The Lawyer by Charlotte E Hart
Chapter Seventeen
LANDON
Considering the manipulative little bitch she’s been, I don’t know why I’m so fucking livid—with everything. I slam the main doors to Earlwood and storm towards my father’s home office, ready to offload some of this fury. Him sending some uptight little debutante to my office seemed to float over me the other day, given it was of no importance and she was pleasant enough to look at, but today, and after the row with Willow, I’m fucking furious with his attempted interference in my life. What does he think; that I’m going to marry someone and produce an heir under his direction too?
The large, oak door swings inwards, and I get ready to deliver a mouthful of vehemence only to find he’s not here. I’m straight back out and searching the house for him immediately. It isn’t until I walk past the library and notice the French doors swung wide, that I realise he’s lording it up in the gardens, champagne in hand.
He nods at me as I approach and carries on talking on the phone, as if whatever I am, or might want, is of secondary importance to anything else he might be discussing. The phone’s snatched out of his hand before he’s got a chance to complain about it, the call ended and the damn thing tossed towards the ground.
“Don’t ever send a fucking child to my office again. Who the hell do you think you are?”
He stands and levels his stare at me, enough anger in it that I remember all those times he forced me into something I didn’t want to do when I was younger. “Calm down, Landon.”
“No. Enough, Father. That is a fucking line you will not cross.”
“I thought she might be of interest.”
“Interest? You made me think it was a favour regarding court process. The last thing she was interested in was court procedure. I cleared the whole afternoon for what? Some ridiculous blonde bimbo who you thought might be good breeding material?”
He stands. “You need a good, solid woman—”
“I choose who is, or is not, of interest. Especially when it’s to do with who I bed. Get a damn grip of yourself.”
He glares and goes to pick up his phone from the floor before turning to walk into the house without so much as an apology. That’s not good enough for me this time, especially considering the current conundrum that is Willow fucking Etherington.
I storm after him and block the door to the hallway before he gets to it, my hands in my pockets to stop me going too far. “This is the last time we’re having this conversation, Father. About anything, frankly. Stay the hell out of my life. This is my company now, and it’s certainly my life outside of that. You do not get a say any longer.”
The anger I know all too well turns damn near apocalyptic on his features, his hand clenching to hold him back. I look at it, watching the knuckles whitening. I don’t care anymore. I’m a damn sight bigger than I used to be when that was his answer to problems regarding a son’s rebellion. If he thinks hitting me will work these days, he’s got another thing coming.
“Landon, I will not have this family caught up in scandal again. Perhaps a choice somewhat better than a cheap backstreet secretary might be of use.”
My brow arches, body stepping towards him because that sounded like a fucking dig at Willow. Not that he knows anything concrete, but regardless of my present feelings concerning her, I will not have him denigrating one hair on her head, let alone her stature in society.
“We have a reputation to maintain, and while you might be happy sleeping with trash, it is not acceptable for anything serious.” He takes a sip of his champagne as if trying to contain himself. “First Persephone and a Foxton, and now you?”
Well, if he wants to travel that fucking road for a while, I’m happy to oblige. “I am not sleeping with my PA.” Not currently anyway. “But yes, let’s discuss my sister, shall we? Sit the fuck down.” He frowns and goes for the door again. My frame moves sideways instantly, hard eyes showing him I’m extremely serious about the conversation we’re about to have. “Sit. Down. And take the tone out of your voice while you’re at it. I am not fifteen anymore.”
A minute of staring, and he capitulates, at least enough for him to move towards one of the library’s wingbacks. Remaining standing, I watch as he takes a seat and leans back, champagne still poised in his fingers. “There’s nothing to discuss about Persephone apart from the fact that you still have not got her back in this house.”
“There’s plenty to discuss. What’s the real issue with the Foxtons?”
“She should be here.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
“You know damn well we do not mix with them.”
“Why?”
“How many times do we have to go over this? It’s been in your blood all your life, Landon. You know why.”
“No, I don’t. All I know is the lines you’ve fed me since I was a child, the same ones I’ve swallowed without ever damn well questioning them. I want the specifics now.”
He stands and huffs, trying to head for the other entrance at the far end of the space. I’ve picked up a book and thrown it in front of his face before he gets there, enough force in it that the champagne he’s holding goes flying and the book rebounds off the stacks.
He stops and turns to me again. “I don’t know what the hell that was, but grow up, Landon.”
“Grow up?”
“Yes. We don’t have room for childish tantrums.”
“Be careful, Father. I'm wound up enough without you adding to it. Don’t ever call me a child again. Or treat me like one.”
I pull in a breath at the thought, positive he’s not the one that deserves my fist, and walk until I’m in front of him again. “I will find out what this is about. And until there’s some clear, concise, and sensible reasoning as to why Persephone can’t stay where she is, she’ll be doing exactly that.”
He opens his mouth, so I wait for any of my requests to be answered. Nothing comes. He simply glares at me, his shoulders attempting to stay steady under my scrutiny. “You’re hiding something. You always have been. I want to know what it is.”
His chin tips up, old, wizened eyes matching my own as we face off. It might be the first time it’s ever happened to this degree, and that thought ends up making my lips tip up in some contempt ridden smile. Still, no answer, though.
And he’s not going to give one either.
“Listen carefully, Father. You have no power over me anymore. In fact, you gave it all to me without considering the point that I might challenge everything you are.” His mouth opens again, and this time I hold my hand up to stop him before I lose my temper completely and this moves irrevocably past reconciliation. “This will end with me taking what little shred of dignity you have left if you carry on attempting to strong-arm me, so I suggest you back off for a while and let me calm down.” Both my hands go to my pockets, and I turn to leave before he manages to cut in.
The sound of my own feet reverberates as I walk away from this place. I can’t even call it a home now. What home delivers the kind of rule this one always has done? At least at Tallington, there was some peace through the summer months because he was barely there. And then, there was law school and the States and my own life to grow into, but since coming back here, it’s been nothing but a monstrosity of rules and orders and apparent obligations.
That’s about to change.
And I’m still ready to punch something.
I stand on the steps, bouncing with rage, and look out to the front gardens. The fucking gall of the man. Childish tantrums? There isn’t one thing childish about me anymore, if there ever damn well was. I’ve forgotten childish anything, mainly because I wasn’t able to actually be a bloody child and do what children do.
Grumbling to myself at the memory of that, the vision of her sitting in Maxwell’s comes back to haunt me. I could laugh more, she said. How dare she say that to me? If she’d lived my life, she might understand there’s been so little to laugh about I barely remember that either.
Willow fucking Etherington.
Fraudulent little bitch.
It takes the image of her hurling abuse at me in the offices for me to realise exactly who’s going to get my fist in their face, and I stride to the car. I don’t even have the sense to check the road as I power out onto it, and a car swerves and blares its horn at me. I glare and keep going, ramping up enough speed that I doubt anything could catch me through these roads even if I was being chased.
Half an hour later and I pull into the one place I can get rid of this tension. The alarm sounds on the car as I walk towards the innocuous door, and I push on it to stride in like I own the place. I don’t, but I damn well do own the fucking cunt that does.
Halls pass by in a shadow of movement until I’m close to his excuse of an office, and for half a beat, I wait outside and consider what this could mean. Having run through all the possible options of retaliation, it’s still not enough to stop me barging in and aiming right for him. Eight strides across the space and a punch lands so hard on his jaw that he tips back off his chair in surprise.
“Get the fuck up,” spits out of me.
“Jesus, Landon,” he says, pulling himself up. “What the fuck was that for?” I’m so close to telling him it’s for making my Willow dance in a place like this I can barely restrain my voice. Thankfully, more rage kicks in to counter it, and another swing lands straight on the other side of his face.
He stumbles backwards, but this time there’s not one inch of pleasantry on his face reading my actions.
“You’re a vile little shit, Jackson.”
His thumb wipes over the side of his lip, collecting the blood I’ve just given him. “Someone’s wound up. What did I do to inconvenience you?”
Everything that wants to leave my mouth regarding Willow halts. No matter the rage I’m in, or the sense of fucking need that seems to be clawing through me to somehow claim her, I don’t know how much he knows. “Ashley Etherington. Take him off your books. He no longer works for you.”
“Who?”
“He’s a child, Jackson. Whatever contemptuous life you might live, I will not have him involved. Get someone else to sell your crap to the masses.”
He moves to the side of the room and starts pouring a drink, downing it just as swiftly. It makes me move towards him again, ready for more fists to carry on. He chuckles at the sight of me, his finger going up. “I’ll give you two, Landon, but be fucking careful before you think of trying another.”
It seems I’m not thinking much at all because another swing comes out of me so fast he doesn’t even get a chance to dodge it. Nothing trembles about him this time, though. He takes it, turns his head slowly, and then scowls. Good. I need this. I need to get that fucking woman and her legs out of my head.
My fingers wave him on, tempting him to me. I don’t even care if I hit the damn deck now. I’m lost in a mist of fury. Not at him, at her—at her audacity and game playing. Especially when it seems to be affecting more than just my damn cock.
“I don’t know what’s going on here, but I’m not about to kill the man that keeps me out of jail for his first screw up, so ….” He walks to the drinks again and pours two this time. “Sit down.”
My body moves, crashes past some filing cabinets, and my hand goes for his throat to choke the life out of him. Anything frankly—he’ll do. Something swipes my head so damn fast I barely have a chance to react before I’m planted over the desk, my arm tucked up behind me.
“Do I need to call the boys in?” he growls. I snarl against the surface, shrugging my frame to get out of his hold. It doesn’t work. He’s like a fucking clamp around me, and my size advantage over him seems to make no difference. “I’m going to let you up, but one more try, and you’ll be going home in the boot of a car. I'm not pleased with this behaviour.”
A final shrug and he starts letting go of me. I stand instantly, pissed off with everything, and watch as he places a drink in front of me.
“I haven’t seen this side of you before.” He’s right. He hasn’t. Barely anyone ever sees this from me. Too many years of conducting myself with the integrity befitting a barrister, and too many years finding ways to make situations happen plausibly, no matter how nefarious the problem.
I straighten my shirt at the thought, attempting to get a check on my own behaviour because of a woman. A lying woman at that. The glass of Scotch in front of me gets picked up and downed, then shoved back in his face for a refill.
He smirks and offers me the bottle, seating himself behind his desk. “Any other things we should discuss?” he asks.
I tip the next drink down my throat and slam the tumbler on the desk, not interested in discussing a damn thing with him. I didn’t come here to discuss. I came here to act. In fact, as I refill the glass again and stare at him, I realise the only reason I came here was because I knew he’d take this from me and I’d get away with doing it. No one else would. As he said, they’d be leaving this sleazy little den in the boot of a car with not much in the way of life left.
Having knocked the next drink down my throat, I stare until I’ve contemplated the fact that she might have fucked him too. That’s what normally happens here. If I could find a way of asking that without giving away the whole fucking situation, I would, but I can’t. Certainly not at the moment when sense is the last thing on my mind.
“Make sure he’s off the books, Jackson,” I mutter, turning away. The door gets left open as I walk out, and I curse myself the entire way back to the car. I shouldn’t have even mentioned Ash’s name. That alone is enough for this cunt to go digging around, but fuck it. It’s not like she hasn’t played with me. Maybe she can have a bit of her own medicine thrown back in her face.