts is not something I normally get a chance to admire. And in that dress, she can hardly complain; it’s cut to her navel, for Christ's sake. Obscene is a word that comes to mind.

She runs her fingers over her necklace, lowering it to entice me further towards her cleavage. Enough so that I find myself imagining my lips on her skin, teeth around her nipples. Dirty. But no matter how appealing the thought, I chuckle and turn away before I do something irrevocably stupid.

Another minute’s worth of silence passes, the only other sound the low ebb of noise from the house. It’s nice. As is she. In fact, it’s damn near intolerable. I can feel the heat between us, the sense of longing that’s already making me wonder what hitching that dress up and fucking her out here would feel like. Alone, in the shadows or secluded passageways I can remember from my childhood.

I frown slightly at the thought, part chastising myself for even thinking what I am.  There are at least a hundred women in the ballroom that I could have tonight if I want, all of them willing to do anything I ask of them. On their knees. Begging, frankly.

And yet I can’t see past my own PA?

“I think I'd like that,” she says. Like what? “It must be nice to be real and truly let go, don't you think?” Ah, she means the facade I offered her a glimpse past. Although, there's no facade to her that I've noticed. “Just being yourself and seeing where life takes you. Being honest?”

“I wouldn't know.”

“Is there a lake? All these types of places have lakes.”

“There is. I used to swim in it.” I stand fully, gaze catching hold of hers because letting go is something I'm currently contemplating far too readily. “Naked.”

She looks over my body and smiles. “Naked?”

“Completely. What are you up to?”

“Me? I'm not up to anything. Just talking.” Her frame turns, her back now leaning on the wall to show off that cleavage to full effect. “Making conversation with my boss is just part of my job.”

“I think you know exactly what you're doing. And this is far from sensible, Willow. Stop tempting something you're not ready for. I am not available for anything remotely … pleasant.” Especially not tonight.

She smirks and lifts her champagne to those fucking lips, giggling. “I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

She damn well does.

“There you are, Landon.” My shoulders straighten instantly, body swinging around to face my father. “Asquith has been looking for you.” Roger Asquith, head of media for Her Majesty’s government, can fuck off tonight.

He glances at Willow, clear disapproval in his gaze. “If you’ve finished with whatever this is, perhaps you could take some time to deal with business.” I’d really rather not, and the smile on my face after I’ve drained my champagne should tell him that.

“Father, this is a party. I’m apparently supposed to be having fun. As should you.”

“Fun?”

“Fun. Go and dance with Mother. I might go swimming.”

Willow giggles. She really shouldn't. I'm entirely serious, and that is in no way useful to her career at my company.

A waitress walks past with another tray full of champagne, which makes me snatch three glasses off it. One gets passed to Willow, another to my father, and I start sipping again. Work? No. Not tonight. I’ve done nothing but work for months, most of which has been at his order and under his direction. As of this evening, and the official announcement that I am now in control, he can go screw himself with orders and direction.

“Landon?” he asks.

“Yes?”

“Are you drunk already?”

“Nowhere near enough.”

My hand goes behind Willow before I’ve thought the move through, my body ushering us away from him without actually touching her. She stays quiet the entire way through the corridors and hallways, her frame seeming poised and controlled as we go. “I think I was eleven the last time I danced in the ballroom,” I remark, nodding at some other guests as they offer congratulations.

“Cute,” she says.

“Not a word I have ever been, nor will ever be.”

“Oh, I don't know. Even brutes have their charms. Swimming naked in your own lake has just become one of your better ones.”

I half chuckle and keep her moving until we eventually arrive in the vast room filled with chandeliers and opulence. It makes me smile and watch the other guests, partly absorbed in the frivolities and partly disturbed by them. Most of these people are just like me, just as manipulative and calculating. This pretence, while amusing, is nothing but that. They're just here to make sure we're on side. I'm probably not.

With any of them.

“What do you think?” she asks beside me.

“Of what?”

“Of this?”

“The dancing?”

“The fun?”

My fun is right beside me.

Not that I should be entertaining the thought.

I turn to look at her and some more of those private smiles pass between us. We should probably leave right now. Fuck all of this off and go up to my room to get rid of this tension rather than play with it. Unfortunately, a hand slips into mine before I can act any further, and I turn to find Ivy pulling me onto the dancefloor. Willow grabs my champagne from me as I go, a laugh coming from her.

“What are you doing?” I question as Ivy leads me into the middle.

“Saving you from making a mistake.” I chuckle and let her grab hold of my shoulder, forcing the dance. “Unless you’re already sleeping with her, that is. Too late then.”

I look over her dress, quite pleased to see her looking so worthy of her name rather than the jeans and casuals she normally wears. “Sleep with my PA? Don’t be ridiculous, Ivy. We were just talking about the ballroom.”

Another couple bump against my back, making me catch hold of her tightly and spin us away.

“Landon, I’ve known you all my life. Your whole aura is screaming possessive alpha. You might as well be fucking her in front of them all." I burst out laughing, not sure I’ve ever heard that sort of thing from her mouth. “I mean, I’m not surprised, she outshines most of the bloody room, but think before you fuck. Father will go ballistic if another one of his children lowers themselves.”

I slow our dancing, eyes hardening. “Lowers themselves?”

“I didn’t mean that to come out as it did. I meant she’s not from the right kind of family for dating,” she says, making us move again.

I look over her shoulder, guiding us through the melee. “And you’d care about that, why? Surely, I should be able to make my own decisions about who I do or do not see. You seem to agree with Persephone’s choices.”

She stops us again, her face getting in mine. “Hold on. Do you actually have feelings for her?” I stall, unsure what I feel about Willow. “You do, don’t you?”

Scoffing at the thought, I swing us until we’re actually in rhythm with the rest of the dancers again. What a ridiculous notion. Although, when I snatch glances through the crowds to see if I can still see her, the eventual realisation that she’s already in someone else’s arms causes a riot of frustrations.

And then she’s all I can see, as I keep us moving.

And there’s a damn slit in the dress I hadn’t noticed before, high enough to make me question every other lecherous gaze trained on her.

“Fuck,” filters out of me quietly.

Ivy laughs and squeezes my shoulder. “Have you been caught, brother?”

“Fuck off. And shut up while you’re at it.”

Another laugh from her and we carry on with the dance in silence, part of me desperate to get to wherever Willow is and dislodge her from another man’s arms. Instead, I take a breath and carry on doing what I’m doing. That’s sensible. Logical even. Ivy’s right. But a few more turns around the floor, one of which includes another vision of Willow laughing with some cunt I need to kill, and I eventually give up trying to ignore it.

Letting go of Ivy, I make my way through the hordes of idiots until I’m brooding on the wings and reaching for another glass of champagne. It gets knocked back as I watch Willow and a different man twirl by for the second time, and then I’m heading for the bar with nothing but pent-up frustration at the forefront of my thoughts.

Caught? Ludicrous.

I’m not caught, and certainly not by my PA. If anyone's got close to catching me, it's that fucking dancer who refuses to let me inside her. That's all this is. I just need to fuck something. Anything.

“Double Cognac,” I snap, ignoring everyone around me. “And make it a good one.”

Thank God for the smoothness of the drink to relax me back to somewhere near acceptable. I order another one, which goes close to making me amenable enough for conversation with some of the surrounding guests. I don’t really engage, but at least it proves a slight distraction from the very real possibility that I actually need Willow beyond thoughts of fucking. She’s all I can think about, as I chatter aimlessly with wives and husbands about work. She’s even there in my thoughts when I end up talking to some of my courtroom colleagues about life before this.

“Who’s the girl in the black lace?” one of them asks.

I don’t answer. I let them take their own guesses.

“I don’t know, but whoever she is, she needs a good seeing to,” another one butts in. "I'd pay for a slice or two of that with my Scotch."

Raucous laughter erupts as all of them join in on their little debate about what they’d do to her if she was theirs. She isn’t any of theirs. Not that I should have any say in that going forward, but the revelation that I’m so pissed off by the conversation that I could, once again, kill someone is enough for me to have my say.

“Her name is Willow Etherington. And she’s my PA.” The stunned silence is exactly what I expected. They all look at me and then over to her as she talks with a chap from marketing. “Perhaps you could show some respect, gentlemen, if you don’t want to be asked to leave.”

The fact that my own internal thoughts regarding her have little to do with respect isn’t relevant. Whatever I might be thinking, it’s inside my head, not loud and unruly in the air as if I have some divine right to bed her.

Walking away from them before I do punch someone, I shake my head and start wandering in the direction of the terrace again. Or another room. Or anywhere that doesn’t tempt me further into the insanity that we originally began on the terrace. She can have her night. She deserves it given the scene around us now. Nina might have started this ball rolling, but it’s been Willow that’s managed the last of it and made it as successful as it currently is. What right do I have to stand in the way of her getting attention left, right and centre?

None.

“Landon?” Her hand suddenly grabs my arm, turning me back to her, and I blow out a breath at the feel of her on me. “Hey, where did you go?”

I look at her hand still touching me, absolutely sure it's affecting my cock. “To the bar. It was safer over there.”

“Safer?”

“Away from you.”

“Oh.” She pulls the hand away, fiddles with her fingers and looks around. “Okay. Yes, of course. That's sensible, I guess.”

I smirk at the sudden sense of tension all over her. Quite the change from a few minutes ago with another man. I'd like to say her disappointment doesn't affect me, but if anything, it just makes me want her more. “Are you enjoying yourself?”

“Yes.”

“Good.”

“Are you?”

“No. Not particularly.”

“Why not? You looked like you were having a good time with that other woman.” She dips her head to the floor. “I'm surprised you're not still with her. She’s really very pretty.”

“She is.” She frowns and turns away a little, nodding about something. “She’s also a meddling sister who told me something I didn’t want to acknowledge. Rather ruined the moment.”

“Sister?”

“Mmm. Ivy.”

“Oh.” A coy smile drops to her lips. “I didn’t know that either. Seems there’s a lot of things I don’t know about you.” Quite right, too. I’m nothing but her boss. A boss who shouldn’t be thinking about touching her as much as I am doing, let alone fucking her.

She turns and looks through the crowds as if not knowing what to say next. Nor do I, in all honesty. Talking seems to be leading me towards trouble I'm not prepared for. Perhaps we should dance. There’s no talking involved in dancing. And what harm would one dance do? None really.

My head dips down to her level, lips a breath away from her exposed shoulder. “You know I like swimming naked. That’s something not many know.” She smiles, and her cheeks tinge pink. I down the remainder of my Cognac and place it on a sideboard. “I hope you're not completely danced out.”

Her head swings back to me. “Why, are you asking?”

“Not asking, demanding. You should know that by now.”

My hand lands on the small of her back at the same time as a wide grin breaks across her features, lighting the damn room up. This is not going to end well.