I meet Justine for breakfast at a cafe near the office. Even though I’m technically her client now, I can’t bring myself to go in for a real meeting. I know how fast gossip spreads in that place. By now, everyone will know I was fired -- and the terrible accusations against me.
“I met with the executors of Ashcroft’s estate, and went through this thing from top to toe a dozen times.” Justine nods at the thick legal document on the table between us. “You can thank me later, by the way. I had to turn down a date with Ricardo, that architect I met the other week.”
“You’re the best,” I tell her gratefully. The sooner I figure out this inheritance mess, the better. “So what’s the verdict?”
“You, my dear, are freaking loaded.” Justine passes me a portfolio with a grin. “Take a look. Ashcroft left you majority stake in the company, that’s where most of the cash is locked up. You can sell the shares, or use your voting rights, whatever you like.”
I flip through the papers, still not believing this. Ashcroft Industries is a huge corporation, with divisions in shipping, lumber, pharmaceuticals... And I’m the boss now?
“The old man liked to travel, so you’ve got property all over the world,” Justine continues. “Houses in London and Paris, a beach-front mansion in the Caribbean. The main Ashcroft estate is on the East Coast, some fancy big house with stables and a lake. And then there’s a crap ton of other rich people stuff. You know, art, jewelry, a yacht...”
I don’t know. I stare at the pages in a daze. I feel like I’m looking at a glossy fashion magazine showing the glamorous life of some complete stranger.
But it’s mine now.
“What about Brent?” I look up, still not believing this could actually be real. “You heard him. He said he’d get the will thrown out in court.”
“He can’t. This thing is iron-clad.” Justine munches on some bacon. “Ashcroft probably knew his kids would flip their shit, so he covered all his bases. Had three different doctors sign affidavits to his mental state and judgment, so nobody can claim he was off his rocker when he named you heir.”
“But that’s great, right?” I feel a rush of relief.
Justine makes a face. “There’s one thing I don’t like. The morality clause.”
I blink. “The what?”
“Yeah, it’s kind of weird,” she agrees. “Basically, if any of the heirs ‘pursue activities that are against the moral code of the company,’ they’ll be disinherited and left with nothing.” She quotes from the paper.
“I don’t get it.”
Justine explains, “Ashcroft didn’t want the company getting involved in any kind of shady business practices or morally bad shit. You know, having their drug companies do creepy human trials, or get child labor orphans in the Third World to make their products. I get it. I mean, he built the business from nothing, and didn’t want to see it used for evil.”
“That’s great.” I smile at the thought of Ashcroft caring enough to make sure his legacy wasn’t corrupted.
“Yes, but the language is way too flexible.” Justine points out. “It could cover stuff you do in your personal life, not just Ashcroft Industries. And who says what’s moral or immoral? Is Brent going to take you to court if you get a speeding ticket, or, like, get arrested for something totally bogus? Not that you need to worry about that,” she adds with a smirk. “You’re as squeaky clean as they come.”
Except I’m not.
I stare at her in horror, realizing for the first time what Brent is playing at filing those complaints about me at work.
“The law firm,” I gasp, my heart racing with dread. “You know they suspended me.”
Justine waves her hand. “That’s bullshit. You don’t need them anyway, not anymore.”
I shake my head. “You don’t understand, they’re investigating me for having inappropriate relationships with the clients. My employment contract, it has a morality code too. That’s what they’d use as ground for dismissal.”
“Oh shit.” Justine’s eyes widen as it clicks into place. “That was the plan all along. If the firm fires you for unethical behavior, that sets a precedent for Aschroft’s kids. They can just point to what happened at work, and the decision is already made.”
“Proof that I’m an immoral slut, even if nothing happened with Ashcroft,” I whisper, finishing for her. I can’t believe that they would be so underhand -- or that they’re probably going to get away with it. “What can I do?”
“I don’t know. At least, not yet,” Justine adds, seeing my face. “We’ll figure something out, don’t worry.”
I pause, wondering what can be done. A man like Brent would stop at nothing, no wonder he looked so smug every time I met him. He was probably planning this the moment he heard about the will.
“You know, I didn’t even want this.” I nod to the folder detailing Ashcroft’s estate. “I didn’t feel like I deserved it. I don’t know why Ashcroft wanted me to have everything, But now... “ I feel a spark of determination. “They’re playing dirty. And that makes me want to fight.”
“Atta girl.” Justine grins. “I’ve got a couple of ideas up my sleeve that might shut them up.”
“Like what?”
“Nothing I can talk about yet,” she replies mysteriously. “I’ll let you know as soon as something works out.”
Justine has to get to work, so I find myself totally free in the middle of the day for the first time in years. I drive over to Beverly Hills and park near Rodeo Drive, strolling the sunny, palm tree-lined streets in a daze. The people here are all glossy and chic, in designer clothes and fancy sunglasses, even if they’re just in work-out gear going to grab a coffee.
This could be me soon. Not that I’d ever spend two hundred bucks on a pair of yoga pants, I decide. But the rest of it: the freedom, the security...
I’ve never had a safety net like that, and ever since my parents died, it’s all been on my shoulders. Rent, expenses, my job, loans. Juggling it all, just trying to get by. In one stroke of his pen, Ashcroft could have lifted all the weight from my shoulders.
And I still don’t know the reason why.
Except there’s one thing that could ruin it all. Vaughn.
I feel my body tense up at his memory, already alert, remembering the other night and how he drove me crazy. My fingers sliding frantically against my own slick nub. The steel in his tone when he ordered me to my knees with a single word. And the feel of his massive cock plunging deep into my throat, so big, I could barely breathe, sobbing over the relentless spear as his mouth devoured my pussy.
Sweet Jesus, that man makes me scream. But something was off -- after the scene back at my apartment, he took off, barely saying a word. And now it’s been almost twenty-four hours, and I still haven’t heard from him.
Usually, he’s not a man to ever back down. He still wants to possess me completely, and after the way he’s chased me, I half-expected him to be calling every five minutes. Texting, sending flowers. Doing anything it took until I surrender it all.
I check my phone. No messages.
My thumb moves to the ‘call’ button. I feel an overwhelming urge to be the one to reach out to him this time. I tell myself it’s because I need to check about Brent and the Ashcroft situation: make sure they haven’t tracked down Vaughn and learned the truth. After all, it’s not just about my job at the law firm anymore. This is the whole inheritance on the line.
But deep down, I know the truth. I can’t wait to see him again. Whatever it is that man has that sends me into such a spin, I crave more of it. I need another fix.
Suddenly reckless, I dial his number. It rings and rings, and then, voicemail.
“You’ve reached Vaughn.” His voice is sexy, even on the other end of a phone line. “You know how this shit works.”
Beep.
“Hi,” I start, feeling weirdly nervous. “It’s me. Keely.” I pull it together and make my voice calm, “It would be great to see you again. Maybe dinner--” I stop, remembering what happened the last time I made him sit through dinner. “Or not,” I add, laughing. “Unless we want to get arrested for public indecency. Either way, give me a call.”
I hang up, wondering why he hasn’t called. This isn’t like other relationships I’ve had with guys, when I’ve tried to seem like I’m in control, like I could take it or leave it whenever I like.
We both know that’s a lie.
So where are you, Vaughn? Why won’t you pick up the phone?