The Lawyer by Charlotte E Hart
Chapter Eighteen
WILLOW
The house is too small. For the last couple of days, it’s been my hideaway and my prison. I feel stuck and restless, and it’s mostly from my own doing. If I’d just worked up the courage to tell Landon sooner …
I can’t keep running the ifs and buts over in my head. It’s done. I didn’t have to take the job to dance. I could have turned around and left when I knew I’d be dancing for Landon. This is my own form of torture, and I need to snap out of it. The job is waiting for me. Landon won’t fire me; I'm sure of it. He won’t want to deal with the ramifications. However, regardless of whether he would or not, I’d never go through with outing him anyway.
How could I?
I suppose I could still perform, but to have those eyes on me, the very essence that I crave to express myself and be free from responsibility or worry, no longer holds the same level of appeal. It used to be an addiction—an itch under my skin that was desperate to be let loose. I needed it like a release valve to balance my life—to forget. It's not how I feel any longer. Now, it makes me second guess. It makes me question my feelings and my future. Sure, the money is useful, but it’s not like I need it in the same way anymore. It only enables the lifestyle that comes with the performance: the shoes, costumes, lingerie, and masks.
Still, it is a safety net of sorts.
I order an Uber to take me to The Priory. I’ve called in sick this week, but I owe Jackson an explanation. I make my way through the back and hope to avoid Jamie. Her bitchiness certainly isn't something I can deal with. It’s rare that I seek him out, but despite everything, and how he overstepped the other week, he gave me a place to be myself and, at the time, I needed that.
I pop my head around his office door and find Jackson and another guy discussing something at his desk. “Do you have a minute?”
“For you? Yes.” He cocks his head to the side, dismissing his acquaintance and leaving us together. “Want to tell me what’s going on?” he asks, cutting to the chase.
“I need some time off.”
The instant look of irritation on his face makes me realise this isn't going to go well. "You just had time off.”
“I know, but I need a break. I’ve got some things going on with my brother, and I need to be there for him.”
“Lucky brother. But we don’t work like that, June. We’ve got a clientele to look after. And you, sweetcheeks, are one of my stars. You don’t get to take time off when you like.” I watch as his lips curl into a devilish grin, and I begin to see a different side to him. It's the side that’s more than a seedy club owner, the same one some of the other girls get. I’ve never asked too many questions before. I was young and needed this, but ever since I took the job to dance for Landon, I fear I’ve made room for the real Jackson to show his face.
“Jackson, please. Only for a few weeks. Then it will be back to normal. I promise.” I give him a full smile and force my face to cooperate, but behind the smile, my pulse quickens and my hands are clamped together in my lap.
“You know,” Jackson stands and starts to round the edge of his desk. The door is closed. I know that, so I force myself to keep my eyes on him rather than dart around for an escape. “I wasn’t sure if you were serious the other week. Dancing for me.” His finger runs over the back of my shoulder and swishes my hair as he passes me. I keep the shiver to myself and steel my nerves.
“Well, as I want time off, I’m not really open to more dancing, Jackson. Come on, keep up.”
He slams his hand down on his desk, making me jump in my seat. “This is not a fucking game. And I’m not asking. If you want time off, then I want compensation. If it’s good enough for one man, it’s damn well good enough for me.”
“Jackson, please,” I start, but he silences me by grabbing my hair and pulling my head back until I’m forced to look up at him.
“You will do this. Or you won’t like the consequences.” He releases his hold, sending a flood of pain through my scalp.
“Go. You have two weeks. And then you’ll dance for me. Here.”
“Your office─”
“I didn’t say my office. You’ll have plenty of room to show me everything you’ve got." He goes back to his desk and lounges in his chair. The usual smile he saves for me is back in place, hiding the wolf behind his mask. “One of the back rooms maybe.” There's no way I'm heading into one of those with him.
I leave, hurrying out as quickly as I can, and gasp for air as soon as I’m free of the building. It's like I've been holding my breath while I was inside, and now I'm damn close to passing out because of it. All I came here for was a little space to sort this mess out, but I’ve just made it worse, and now I have Jackson to deal with.
For the first time since I started, real fear runs through me at what he might do. You watch things on tv or read horror stories in the paper about girls and places like The Priory, but I've never felt threatened or worried before this.
All that’s changed now.
~
Monday is a big day. I told Landon I’d be back, and I want to keep my word. And my job. Standing up to him was necessary, and I wouldn’t let him push me away. If this week has told me anything, it’s that I can’t walk away from Landon Broderick.
I’ve not heard anything from him since our argument. It’s been unnerving, but I've taken it as a good sign. Tie that in with the fact that there’s no paperwork through the letterbox from Broderick Media, and hopefully, I'm still safe. But, regardless of that, I've missed him. It's stupid. I know it is. We aren’t together. How can I miss someone so easily? It's true, though, because no matter how brief, our daily contact and banter has become the highlight I didn’t realise I needed in my life. Dancing for him is a thrill I seek. Being with him, talking with him, is a comfort I crave. And this week without him has sent everything else but him paling into the distance.
The threat from Jackson still looms large at the back of my mind, but I still have time to deal with that. Right now, I have to concentrate on Landon alone. So, picking out my most Willow outfit, I pull my hair back and ensure there’s no thread out of place before leaving for work.
The early sun has already warmed the air and makes me feel positive by just being out of the house. When I arrive at the office, my pass is still active, and I travel up to our floor with no hindrance. I’d kept my word and asked someone to cover for my ‘illness’, but there’s nobody at my desk when I walk in, and it looks like it’s not been touched since I left.
I fire up the computer, check the schedule and the inbox, which is now at unmanageable proportions. Has nobody actioned any of these? I take a deep breath and resign myself to a busy day, but not before I make coffee and face him.
With the cups set just so, the sugar and milk to the side, I push open the door and walk into the lion’s den. My legs are sure and, thankfully, don’t show any of the nerves that dance about in my stomach.
“Morning. Coffee.” I set it down and then take the tablet from under my arm and sit in the chair in front of his desk, ready to start. As I wait for Landon to acknowledge me, I take the time to appreciate him. His dirty blond hair, his pristine suit, the square cut of his jaw that always looks like he’s holding something back. The initial hit of attraction is still there, and my heart gives a little sigh of relief.
“You’re back.”
“I told you I’d be back on Monday. Your desk is a mess.” My eyes take in the wild stacks of files and papers.
“Well, my PA has been MIA.” He finally makes eye contact, and the storm behind his eyes takes my breath away.
“I got you somebody to cover.”
“I’m not having some fucking stranger come in and mess things up. It took you long enough to get the damn coffee right. I’m not a child who needs to be looked after.”
“Relax, it was just an observation.” I hide the small creep of a smile by dipping my head.
“Don’t start, Willow. You’re not forgiven, and I'm still close to firing you.”
“Firing me won’t work. I’ve told you that.”
I wait for him to move, or say anything, or even blow up in another temper, but he remains behind his desk.
“Right. You have your usual Monday appointments.” I move the stalemate to purely professional grounds, hoping that will ease the tension between us. I’ve not had a chance to go through all the emails and messages yet, but I hope that he has, indeed, been able to handle anything pressing.
When the terse conversation regarding work is over, I leave the office, at least hopeful that we’ve made it through one meeting together without resorting to screaming or fucking.
~
For the rest of the morning, I organise the mess that is my inbox. Papers to sign, policies that need approving and minutes of meetings that need filing and completing—all mundane jobs that keep me occupied—but I also find a request from GeraldineWatkinson, for a follow-up appointment regarding that book. Remembering how adamant Landon was about not seeing her again, I send a polite decline.
He's busy all morning with meetings, so there’s little time to be alone together again. I shouldn’t be so impatient, but at some point, we do need to have a conversation. Work isn’t the best place, but I’m too anxious to know how he feels to care. The thought makes me pull up his calendar and squeeze in a half-hour lunch tomorrow.
“Hello. I’m here to see Mr Broderick.” The author I recognise barges into my office with her bag on her arm.
“Um, excuse me. How did you get up here?” Main reception only ever lets up meetings that are scheduled on Landon’s calendar. Nothing is. Maybe someone else in the building has approved it?
“I have an appointment, regardless of your little email earlier today. It’s been cleared with Anthony Broderick, so I suggest you let me through.”
“No.” I stand and stop her from going further. “I work for Mr Broderick, and he’s said no to this. If you have a problem, I suggest you go back to Mr Broderick Senior yourself. You seem perfectly happy to toss his name around as if it’s a magic key to whomever you want to see.” I cross my arms and stand my ground.
“Why, you little trollop. You can’t talk to me like that.”
“I can, and I will. Now leave. Security!” I call, hoping someone might hear. Sadly, we don’t actually have security on this floor, but help comes from Landon’s office.
I hear the door open but don’t turn around.
“What’s going on?”
“Ah, Mr Broderick. This girl seems to think she has more authority than your father. If you would be so kind as to put her right.”
“Ms Watkinson, I have no intention of sitting down with you again, and I doubt my father has sanctioned this at all without emailing me. In fact ...”
Out of the corner of my eye, I see him pull his phone from his jacket and I wait for whatever might come next, but as I turn back to look at the author, I realise she's gone.
Taking a deep breath to calm myself down from the rude, abrasive woman, I linger to hear what Landon and his father are discussing.
“What did I say to you? Did you not understand? I’m sick of you interfering, Father. I didn’t want to do this ridiculous interview in the first place. You have no right to force another ...” Landon walks back into his office, and I follow. “Well, who the hell did?” Another pause. I’m not leaving now. Something’s going on here, and I want to know what it is. “You think I’d do something like that? Why would I want that? This is all you.” He finally turns and looks towards me, moving his phone from his ear. “Get legal on the phone. I want to see her contract.”
I nod and leave, calling down to Tonya.
“Hi Tonya, I need the contract that Broderick Media has with Geraldine Watkinson. She’s the author doing a feature on the Broderick family for the fiftieth anniversary.”
“Um, okay. You know I don’t handle every single contract.”
“Well, you’re the head of legal, so if Landon wants a contract, you’re the one I call. This woman’s been interviewing all the Broderick siblings. She would have had some sort of agreement in place. Landon would have seen to it.”
I can hear the tapping of keys. “I’m sorry, there’s no contract with someone of that name.”
“What about a company name, a publisher or similar?”
“I’ll need more information to go on, Willow. We’re a media company and have hundreds of contracts. And if this was set up before he took over, maybe his father would know?”
Landon appears in front of my desk, and as I look up, he beckons for the phone, which I hand over.
“Listen, I want to know who that woman is, who hired her, paid her, and put her contract together, and I want it now. Do I make myself clear?” He slams the phone down without a response.
“Are you okay?” I offer.
“No. I’m fucking not,” he snaps before going back into his office and slamming the door.
Sitting at my desk and staring at the door, I decide to go and pay a visit to legal. What for, I'm not sure, but something is definitely not right here, and as PA to the CEO, part of my job is to make certain everything is correct as far as his work is concerned.
I head to Tonya’s office and knock on her door.
“Willow, hi. Sorry. I’ve got nothing. I’ve spoken to finance, and there are no payments that we can’t reconcile against contracts or purchase orders, and there’s certainly no contracts with freelance writers or similar that would explain it. There’s nothing. I’ll keep looking, but I’m not sure we’ll find what you’re looking for. I’m sorry.”
“Thank you. I’ll let him know.” She gives me a worried look, and I know why. Landon can be ruthless, but I know that his temper won’t be aimed at me. At least not today.
I walk right into Landon’s office and close the door behind me.
“Well?”
“Nothing. No contract or expenditure that can be linked. Legal and finance are still looking, but there’s nothing to suggest that Ms Watkinson has been paid by or contracted from Broderick Media. So, it’s either your father or ...”
“No, he thought it was something I arranged as a gift of sorts to celebrate his achievements.”
“So, who arranged it all?”
He turns to look out the window behind his desk, an enviable view for many, and takes out his phone again. “Locke, I have a job for you. Her name is Geraldine Watkinson, or apparently so. I don’t know who she is, or what’s going on, but she’s had access to us all under some pretence of a fucking publishing deal. My father set it up, or so I thought. He didn’t. So, I want to know who’s fucking with us.”
I keep watching, perhaps waiting for an explanation or more conversation, but he eventually frowns at me and points at the door. It's enough for me to know I'm being dismissed, again, and I leave, closing the door quietly behind me. I guess some things aren't pertinent to his PA, and it doesn't fill me with any more confidence about us than I had before.