The Lawyer by Charlotte E Hart
Chapter Six
WILLOW
Ican't believe it's only Wednesday morning. This week has seemed to go on and on. But that might be because I've spent all weekend working. Landon, in his righteous boss mode, insisted I empty his boxes of junk. Who does that? And by junk, I mean nice, limited belongings that deserve a penthouse like his.
If I’m not careful, I’ll be late for work. So I give up on my hair and just pull it into the usual tight bun and add half a dozen extra pins.
Before I’ve even made it to the Tube, my phone is chirping repeatedly, and I’m caught between either slowing down to answer it or dealing with it when I arrive at work.
“Arrr, alright!” I fish in my bag and grab the phone that’s been vibrating its little heart out.
“Nina, I know, I know … I’m late─”
“I’m … at the … hospital. Not … coming … in.”
“What!” I stop in the flow of traffic and some guy not paying attention slams into me.
“Watch it, woman!”
“You’re having your baby?” She isn’t due for at least another six weeks.
But the line’s dead.
“Nina, hello?” This can’t be happening. “Nina?”
I start walking again, now frantic to get into work. If Nina isn’t there, I’ll have to deal with everything on my own. Which, just last week, I was relishing, but all of a sudden, that task is a lot bigger and I’m more than a little nervous. Over the weekend she knew exactly who to call, which organisations to commission and who to work with to arrange Landon’s move. In fact, she's been like a veritable hive of knowledge to pick from. There's no way I'd ever have been able to get the job completed if it weren’t for her. And now it's just me?
Shit.
~
Typically, the journey into work is slow and plagued with delays, so I’m even later than I thought I would be. My personal phone has also decided to join the chirping brigade, but I don’t have time to deal with that right now. One problem at a time.
I eventually arrive at my desk, ten minutes late for my morning briefing with Landon, and my bag lands heavily on my desk. I pick up my tablet and the files I’d left out the night before, and walk right in. “I’m sorry, I’m late. Nina contacted me. She’s in labour so won’t be coming in.”
“I know. Don’t be late again.”
“I’m sorry. I won’t. Shall we go over─”
“That won’t be necessary. Just my coffee.”
Already the worst day, and it’s not even nine-thirty.
I keep my head high until I exit the office and then slump in on myself. This isn’t who I am. I’m good at my job. That’s why Nina hired me. My abuse of the coffee mug and machine is down to my mood, and I know I’ve got to get over this. I was fifteen minutes late, which, while annoying, is perfectly feasible in London. The main reason for this mood is because of Nina. As a safety net, she's gone, and that means it's time to stand up and shine.
I put the mug on the tray and race it back into Landon, fake smile back in place, as I deliver it to his desk. “Coffee.”
His steely gaze washes over the cup and then up to me. Disapproval and frustration are evident in his eyes. My own eyes begin to widen in shock at what I’ve done as I take in the milky colour of his coffee.
“You’re late. Now my coffee?” He stands, to make me feel even smaller than I already do, I’m sure. “If you can’t do your job, please tell me now. I don’t have the luxury of incompetence.” Black. He takes it strong and black. No sugar or milk, because nobody can get the exact quantity right. One small jug of milk and sugar for him to use himself. Mortification sets in. Any normal human would have just been polite and asked me to get a new coffee, but Landon clearly isn’t a normal human.
And for the love of God, why can't I shake this attractiveness I feel towards him? It's not intentional, and I’m positive it’s that attraction that makes me act like a complete loon around him.
My mouth opens, a rush of colour consuming my cheeks. “I apologise. Again. In my haste, I must have picked up my own coffee by mistake. I’ll replace it right away.”
I do, and when I finally leave his office, I physically slump down against the door.
This day can’t end soon enough.
~
I watch the numbers in the corner of my screen tick over to five p.m. and take an actual sigh. I’ve never needed tonight more, and as of this second, I’m putting Landon Broderick firmly out of my mind. At least until nine tomorrow.
I pull out my phone and turn it on as I hurry for the Tube. After the missed calls and messages this morning, I couldn’t cope with it interrupting me all day, so I set it on silent. Sure enough, a stream of notifications race over my screen the moment I've made it through the crowds. They can wait. At least a little longer. But I do need to check in on Ash. He's been avoiding me the last couple of days, and his activities seem to be becoming more nocturnal than ever. He’s a grown man, but that doesn’t stop me worrying about him. Especially considering the rate he’s spending my money. It's getting beyond a joke how he treats me like an ATM.
“Hello! Ash?” I call as I close the door behind me. No answer, and none to my text, either.
I go upstairs and start a bath running—the number one step in my routine before heading out tonight. Next, I go to the kitchen and pull last night’s leftovers, adding the chicken to a salad box. If I don’t eat something, I’ll regret it. And if I'm still hungry later, I can grab a bite on the way home.
By the time I’ve finished with that, the bath is nearly full. This is the best part of the day. Relaxing and letting any concern or worry ebb away into the water. The heady scent of florals waft in the misty air, and I laze in the hot water for about half an hour.
Before the water cools too much, I get out and dry off. Next, it’s time to attack my hair. I release it from the pins and let the wild mane loose. Despite straightening every day, it looks a mess. But that’s what I’m going for tonight, so I tip my head upside down and rough it up at the roots. A little product, a little backcombing, and that’s about all I need to do. I’m transformed.
With my routine underway, I order my Uber and then pack my outfit. Tonight, I need to really let go, and now that my mind is clear, I can go over the choreography I want to adopt. My wardrobe is stocked with two lines of clothing. Workwear—all tidy suits and shirts, and professional attire. The other side is lace, corsets, and everything in between that makes up my performance wear. My fingers run over some of the different fabrics and stop at a sheer bodysuit. I’ve worn it before, but I feel desired in this particular outfit. A high leg, cinched in waist, and a lace pattern so see-through, everyone will see my nipples. I don’t care. It makes me feel even more empowered. I'm in control and can do whatever I choose at this point.
My collection of heels is the only part of my two worlds that cross over. Tonight, I choose a gold platform heel to complete the look and move to the most critical part of the ensemble—my mask. It's the source of the power and part of what I get off on. Nobody knows who I am. Or at least, nobody of importance. I’ve been dancing for years and have never experienced my two worlds colliding. Jackson sees to that.
I’ll have to speak to him later. He’s been leaving messages all day, which isn’t like him. I pack the items into my bag—I’ll change when I arrive at The Priory—and set about my makeup. I’ve become quite competent at a shadowed eye, getting more and more dramatic if I feel the performance needs it—another layer of anonymity.
On the journey into town, I run through a playlist, wanting to get lost in the music tonight. Jackson doesn’t like my choice of tracks—many of them are instrumental or classical pieces—but he knows I perform and have enough pull to be left alone. That isn’t the same for all of the girls. I'm lucky, I guess. I know my strengths and won’t be persuaded to change. It's worked so far, and I don’t see why that will ever have to change.
My driver delivers me to the back entrance. I press the passcode that will grant me access and then make my way to my dressing room. The Priory has many girls to cater to the range of clientele, so we don’t get our own space, but the main performers do on the nights they work. I'm one of them. My stuff is too good to leave for any of these other bitches. Most of them will do more than just perform if the money's right, and they'll have no qualms at stealing my outfits. Jealousy, rage, annoyance. I don't know what their problem is, but I’ve watched some of my competition, and I can tell they don’t invest like I've always done. Not only do I do this for the sheer fun and high of it, but I also make sure everything I dress in is top of the line. It means that my expenses for this job are at least thirty percent of my earnings, but then, it isn’t all about the money.
“You’re late,” Jamie spits as we pass one another in the corridor.
“Don’t start. I’m never late because there’s no fucking schedule.”
“Jackson wants to see you. He’s not impressed.” The satisfaction in her smile is almost radiant.
“Well, I’ll just have to make it up to him, won’t I?” I give her my own secret smile and just enough to worry her little head over.
It does the trick, and she shoves past me with nothing else to say on the matter. She might be Jackson’s cousin, but I'm a prized asset here, and Jamie hates that. Especially as I know—along with everyone else—that he has a soft spot for me. He’s always treated me well, given me whatever I’ve asked for, and for a gangster, he's surprisingly protective. But I see the look in his eye, I see the desire he’s held at bay, and that means I hold the power.
Of course, I’ll never cross that line. I work at The Priory for me—free of obligation and judgement. I’m not a hooker. That’s a line I won’t cross, and any kind of relationship with him is way off the cards. He knows it. Everyone knows it.
Doesn't stop him trying, though.
I get to the dressing room, dump my bag, and set about changing. It doesn’t take long, considering how little I put on. I have a floor-length silk robe I’ll start with, so there’s a build-up to the show.
“Knock, knock.” Jackson opens the door after his announcement as I’m securing my mask. “Fuck.” He stops, and I watch his eyes drink me in from top to bottom. “Juniper, you … you’ve ignored all my fucking messages.” I see him catch up with his reaction, shifting from first impression to what he came in to say.
“I’ve had a shitty day. Can I just get through this and we can talk about whatever it is you wanted to talk about later?” I smile and take a step closer to him.
“Don’t forget. I’m serious Juniper. It’s important.” His voice softens at the end.
“I promise. So, will I do?” I give him a little turn. I know it’s a tease move, but this is what he pays me for.
“You know you don’t have to ask. Jamie says the boxes are full. Make sure they get what they’ve paid for.”
“I always do, don’t I?”
I secure my mask with a double knot and walk out, leaving Jackson behind so I can get into position on the ramp. The platform of the plastic box is my stage. A two-meter by two-meter podium. I step up and take a breath, waiting for the adrenalin and excitement to fuel my blood. As I rise up, I strike the first pose—wanting to make my entrance and set the tone for the next fifteen minutes.
Seductive, sexy, elusive and untouchable.
The strings of the tune start and build, but I hold my position until the change of key. My shoulders roll, and my body sways as more and more instruments join in, adding layers of sounds. My arms take flight, extending my movements, and I can feel the silk of the robe ride up my skin, exposing my flesh for the first time. It’s a tease and one that will continue.
I extend my hand, making sure to finish every line to the fullest. With the mask on, and the lights focused on me, I can’t see anything past the box, but I know there are eyes trained on me. A thrill burns through me and sends a shiver over my skin. As the music intensifies, my body flows to the rhythm.
Billowing silk wafts around my legs, and I bend to grasp the edge, sliding it up to allow everyone to see my shoes. My fingers toy with the fabric working it as a prop, covering and uncovering my legs, all the way to the apex of my thighs.
The more I allow the song to take hold, the more confident I become, and that’s when I can fully escape and forget about anyone behind the glass screens. My body responds to the show I’m putting on, the endorphins floating me higher and higher. The pace of my dance quickens, and I slip the shoulders of the robe down, one at a time, twisting and swaying with the music.
It’s not until over halfway through my dance that the robe pools at my feet in a dramatic reveal. It’s timed to perfection with the crescendo before the second wave of beats forces my hips to rotate as my body twists. My arms rise above my head. The sheer fabric and the lights will ensure I’m on full display, and I don’t want to disappoint.
My heart starts to race, my pulse quickening as I reach the final part of the show. I keep one arm straight above my head, my wrist bent into a right angle as my other arm wraps seductively around my stomach, trailing a path across my chest between my breasts and up to meet my other hand.
Each thrum of the music is another highlight for me to use to my advantage. My hips, my legs, my hair—I dance with every part of my body. Seductive. Sexy. Dirty and unabashed until the buzzing from my toes builds, and I can feel it over my entire body.
Just as the music peaks, I stage my last pose and stretch to let the final notes fall away. I'm breathless and spent, smoothed out and yet tense enough to feel the need building between my thighs.
The heat of the box clings to my skin as I draw in a deep lungful of air and wait for the platform to lower me out of sight. I pick up my robe and hold it against my chest as I reach for a bottle of water from the table and take it back to the room. There will be two more repeats for tonight. Some evenings I dance for longer—some, just for five minutes at a time.
~
A few hours later, all the dancing is done, so I check the time and order my ride home. I know I’ll have a visit from Jackson before I leave, and I set about taking my mask off and unpacking my clothes to change into. It doesn’t take him long.
I glance in the mirror and find him looking at me from the door, one hand rubbing the scruff of his jaw. He looks tired, and tired usually means angst.
“What did you need to talk about?” I ask as he comes into the claustrophobic room. He takes the only other seat available, and I let his eyes stray as I tilt my head to the side and wait.
“You know we have some big-name clients through the door. And I get regular requests─”
“No, Jackson, I’m not interested. You know what my limits are. I thought we’d been through this.” I turn back around and set about packing up my stuff. The usual high from my night of escape evaporates with Jackson’s proposition. He knows better.
“You’ve not heard what’s on the table.”
“I don’t need to, the answer is no. We’ve been through this before."
“Hear me out. He’s willing to pay a lot, June.”
I sigh. “No, Jackson.”
“A private performance. At his house. That’s it.”
He's sounding desperate.
My eyes narrow as I turn my body to face him. It's not beyond the realms of possibility that he could need me to do this for some reason. “And what guarantees do I have that he’ll not try anything, hey?”
“I can vouch for him,” he says, reaching out for my hand. I slide it out of the way before he makes contact, the bag already over my shoulder and my feet walking for the door. “I’m serious, June. I’d never let anything happen to you. This one is different. He's solid. You won't have any problems.”
“Okay, and just what figure are we talking about here?” Jackson is never this serious about offers. He normally lets me dismiss them quickly, and we go back to our loose friendship.
“Five grand, minus my cut.” God, that’s a lot of money. “You get to keep it if he cancels or not.” He pulls out a piece of paper, hands it to me. “Rules already set up. Check them out.”
My backside lands on the chair again, eyes scanning through the document. No touching. No expectation for me to do anything other than dance. Five thousand pounds.
He chuckles and looks me over. “So. Tempted?”
Yes. I am.