The Lawyer by Charlotte E Hart
Chapter Nineteen
LANDON
Ihaven’t slept, nor have I been able to get thoughts of her out of my mind. Even now, as I pace this penthouse and try to forget, there’s the ghost of her in my space. Yesterday was bad enough. I had to watch her, smell her perfume, and talk to her as if our working relationship was alright. It isn't.
Bright summer rays light up London’s skyline, and I stare out at the view. She’ll be at the office now, perhaps as consumed with me as I am with her. She’ll be there in her smart suits with her hair neat and precise, probably typing up something that needs my attention. Nothing’s getting my attention today, certainly not at the office. That’s the last place I want to be. Not wholly because of her either. This crap with whoever the author is is annoying the fuck out of me.
Still, the conflicting thoughts of both anger and need regarding Willow collide, and I end up thinking of Persephone and the trials she must have gone through to make her decision to leave us behind. Much as that still rubs me the wrong way, I can see her reasoning now. Nothing is simple when it comes to that person you enjoy. Nothing makes any damn sense either. It should be a logical question with a logical answer. It's far from that.
My lips tip up—she’s become something brighter than I could have imagined. Challenging, forthright, professionally worthy, and let’s not forget the fact that I could fuck her for months on end and still never get bored. Add in that she is, in fact, the one body to pique my interest past one-night affairs, and there isn’t a damn thing logical about anything regarding her.
Sitting at the table, I try to refocus on the paperwork concerning her brother’s situation. I shouldn’t be doing that either. I should have thrown him to the wolves because of her duplicity. Instead, I’m as invested in making sure he gets away with this as I was when I told Jackson to leave him alone. That, once again, makes little sense to my usual behaviour.
“Christ!”
I push the paperwork away, pen thrown after it. None of it makes any fucking sense. I should despise her audacity, regardless of understanding her reasoning for the predicament she found herself in. Perhaps if she’d told me sooner, or somehow stopped Juniper's visits the moment she realised it was me, then I could see past the deceit and find clarity.
And just to confuse me further, her threatening me with ruination seems to be making me smile now rather than be as furious as I was. That's as confounding as the fucking situation is. I've found myself admiring her for that tenacity and gall all morning. In fact, I’m actually more taken with her because of it than I was before.
Looking at the phone, I swipe away Father's continued calls, and one from Locke, and pull up Persephone’s number to stare at it for a while. What the fuck I think talking to her will do, I don’t know, but maybe she’ll be more aligned with juvenile sentiments than I am. That’s what this is. It’s a reaction that comes from irrational thinking. I’d like to perceive that as something it isn’t, but the fact of the matter is I’m both pissed at Willow and yet desperate for her. Both of which prove I'm emotionally invested.
Grabbing my jacket and keys, I leave to get into my car. Driving usually works. It helps find a silence I can’t find on my own, gives me a drone to get lost in. I’m pulling out of the garages before I’ve thought too much about it, ramping up speed so I can get out of town and onto the motorway. It doesn’t matter where I’m heading. Anywhere will do. Just away.
The call to Persephone engages the moment I’ve got a reasonably open road in front of me, and I listen to the sound of the foreign dial tone.
“Landon?” she asks. I don’t answer at first, partly unable to find the words I want to say. “Hello? Landon, are you there?” Still, I can’t find what I’m after. I swerve around a car and increase my speed, not caring a damn for anything in my way. “Hello? Oh god, if you were going to call, you could at least have the decency to bloody talk.” My lips tip up at her attitude. “You know I’ll say something stupid if you don’t.”
Definitely possible.
I sigh and slow a little, pulling in behind a truck. “I’m here.”
“Finally. Now, I’m hoping you've called to actually talk. How are you?”
“Confused.”
She giggles quietly. “That doesn’t sound like you, big brother.”
“No. How did you know?”
“Sorry, know what?”
“About Scott. How did you know he was worth leaving us for?”
“I didn’t leave you. Well, I guess I did, but I didn’t want to. Not really. You gave me no choice.” I don’t answer that. Choice is relative; she always had one—she chose him. “I love him, Landon, and you and Father made it so hard for me to just be happy that I couldn’t find a way to be with him without leaving you.”
Silence stretches over the line for a while as I take in that information. She loves him. That’s all. No other explanation to give or a steer on what immature inflections make that feeling plausible. “That’s an odd question coming from you,” she says. "Is everything alright?"
“How’s he treating you?”
“Do you really want to know that? I will say, he’s a new man over here, and, if I’m honest, I’m loving being here with him. Paris is everything London isn’t. Fresh, dynamic, and we can be who we are here.” My smile broadens as I think of her being happy. “And romantic. You could come over, you know, see us?”
“I’ve already seen you. You both looked happy then, and by the sound of you now, you still are.”
“You have?”
“Mmm. His opening night. I’m still disturbed by the paintings of my baby sister, though. And not the slightest bit fond of him.”
“I'm not a baby anymore.”
“You’ll always be the baby to me. I would have thought you’d be used to that by now.”
She giggles and goes quiet again. It’s relatively nice, and I end up concentrating on the road again, getting lost in thought about my own state of affairs. Happiness seems an odd concept to me. Laughing, smiling, being with someone who gives you something others can’t. Women have always been a simple means to an end for me, and yet Willow is embedded somehow, or Juniper is.
“Landon? Are you still there?”
“Yes.”
“What’s the matter? I can hear that brain whirring away from a different country.”
“I think … It doesn’t matter.” It doesn’t. Not as far as she’s concerned anyway. Whatever this is inside me, it’s not something I’ll be sharing with anyone until I’ve considered it more thoroughly than I have. Certainly not with someone whose welfare is my concern. “Look after yourself, Persephone. We’ll speak again soon.”
“Landon, I'm—”
I cut the phone off before she finishes, unable to give her the attention she probably deserves. It’s then that I notice a road sign. I’m turning off onto a side road without much deliberation on the matter, easing the Aston along country roads and through villages I know all too well. Why I’ve decided this destination is useful, I’m not sure, but maybe the peace of the countryside might make me understand something I’m currently lost in.
Another half an hour of nothing but me and roads and thoughts, and the phone rings to break my silence as I’m driving into the grounds. I look at Ivy’s name on the screen and let the voicemail kick in. I’m not ready for more family discussions. Not in the mood either. It isn’t until I eventually pull up to the main house that I realise I’m not even ready for my own thoughts to start connecting with each other. Last time I was here, I was with her. And now I’ve driven here without even recognising that’s probably the reason why I have.
I get out and look up at the old place, watching as Derek Lauder, the caretaker, comes out to greet me.
“Landon?”
I smile at him and think back on years ago, remembering him when we were children. “Derek.”
“We didn’t know to expect you.”
“Flying visit. Might stay the night, if that’s alright?”
“If that’s alright? It’s your house. Of course, it’s alright. I’ll get Betty to see to your room.” He waves me in, and I follow until we’re in the grand hall. “She’ll be pleased to see you.”
“Relatively certain I don’t require nappy changes. Please let her know that.” He chortles to himself and hovers as if he should be doing something for me. He shouldn’t. “Don’t let me keep you, Derek. I’ll find my own amusement. I'm sure you've got something to fix.”
He nods and walks off, leaving me standing in the huge expanse filled with nothing but silence again. It’s back to the way it always is. No sign of the extravagant party that was held only a few weeks ago. Unfortunately, the constant vibration in my pocket interferes past my patience levels, and I end up moving towards the drawing room and pulling my phone out.
Filling a large glass with brandy, I listen to the voicemail from Ivy and then call her because of her insistence that I do so—immediately.
“Has Father been in touch with you yet?” she opens with.
“Yes. Several times. I’ve ignored every one of his demands that I call him back since yesterday. I am not in the mood.” The drink gets knocked back, and I refill another. “Why?”
“That author—Geraldine whatever, Father said you’re investigating her?”
“Yes. He didn’t hire her, and neither did I, so who gave her permission to interview us all?”
“I don’t know. It was all part of you becoming CEO. The handover, the fifty years—”
I cut her off. “And why would I want all that? Really, Ivy. I don’t have time for this.”
“So, what are you doing about it?”
“Sensible language, Ivy. I’m particularly fractious today. What would you like me to do about it other than the obvious?”
“Something? This is not alright, Landon.” No, but furious as I might be by it, it’s not the top of my priority list at the moment.
“I set a contact on the trail yesterday. Other than that, I don’t see what else I can do. I’m sure he’ll report back when—”
“Pointless. She’s dead.”
That's what Locke was calling for then.
I sigh and refill my drink, barely interested other than the potential crap that will surely ensue in other media.
“Landon? Did you hear? Suspicious circumstances, according to my sources. This does not look good for us.”
“Her death has nothing to do with us. I really—”
“It’s all over the grapevine already, and there’s probably going to be headlines for the next week at least. If the FT piece was enough to cause you grief, what comes next is going to force us front and centre with no ability to hide.”
I huff and walk out to the terrace, still not particularly interested. “There isn’t anything to link us to her death, Ivy. Let them write what they want.” My fingers run over the stone Willow was leant against, my frown getting deeper. “At the moment, I don’t have time for this. I’ll deal with it tomorrow. You’re the investigative journalist—investigate.”
“Landon, what the hell—”
“Perhaps writing for your own family would be of use right now rather than fucking around for other papers.”
“That’s not fair. You’re being a dick, Landon, and—”
I switch her off, put the phone on the balustrade, and pull in more breaths to counter what little irritation was rising regarding that topic. The fact that it’s of little importance to me at the moment is as confusing as the way I feel. I’m … almost fucking dreaming as I look out at the view. What I’m dreaming of, is unknown. A different life, maybe. A different me, even. Not that I’m entirely sure what, or who, I am other than the lawyer that’s been entrenched in me. Sharp mind, focused thoughts—always searching for the solution on my own. Yet here, now, I can’t find one on my own at all.
Alone suddenly feels too big.
My fingers swipe the phone screen until Willow’s work number comes up, and I hover over the call icon. I don’t know what I want to say, though. And not only do I not know what I want to say, I also don’t know how to rectify something that probably shouldn’t be rectified at all.
Still, something needs to happen. Maybe I can pay her off, get her gone from the building, so I don’t have to see her every day. Or maybe I could just accept this underlying need and deal with it. Either way, nothing is going to be resolved until she’s in front of me and we can talk.
Calling the number feels like a knife driving into my chest, and I smile at that thought as it rings. I swallow by the time the eighth ring ends, nodding to myself about the fact that she's probably as tense about answering as I am phoning.
“Yes,” her voice suddenly says.
My head rears back up from looking at the floor. “Where are you?”
“At work, obviously.”
“Get your bag and head down to the front desk. A car will be there for you in fifteen minutes.”
“Am I supposed to be somewhere? There’s nothing in your diary that—”
“You’re supposed to be where I want you. That’s currently not where you are.” Nothing but silence comes back to me. And while that might piss me off, I’m not surprised at her hesitation in the slightest. “I’ll see you when you get here.”
“Where is here?”
“Not there.”
“I have work to do.”
“You do. For me. Do as you're told.”
The sound of her moving makes me look out at the view again, imagining her in her suits. The vision is as appealing as her trussed up in her slutty costumes. A door closes, and I listen to the heels, possibly on my office floor.
“I don’t know what’s going on, Landon, but we have to learn to be professional. And I’m not backing down. You can’t—”
“Shut up, Willow. Get in the fucking car when it gets there.”
“Really? You’re ordering me?”
“Yes. You are, in fact, my employee, and if you’d like to remain so, I suggest you take your tone and check it. My patience only runs so far.”
“Fine.”
“Good. I’ll see you in a while.”
With that, I end the call, sigh again, and order her a car.
Christ, she winds me up.
In all sorts of ways.
I sink the rest of my drink and walk back into the house, damn tired of this noose around my neck. I don’t even know why I bothered putting a tie on this morning, considering I wasn’t even contemplating going to the office. Thankfully, I’ve got some old clothes here. Jeans maybe. A T-shirt. Anything but this fucking suit and the restriction it keeps me under.