After Vaughn leaves, I feel a strange stab of regret.
It’s crazy, I know: I ordered him to leave, but a part of me wishes he had stayed. To keep doing those incredible things to my body, blocking out the chaos that is my life right now, making it so I could stop thinking and worrying, and just let him take control.
I crumple to the floor, lost in thought. Too much has happened for me to process, and right now, my body is betraying me: wet and aching for him despite all my doubts.
I still don’t trust him.
Whatever mystery he’s hiding, I know he’s dangerous. The devastating effect he has on me. The dark power he wields over my body, his way of making me submit. I’ve never been this way with any other man, but just one steely look from Vaughn’s blue eyes makes my knees weak and sends all logic flying from my mind.
His filthy words. His commanding voice.
I want to surrender.
I catch my breath, still feeling the rough grip of his hands on me. Hard and dominant; precise and controlled. God, that man is a miracle. He knows just what buttons to push, the way to touch me, the dirty, shocking words that make me so utterly hot. He can drive me to the edge of intense pleasure in moments -- and keep me there until I think I’ll lose my mind.
But what is he hiding?
The doorbell interrupts me. It’s the food Vaughn ordered for me, enough to feed a dozen people. I lock the door behind the delivery guy, and spread it out on the coffee table. It looks delicious, the scent of ginger and garlic hitting me square in the gut. I dig in, suddenly ravenous.
I flick on the old TV, channel-hopping for some distraction, but I keep coming back to the phone call I overheard with Vaughn, the one that made me run.
“I told you, nobody turns me down. She’s begging for it, just like I said she would.”
Even now it hurts to remember, but his explanation makes sense. Bragging to a buddy, guys do it all the time, and although I don’t like it, I can already feel my resolve start to slip.
He said he was sorry. Everyone makes mistakes. We all say things that we later regret.
Do you believe him? a voice argues. Or do you just want him back -- whatever the price?
Either way, I know, it doesn’t matter. Vaughn made it clear, he won’t stay away any longer. He may have given me a temporary reprieve tonight, but I’m under no illusions that this cat and mouse game will end in only one place.
His bedroom.
I shiver, thinking of the last time I was there, just days ago. When he made me get on my knees, and submit to him: do the kind of filthy things I’d only ever dreamed about. I should be ashamed, but instead, my heart is racing, counting down the minutes until I’ll see him again.
Soon, he promised, he would show me what a real man was made of.
Soon can’t come fast enough.
I spend a sleepless night thinking of Vaughn, tossing and turning in my crappy Craigslist hand-me-down bed.
I wake up with my back aching and yawn. The first thing I do when I get any money is buy a decent mattress. And some pillows. And maybe even some fancy linen sheets...
I stop dead. It hits me for the first time.
I could be rich.
I know I’ve had days to process it, but for some reason, it hasn’t been real. It’s all legal papers and lawyers arguing, but now, right now, I get it.
Five hundred million dollars.
Holy crap.
That’s life-changing money. I could do anything with it. Pay for law school and an army of tutors to get me there. Donate to charity, set up foundations to help under-privileged kids -- and still have more than enough left over for a house, a car, new clothes...
I gulp, overwhelmed. For a blissful few minutes, Vaughn made me forget about Ashcroft and the will, but that time has passed. The real world is still out there, with me dropped bang in the center of a bitter legal battle. And judging by Brent Ashcroft’s angry outbursts in the meeting yesterday, he’s going to fight me to the bitter end.
I drive to work, still thinking about the money. I’m not shallow, but I’ve spent too many years scraping by, paying attention to every dollar not to relish the thought of suddenly being wealthy beyond my wildest dreams.
No more silent prayers that my paycheck will clear before the rent comes due. No more sweltering in the summer heat because I can’t afford AC. No more buying produce at the end of the day when it’s cheaper, or skipping out on dinner plans with friends to avoid the embarrassing moment when the check comes.
My parents never wanted me to live like this. They were the kind of people to plan ahead: they had a modest life insurance policy, and when they died, it seemed like I would be set. But college tuition doesn’t come cheap, and with their credit card debts to clear and a mortgage to pay off, it didn’t last long. I’ve learned to get by with my wages as a paralegal, tutoring a little on the side, but I have to admit, I’ve watched the partners at the firm with envy -- their designer clothes, and expensive dinners, and vacations to exotic foreign cities I’ve never been.
London. Paris. Rome. I feel a shiver of excitement. I could go anywhere, do anything.
But only if it’s really mine.
The moment I walk into the office, I can tell something’s wrong. People stop to stare as I pass, whispering the minute I’m out of earshot.
I feel a surge of dread.
Justine is over by her office. I walk fast, pulling her aside. “What’s wrong? Why is everyone looking at me?”
She looks around, leaning in to drop her voice. “They know.”
“About Ashcroft?”
She nods. “There was a partner meeting, first thing. I don’t know what happened, everyone’s keeping quiet. But they’re not happy.”
“Oh shit.”
My stomach lurches. I knew it would come out eventually. After all, Hudgens, Cartwright and Abrams were Ashcroft’s lawyers on the case: they prepared the original will, and even if Ashcroft had my name added after without anyone knowing, news like this would travel fast.
“What should I do?” I ask, panicking.
“Stay calm. I have court this morning, but I’ll come find you later, see what I can find. The secretaries always talk,” Justine adds, with a comforting grin.
“Thanks,” I say. She picks up her briefcase and heads out, leaving me alone to face the whispers and gossip.
I force myself not to react, walking slowly to my office cubicle with the other paralegals. But I haven’t even booted up my computer when my phone rings. It’s my boss, Carter.
“Get in here, now!”
He hangs up.
Oh crap.
I get up, and head down the hallway to his office, feeling like I’m walking to my execution. With every step, my nerves grow, until by the time I reach his door, I swear my hands are shaking.
“Miss Fawes.” Carter is waiting for me, with a weird smug smile on his face. He gestures me ahead of him with mock-politeness. “After you.”
I step inside the room. Usually Carter doesn’t come in until noon, after his racket-ball game and appointment with his personal ‘masseuse.’ But it’s barely nine AM and he’s wide awake and leering at me like I’m the entertainment of the day.
This is bad. Really bad.
“Do you know why you’re here?” Carter asks, sitting back in his chair and resting his feet on the desk.
I shake my head, not trusting myself to speak. It’s something to do with Ashcroft, I’m sure, but I have no idea what.
“One of our clients has brought a serious charge against you,” Carter sneers. “Brent Ashcroft says you exerted undue influence over his father. His weak, invalid father.”
“That’s not true.” I speak firmly. “I didn’t even know he was putting me in the will.”
“Sure,” Carter sneers, clearly not believing me. “That’s why he cut off his devoted children and left his fortune to you, a young, nubile assistant he’s barely known a few months.”
“It’s not like that--” I try to interrupt, but Carter doesn’t stop.
“I don’t know what you did to get in that old man’s good graces.” His eyes slip down over my body, making my skin crawl. “I can only imagine you have a few tricks up your sleeve. It’s a shame you didn’t bring some of the same diligence to work,” he adds with a leer.
I shudder. God, he’s a pig.
“It won’t affect my job.” I try to change the subject. “I still have work to do on your cases, and they tell me it might take months, or even years to settle. I’m not going anywhere.”
“Are you serious?” Carter stares at me, then bursts out laughing. “You really think you’ve still got a job? Honey, you’re done here. Finished. Fucking a client to steal his money is a deal breaker with the partners.”
I don’t believe it. “But I didn’t sleep with him! I didn’t do anything wrong, I swear.”
“Tell that to the security guys clearing out your desk as we speak.” Carter is clearly relishing this. “You’re fired.”
“No,” I whisper, reeling.
“The Ashcroft kids will get the will thrown out of court, but you, you’ll never work in this town again. And don’t even think about law school,” Carter smirks. “I can make a call to any dean in the country, and have you blacklisted for life.”
“Please...” Tears sting the corners of my eyes, but I try my best not to cry. “You can’t do this. You don’t have proof, anything but Brent’s complaint!”
“Not just Brent,” Carter replies. “We’re reviewing all the clients you worked with. And if we find even a hint of improper behavior, you won’t just be blacklisted, we’ll sue you for breach of contract and Hudgens, Cartwright and Abrams. We’ll take everything you have, and then some.”
I freeze.
Vaughn.
He came to the firm as a client -- and wound up pinning me to the library stacks with his face between my thighs. If they find out what happened, it could ruin me.
“Anything you want to say?” Carter demands. I silently shake my head.
“Good. Now get the fuck out!”
I stumble from the office, my mind racing. Losing my job here is suddenly the least terrifying thing that’s happened today. I can see security heading my way to escort me from the building, so I grab my phone and dial.
“Vaughn? I need to see you. Now.”