The Lawyer by Charlotte E Hart
Chapter Three
LANDON
“What do you mean you didn’t think it was the right time?”
I glare out the open window in my home office, not remotely interested in my father’s opinion on my plan. “She won’t come willingly, Father. It needs considered management, not forced intent. Just leave it with me.”
“This cannot happen any longer, Landon. You get her back here now.”
“Why?”
“What?”
I turn slowly, determined to get this conversation out in the open if he’s going to be so damn pig-headed about it. He’s dodged me for two days at the office since I've been back, regardless of Nina arranging meetings with him. And now, after a full day of numbers, contracts, constant fucking headaches and problems, I’ve barely made it through the door this evening, and he’s already on my back. “She’s happy. Why should I wreck that just because you say so? I'm about done doing what you say.”
He baulks at me, eyes bulging out of his damn head because I ventured to question something about the Foxton-Broderick situation, let alone challenged him about authority.
“What the hell was that?” he shouts.
I half chuckle at his attitude. “Calm down. You look ready for a heart attack.”
He stands, rounds my desk to get to me. “I don’t know what’s going on with you, Landon, but get your head straight. This company is not going to run itself, and I will not have—”
“Give it a fucking rest, will you? I’ve done everything you’ve said since I got back here. Every damn thing. In the exact order you deemed applicable, but this is tiring the fuck out of me.” The drink goes to my lips, the next one in the line I’ve been draining liberally for the last half hour, and I sink that too. “Enough, Father. Give me a little credit for knowing what I’m doing. And if you can’t be frank about whatever the real problem is, I’d rather you get out for now.”
My body swings back to the window, my back in his face. I need to move out of this house. I only came back to this place because of the quickened nature of his insistence I take over. This last near argument is enough for me to know I need space. Fast.
“Landon, stop drinking and think. This is not the son I raised.” He wouldn’t have a fucking clue who the son he raised is. Certainly not after the years I’ve been away. “Look, you’re clearly not in the right frame of mind for sensible conversations about this," he says, quieting his tone. "I suggest we leave it until tomorrow.”
Not one part of my intentions regarding my sister will have changed by tomorrow. I want the truth behind this whole seemingly scandalous thing that keeps interfering with my sanity. Maybe then I’ll change direction. Until then, nothing is any different than it was before. He wants a new head of this family, he's got it.
By the time I turn around to look back into the room, he’s gone from sight. Good. It probably wasn’t the right time to have discussions descend into aggravated confrontations, anyway. He might be a bastard, but Sir Anthony James Broderickis also my father. It’s something I should be respectful of. At the moment, I’m not respectful of a fucking thing around this house—his opinion most definitely included.
Picking up the phone, I call Nina and tell her to find me a selection of properties by tomorrow morning. I’m past caring too much about what it is. It just needs to be away from here. Having him in my face day in and day out is driving me insane. I don’t like it. Nothing makes sense. There’s no quiet or calm to find actual thought in. This crap with Persephone is bad enough, add in the pressure that’s now on me permanently to do things his way, and I might fucking strangle him at the next available moment.
Another shot drunk, and I grab my jacket and head out to the garage to get my car. It isn’t until I remember I’ve probably consumed a quarter bottle of brandy that I stand and stare rather than actually get in and drive. Fuck, I need a break from this place, maybe from this country. Two days in Paris clearly wasn't enough.
I storm back into the house and call through to Geoffrey. He’ll have to take me there. Or at least take me close to there.
The drive is quiet, enough so that I start to find an element of rational thought again by the time we arrive at Hoxton. I get him to pull over outside one of the better parts of town and then send him on his way. I’ll taxi back, or stay at the office. I don’t know. I’m too busy aiming at the only thing that’s going to make me feel slightly more relaxed to care for now.
And she better damn well be there tonight.
Last time’s entertainment was sorely lacking in comparison to her.
Darkening evening streets lead me where I need to go, and I cross over a few of them and pull up my collar. Not that it’s cold. It’s more a sense of hiding I’m after. I shouldn’t be here, as proved by Scott Foxton finding me, but I’m still unable to stay away.
It’s my one piece of comfort now.
I grumble at myself because of the word and round the corner into the back entrance. Comfort? Absurd. Comfort doesn’t come from a woman swinging her arse around in my face. Distraction maybe, but not comfort. Comfort comes from places that Persephone seems to have found. This is … this place is … I look around the dark, sparsely decorated entrance for men like me, looking over the pretence of wealth. Exhilaration maybe. A hovel of filthy, unmoralistic charm that I like to dwell within when things become too aggravating.
Whatever it is, it’s only her that brings me back. Jackson Reed has a lot to answer for employing that one. She’s all I see at night in the privacy of my own room, all I visualise when my hand is around my cock and I’m easing a day’s tension away. She’s even the one I think about when I manage to fuck something deemed appropriate enough for me to fuck.
Six dates since I’ve been back in the UK, all of them of the calibre acceptable for the son of my father to date. All six fucks were pitiable, and all six of them have done nothing but hound me for weeks after.
Not one of them will get a second round.
I walk quietly, ignoring anyone who dares lift their head to meet my eyes. We all know that conversation isn’t on the cards. We come here for one thing and one thing alone—arousal. There isn’t a discussion at the end of it, nor is there amiable chatting about what we’ve been up to this week in the world outside this building. The wealthiest of us, and the ones who shouldn’t be here like I damn well shouldn’t, keep their heads down and do what we’re here to do and nothing else.
“Back so soon?” I slant my gaze at Jamie, watching the way she escorts me through to the main viewing platforms. “Your favourite’s here tonight.”
Good. I nod and let her lead me to one of the boxes on the left side of the room, no interest in interaction other than that. At least I know I’m secure with her. She’s paid a lot of money to keep this place running as it does, and not only that, but she’s Jackson’s cousin. It’s helpful given the threat I constantly hold over him.
“I’m still unsure why you’re not married by now,” she says, opening a door for me. “There must be women lining up for a slice of you.” There is. I’m not interested in any of them. “Still, most of the guys here are married anyway.” She chuckles and runs a hand over the fabric on my arm, enough so that I frown at the contact. “I’m sure you’ll keep coming back even when you are. Maybe one day you’ll take me up on that private performance?”
My head lowers to her ear, lips close enough that she feels my breath on her face. “I. Don’t. Fuck. Sluts.” The hand on my arm drops away instantly, her brow furrowed as she backs away.
“No need to be so crude about it, Landon.”
“Everything about this place is crude. Me included while I’m here.” I slip past her into the dark enclosure, a rise to my brow when she hovers in the entrance. “Leave.”
She looks at the floor and quietly backs away, less superiority on show now I’ve put her back in her place. Stupid bitch. I’ve got as little time for her as I have any other woman in this place. There’s only one that I want, and I’m getting closer and closer to finding out who she is every time I think about her.
Sitting in the stark, leather chair, I get myself comfortable and look at the glass in front of me. Four-foot square—that’s all I get. A smoky, black sheen covers it at the moment. It’ll be that way until she comes up from below. My cock’s already hard at the thought of it, let alone the sight. Not that I need it. She’s already hardwired into my brain, every fucking inch of her, except her face. I can see her already, see her olive skin and taut, lithe frame. Masses of long dark hair, just enough of it to cascade over firm breasts with dark nipples.
My smile broadens at the thought of them, dirty images coming because of the near sheer lingerie she wore the last time I saw her here. Even the panties were sheer, giving me a glimpse of the dark hair smattered under them. Peachy arse, round and solid under the moves she was pulling off.
Fuck.
I shift in the seat, already needing to ease the tension building in my groin. What I wouldn’t give to get inside her. She’ll be tight, like a clamp around me. Agile muscles holding on until I bend her over something and drill everything I’ve got inside her. Fuck, if she doesn’t make me want to destroy her. I want that wild hair in my hands, that mouth sucking me off. And then I want to watch her again, knowing I get to be back inside her the second I want her again.
My hand pushes down on my cock at the thought, eyes still trained on this goddamn glass that’s in between us. In fact, the longer I’m waiting, the more I’m damned sure this isn’t going to work for me much longer. Mine—that’s what she needs to be. At least for one night a week.
The swirls of blue smoke start the moment I accept my need to investigate her further, and I watch, transfixed as her body starts rising from beneath the floor. She’s like a devil as she comes into view. Legs spread wide, high blue heels keeping her frame perfectly still as the ground beneath her spins slowly.
My eyes rake over the gold bangles on her arms, her hands perched on her hips, and then up to her head. An intricate mask covers her entire face, as it always does, silver and gold brocade lacing the edges of it with only a sliver of space for her eyes and mouth. A corset today. Fine, blue satin to match her shoes, breasts swelling over the top of it and showing me a hint of nipple. It’s as much of a tease as she is.
And then she starts moving.
Graceful moves at first. Long and demure. She flows like a fucking angel would. Soft and chic, poised and collected, until she ramps up the next few gears and starts acting like the temptress she really is. Long sweeps of her arse in my face, hands that wander over all that skin. One hand down to the floor, legs bending and then slowly climbing her fingers up her legs again.
I groan at the image of her and lean back, my breath ragged and needful. No one else does this to me. Not one fucking woman has ever made me feel so deprived. All this fucking money, all this position and stature, and it’s nothing but a common whore that reduces me to a goddamn wreck. She’s like a queen in her little box, owning me and every other fucking man that’s here to salivate over her.
The reality instantly pisses me off, making me glance around at all the other glass screens I can see from my position. I can’t see anyone in them, neither can she, but that doesn’t mean they’re not in there rubbing their cocks at this very moment because of her. They’ll be panting like I am. Groaning and grunting like me, rock hard cocks in their grasp as they come all over themselves.
My lip sneers, fingers gripping my thigh because of a jealousy I shouldn’t own. She doesn’t belong to anyone, least of all someone who will never be able to do anything but fuck her and then find another more suitable woman for the rest of my life. Whores aren’t suitable. They’re to be played with, enjoyed, used.
Perhaps the time has come to get rid of this deprivation and deal with my head. Maybe if I fuck her and get it out of the way, I’ll be able to move on to something a little less intoxicating. Diversions aren’t usually the least bit appealing to me unless they’re under my control.
That’s not where this one is yet.
She needs to be.