The Lawyer by Charlotte E Hart
Chapter Eight
WILLOW
Landon. Fucking. Broderick.
My weekend was uneventful, but then, after Friday night, nothing could fill me with any form of excitement other than the obvious. I was hesitant at what the evening would entail because, despite Jackson’s assurances, going to some random guy’s apartment to dance was not a smart move. But the money was too tempting, especially as Ash seems to be draining the house account as soon as the money comes in.
Jackson had organised a taxi, so I didn’t have his actual address, but I knew the place as soon as we pulled up to the building. At first, I thought it was a coincidence, but there was only one penthouse. My penthouse.
At least, the one I picked for Landon.
The nervous energy that thrummed through my veins turned to excitement the moment he opened the door and I saw his face. Desire sparked in his eyes and kindled that attraction I couldn’t deny.
Jackson had chastised me on the rules and stipulations I’d given if I was to go through with this, but they were my protection. And having realised who the client actually was, I was damned thankful for them. Landon couldn’t know this is what I did. My day job was my security. It was also my cover and my authentication in a world that needed everything to be above board and deemed normal.
Despite all of my reasoning and the rules, when I got into the dance, when I could watch Landon watching me move, it grew increasingly difficult to stay away. My body came alive in that performance. His eyes ignited every nerve and fibre of my being, and I longed for just a simple touch—his flesh on mine. But I couldn’t. Not even when I watched him come apart with only the barest of touches.
I did that. Me.
It was a heady power that made me feel drunk and uneasy.
Landon featured in my dreams for the rest of the weekend, and I woke hot and breathless, with my hand between my thighs several times. It was hollow and less than satisfactory, but I needed some relief. It wasn’t hard to pretend it was his fingers pressing against my skin, his hands touching and rubbing me to climax.
~
Monday finally arrives, and I don’t think I've ever felt as excited to get to work. It's like the first day at school when I was a kid, and everything was shiny and new.
In an hour, I’ll walk into my office, and Landon’s, and I’ll know his darkest, filthiest secret—me. Even taming my hair feels easier, like it knows that it's important to cooperate today. The lineup of shoes all look at me as if they want to be chosen today, but my sky-high black heels win out. Fuck-me heels are not my usual go to, but with a red sole, I can still pull them off as professional. Just.
For the first time since I started, I’m early into the office. The floor is quiet, and I go to my desk, turn on my computer and set the coffee machine working. Anticipation has me clapping my hands together in my own personal cheer as I check the time and what’s on the schedule today. Landon has his usual morning briefings, but so do we. And there’s more stuff to organise with the ball just around the corner. Catering details, floral arrangements, access requests—the list is endless and clogging my inbox.
At precisely nine, I push open Landon’s door, without knocking, and with my tablet in hand I strut across to the seat opposite his desk and sit. I cross my legs in a slow tease, that, if I was wearing what Juniper wore on Friday, should have his eyes popping out of his skull.
Instead, he looks mildly irritated.
I break eye contact, smile to myself, and pull up the calendar app on the tablet. “Shall we begin?” I offer my biggest smile. There’s no way that I’ll let him intimidate or shake me today.
“Yes.”
“So, after your run-in with legal, Tonya has requested a meeting with you today to go over her position and contract.”
“Smart, but no. It will be a standard contract. Non-negotiable. She's lucky I picked her."
“Salary?”
“Equal to whatever David's was.”
“I’ll confirm the usual meeting time and amend the calendar accordingly. Did you enjoy Friday night?” I ask with my eyes downcast, scribbling with my stylus on the tablet screen.
“What?” The edge of steel in his voice shouldn’t send my heart racing, but it does. I look up and tilt my head to the side, wondering if he’s picturing me dancing for him again.
“You asked me about Friday last week. I’m merely returning the courtesy. It’s quite common to ask how your weekend was on a Monday morning.” I smile as innocently as I can.
“You didn’t ask me about the weekend. You asked about Friday night.”
“Well, okay. Did you enjoy your weekend?” I uncross and re-cross my legs and lean my elbow on the arm of the chair.
“It was fine. Yours?” He scowls after his question.
“You know, can’t complain. Shall I bring your coffee now? Then we can go over the arrangements for the ball?”
He groans. “Not the ball again. Surely I’ve done enough.”
“It’s the ball to celebrate your father stepping down and you taking over Broderick Media. You could leave it to me, but as your father put this in motion and insisted the venue be Tallington Hall, out in the middle of nowhere, there are points I need clarifying. Why did he choose some draughty estate mansion, anyway? I’d have thought somewhere in the city would be much more your style. Glass, clean lines, open plan.” My little secret has given me a confidence I don’t usually feel outside of my performance, and I’m talking more because of it.
“You don’t know my tastes.”
“No, of course, I don’t.” I smile to myself and tilt my head at him. “Not at all.”
“What?” He looks confused. I'm not surprised. “Willow, I don’t have time for this today.”
“I’m sorry. I’ll get your coffee.” I stand and place my tablet on my chair before I sway my hips in my retreat to my office.
Coffee made, I return as casually as I entered the first time. This time, he watches as I come in, his hands steepled together.
I smile as I put the beverage down and go back to my seat.
“So, are you taking a date to the ball?” I start.
There isn’t a plus one on the guest list, but I want to know if there’s anybody in his life other than Juniper.
“A date?”
“Yes. They tend to accompany you to these types of events even if you're not the dating type of guy.”
“They don’t accompany me.” He’s back to being dismissive and gruff.
“Okay. No plus one for you. Your tux is ready and will be sent across from Nuova Moda, and you can take it with you Friday night. The limo is booked for Saturday at four. That way you’ll arrive in plenty of time and before the guests. Unless you want to drive?” I check.
“I’ll be working, so limo is fine. When will you arrive?”
“Excuse me?” I stop short at his question, and for the first time since arriving today, I feel my confidence dip.
“When will you arrive? You’ll need to ensure everything runs like clockwork. Nina organised most of this, and she won’t be there.”
“I don’t have an invitation, Landon, so I hadn’t planned to be there.” Nope. I’ll be dancing. At The Priory, and not for him.
“If you think you’ll be able to run the event from your sofa at home, then you’ve got little experience in events, which is becoming quite clear now.”
“Hey, knock it off, Landon. I’m more than capable─”
“Then start showing me you’re capable. You can book a car. And you’ll need a room to change. You’ll be there for most of the afternoon. And make sure you wear something appropriate. Not what you’d wear for work.”
“You want me to come to the ball?” I can’t deny that my heart just skipped a little at the thought of attending. From all the plans, the photos, the colour charts and menus, it will be one hell of a party.
“Clearly, that’s evident with what I’ve just said.” The flush of heat that colours my cheeks betrays my thoughts of him in a tux. Of course, I’ve seen him in far more compromising situations, but something about him in a tux makes me press my lips together and swallow.
“You don’t mind if I call in an appointment at Nuova Moda to ensure I have something appropriate, do you? I’m afraid that my wardrobe might not be to everyone’s tastes.” There’s got to be a benefit of working for a media empire with a fashion magazine in the same building.
I smile and glance at my shoes and then back up to Landon.
His eyes linger on my legs for a fraction longer than they should before coming back to look at me. “Fine.”
“Right. I’m off then. And, I have to cancel my plans.” I call back.
“What plans?”
“Another personal question, Landon. What has gotten into you?"
He looks back at his work. "You should probably check your own mouth before questioning mine, Willow." His hand waves me off, dismissing me. “Don’t come back in here unless there’s an emergency.”
“As you say, Landon.” I mock curtsey before leaving his office. It’s quite fun being in on the secret. Although, as I sit back at my desk, I realise that there could be a path to disaster in front of me if I’m not careful.
~
For the next couple of days, I keep up the conversation between me and Landon. His schedule seems to have morphed into a tangle of meetings, and I’m up and down to his office a hundred times a day. He looks more and more stressed, and as the days tick on, he's also grown more severe and less open to any advance of playful banter. It’s a shame, as I thought we’d started to find some common ground at least.
Tonight, I have to go to The Priory. Jackson always wants me for weekend shifts, but I do the minimum he’ll allow. This weekend was one of them.
Work done, I head home to change, trying to work out why Juniper hasn’t had another invitation from Landon. It's infuriating, but considering his mood this last week, maybe it's understandable. Still, the disappointment is real.
My routine was as always—get ready, arrive, change, perform, leave. But my performance doesn’t excite me tonight. It feels flat. It doesn’t matter how many anonymous people I conjure in my mind; none of them give me the same thrill as performing for Landon. He's real. Not only is he real, but he's handsome and solid and everything a girl like me might dream about. In fact, does dream about. Frequently. And God, I bet that mouth of his gets really dirty.
I smile as I weave out through the throng of other dancers, imagining that night, and his body under those suits, and the way he'd hold me if I got close enough to let him.
Jackson is waiting for me when I get to the double doors. “We’ve got to talk.”
“Not now.” I brush past him and into my changing room.
“Get your ass back here. Behave. With what you're being paid, and what I’ve set up for you, you should show some fucking respect.” He grabs my arm and pulls me back to him. It’s the first time he’s ever got close to being hands-on. His fingers ease the pressure on my arm, and I search the intent behind his eyes. “I could end all of this for you, June. Don’t forget that.”
And he's right.
“What did you want to talk about.” I school my displeasure.
“The client wants another meeting. He’s agreed to the same demands, although offered double for you to reconsider them.”
“When?” I tap down the smile that’s itching to blaze across my face.
“Tomorrow. And he wants to make it a more regular appointment.”
“On top of what I have here?”
“Yes. Thursday.”
“If I’m going to do this regularly, you take a smaller cut. Or, I drop one night here.”
“No. How about you give that guy what he wants, and I see just how much money I can make off you,” he says, running his hand up my arm.
“What the fuck, Jackson? You’re not my fucking pimp, and I’m not a whore.”
“Well, maybe I’m fucking pissed that you do seem to have a price, huh?” He squeezes hold of my arm and pulls me back towards him, this time wrapping his other arm around me and holding me to him. “What’s your price, June? For me, what do I have to do?”
“Let. Me. Go,” I grit out with my teeth clenched, “or I walk away.”
“No.” His voice smooths out as if he’s charming me. “I know you. You like it too much.” He runs his eyes up and down me, studying my face while his steel arms hold me to him. I wish his words weren’t true, but he’s right.
“Last warning, Jackson. And, just so you know, my price and rules are the same for you. If you want what you see, set it up,” I whisper in his ear.
I don’t know what’s come over me, but I do know I have to diffuse the situation quickly. Jackson likes me, but after all these years, he’s never done anything like this.
He finally obeys, and I take a step back. “Don’t ever touch me again, Jackson. You can look, but that’s the line, just like everyone else. Jealousy doesn’t suit you. And after that little stunt, I’m having the weekend off.”
“No, you dance the least of all the girls.” He shakes his head, but I'm not going to miss the ball. This is as good a reason as any to force my refusal this weekend.
“Then fire me.” It's as empty a threat as the one he made to me. We both know it.
We’re in a stalemate.
“I’ll confirm tomorrow and set it up,” he says. “If you cancel on him, you forfeit the pay. He pays if he cancels. Same rules unless you say otherwise.”
He runs over the details while texting on his phone.
“Deal, and Jackson? I meant it. Don’t ever touch me again.”