Love Regardless: A Billionaire BWWM Pregnancy Romance (5 page)

“
Please? Just a moment.” There she was
again, gripping my arm. I shrugged her off.

“
What do you want?” I asked, sharply.
She was older than I was and she seemed to recognize that. She played
her superiority to her advantage. I straightened myself and crossed
my arms over my chest.

“
I saw the
Evening
Harold,
and I was wondering if it’s
true; are you dating my brother?” Her voice was commanding.

“
I don’t see how that affects you.”
I said. Of course I did, it affects her hugely.

“
No, I doubt that you would. But as a
lawyer, I don’t think I need to remind you of the importance of
professionalism with your clients. This could turn out badly for
you.” Under her words lay a threat, disguised in mock concern,
but there nonetheless.

“
I am not dating Mr. Cresham. Nor do I see
why it’s any of your business. I thought your main concern
would be creating a defense for your arson accusations.” I keep
my tone light, but curt – I had so little time for this. With
that I strode ahead, walking on without stopping until I reached
Charlie who opened up my door.

Her smile glinted in the moonlight as she broke into a cool stride
beside me, looking perfectly at ease. I found it hard to hide my
annoyance as I rounded on her, turning sharply. I had one hand on the
car door, my knuckles paling from gripping so tight.

“
I already have my defense – the
truth. Good luck, Miss. Greyson.”

Her words were a conviction wrought with confidence which shattered
mine as I sank back into the seat. Ophelia Cresham was going to be a
storm to contend with.

And perhaps her truth was the truth that would win.

But I would have to try my hardest on Elliot’s behalf.

I have always been a driven person. It’s in my blood, nature
and character and only intensifies in times of great pressure which
happened when my mother died, and during exams at college. Yet I
could not have predicted the increase in both my determination and
focus since being accosted by Ophelia. I had chosen, wisely in my
opinion, not to tell Elliot of that encounter. It seemed childish to
run to him over his sister – especially when he was likely to
do something to jeopardize the case.

Since that evening I had been working tirelessly,
both at home and in the office to secure a solid defense for Elliot.
Yet niggling in the back of my mind was the most powerful of
Ophelia’s words;
truth
.

What did she know that I didn’t? Could Elliot be withholding
something?

Most peculiarly, I'd wondered about whether this would affect the
evolving relationship Elliot and I are beginning to share.

I cannot say I have stayed purely professional – I've had
coffee with Elliot in a different coffeehouse every morning for the
past two weeks and thoroughly enjoyed each time. I have learned so
much about him, that I am quickly becoming enthralled. I learned that
he has never broken a bone, is afraid of spiders and keeps his
childhood teddy bear in his bedside closet.

In turn he has learned of my mother’s death, my father’s
estrangement from me and my addiction to lemon sherbet lollipops –
I always have some in my purse.

But what I learned most was the love of his kisses. He has only
kissed me lightly, at the end of each coffee morning – but I
have relished them.

We were dating and I was ecstatic – but I needed to remember
the case. He was not mine – not yet. Dating may not mean the
same thing to Elliot as it does to me.

Could Elliot have been responsible for the fire? He would have been
in his early twenties at the time – and not anywhere close to
becoming a self-made billionaire. Could an Elliot in that scenario
have done something drastic? Even the doubt present in my mind made
my focus all the harder. After all, I had defended people who had
lied to me about their alleged innocence before – but for some
reason a lie from Elliot’s caramel eyes ran deeper than just
the professional.

Over the course of the next two weeks I spoke with everyone I could
get a hold of that was aware of the details of the casino fire –
but it still wasn’t enough. Although there was no evidence that
put Elliot at the scene of the crime, or near it, there was no
evidence towards his innocence. Elliot himself had said that he had
no alibi for that night, which didn’t surprise me as it was so
many years ago.

Denise had my other lawyers working on cases of lesser importance as
I locked myself in my office, racking my brains to find something
that could be a deciding factor in the case. The days were beginning
to merge into weeks. As always, cryptic text messages from Elliot
full of flirtatious humor did not help my focus.

It was during one of my more intense pondering sessions as I stood
before my office whiteboard, making notes and drawing connections,
that my reverie was unwillingly interrupted by a knock on the
hardwood door. I sighed and tried to remind myself that any lawyer
with only a professional interest would not be so focused on only one
case all the time, and at the office no one knew we were dating.

Purely professional,
Clara, I reminded myself.

“
Come in.” I called without turning
around, eyes still darting from word to word. The words
arson
,
alibi
and
Ophelia
were playing in my mind over and over again like some sick kind of
mantra that I couldn’t lose.

“
Ma’am.” It was Carl – no
one else in the office spoke with such obvious intimidation of me. I
turned to see his head bowed as though I was someone to be revered.
He had started work as an intern on my command, and was seemingly
succeeding, though I’d be the first to admit that his progress
was not the priority in my mind.

“
Yes, Carl. How may I help you?” I
said as I sat down my black whiteboard marker on the desk.

“
I just wanted to thank you for your
kindness – truly. I never expected you to do this.” His
voice quavered and I smiled endearingly. He was a kind man, despite
being so nervous.

“
It’s no problem Carl, we all need a
hand every now and then.” And I meant it – if I hadn’t
had the help I did getting through law school then I wouldn’t
be here today. He smiled rather sheepishly for a man who was so much
older than me and glanced to the whiteboard.

“
Still working on the Cresham case?”
He asked, trying not to sound too probing.

“
It’s all I seem to be doing these
days.” I said exhausted as I sat down behind my desk, sighing
heavily.

“
How’s it coming along?” He
asked, overtly cautious that he was asking too many questions and
carefully looking away from the board timidly.

“
Poorly. I’m missing a link – I
know it.” I replied, running my hands through my hair and
considering another coffee. I wasn’t sure why I was telling
Carl this, he was just an intern after all, but I was in desperate
need of talking to someone who wasn’t me.

“
I lived near that casino bar at the time.
It was called the
Rouge Rooms
at the time – it was something of a cesspool of…
undesirables.”

I smiled at his choice of words – I had
already learned that the casino had made its fortune due to the
custom of prostitutes, drug lords and pimps – this was what
Elliot had meant when he had said
exclusive
.
Although the fact that Carl knew it intrigued me.

“
You don’t happen to remember the
night it burned down?” I asked, smiling ruefully and holding up
my hands to signify my totally lost expression. It was a long shot,
but at this stage I was desperate.

“
No, I was working at the time – those
days I worked in this local pub. My dad was there though.” He
said musingly before suddenly remembering himself; “Although
obviously he was not the kind of riffraff to hang out there
regularly. He actually suffered relatively heavily damage from the
smoke.” He seemed to trail off looking more worried that I
would think ill of his father than he was about the lead he didn’t
realize he had handed me.

I sat up now, eagerly looking at Carl, taking in every inch of his
appearance from his tatty suit to his wrinkled eyes.

“
I hope you don’t mind me asking, but
is your father alive?” I had a fleeting moment of praying that
Mr. Teller had become a father very young, before Carl answered.

“
Yes, he is ma’am. Why, do you want to
talk to him? I’m not sure how much he remembers…”
His brow furrowed, as though he was frustrated he could not be of
more definitive use.

“
Do you think he would mind?” I asked.
I already had my phone out to take down the address as Carl smiled
awkwardly again.

“
No. I’m sure he wouldn’t. But
you should know ma’am… I was raised across in old
Harlem. It’s not a place that is fit for the visitation of
ladies such as you.”

I made sure to meet Carl’s eyes before replying.

“
And I was raised in a foster home after my
mother’s death. I think I can handle it.” I didn’t
mention that I had a father – but just not one I wanted. My
smile seemed to spark his, a look of relief washing over his
features.

After that, Carl wasted no time in giving me his father’s
address, but became awkward again when I asked if would like to
accompany me as I thought that such a visit would surely be easier if
he was there. He quickly muttered something about being estranged
from his father who had viewed his Upper East Side ambitions as
traitorous. I nodded, but secretly I was uneasy about the welcome I
would get. If he deemed his own son too high-handed to speak with
him, then what would he make of me.

It was due to this that I chose to visit Mr. Teller after office
hours. I had gone home quickly and changed into a casual pair of
jeans and a t-shirt. I swapped my Jimmy Choos for Chuck Taylor’s
and left the building. I had told Charlie that I would drive myself
in my old battered Beetle – it was the first car I could afford
nearly six years ago and I hadn’t had the heart to get rid of
it. Although admittedly, it had been some time since I had driven
myself anywhere.

Throwing my bag into the passenger seat, I took off and after nearly
an hour of stalling the car, the ignition dying on me and running
purely on the smell of gas I pulled up outside the address Carl had
given me.

It was worse than he had described – bins lined the street and
children sat outside in the cold, smoking or fighting. I could see at
least ten people worthy of my anxiety from just my right-hand window.
The buildings were decrepit and crumbling and the smell of pot was
pervasive. My phone beeped from the passenger seat and I swallowed my
nerves and quickly snatched it from my bag.

Are you free tonight? – E.

I couldn’t help but sigh. Since the newspapers had publicly
condemned a non-existent romance between us he had been insistent on
seeing me for more than coffee, and I too was eager.

No. Some of us have a case to work
on. – C.

The reply was instantaneous and I smiled.

Where are you? – E.

Is it possible to feel concern through a non-emotive text message?
Either way I clicked the button on my phone to switch on my location.

Here. – C.

Realizing I couldn’t stall forever, I silenced my phone and
hopped out of the car, locking it securely behind me. The children
sitting on the sidewalk looked at me curiously. Feeling a stare on my
back, I looked around. The apartment block across the street had
several open windows. At each one was a new, staring face.

I shrugged it off and walked up the steps to ring the fading buzzer
at the building Carl had specifically told me to go to. The answering
voice was merely a grunt before the door was buzzed open. I slipped
inside, happy to be off the street. This happiness didn’t last
however as I saw the inside. Several young men, around my own age,
were lingering at the bottom of the stairs, smoking and drinking –
their laughter was raucous and burst into my brain. Their pupils were
red and their gaze was not exact. I scuttled past them and upstairs
as fast as I could.

Reaching apartment 2B I knocked, anxiously listening to the voices of
the men downstairs who were surely discussing me, though I could only
hear snip-it’s of rude and derogatory words.

The door opened and a bald, heavy man in his seventies peered at me
over rather dirty, half-moon glasses. His cardigan buttons were tied
wrong, I noted straight away, along with the rancid smell of stale
whiskey.

“
Hello there, Mr. Teller. My name is Clara
Greyson; I’m a good friend of your son’s, Carl.” I
made sure to speak clearly, though by the look of the man’s
dazed expression it didn’t help.

He said nothing, but stood back, allowing me to pass by him. Once he
was settled in a ripped armchair in the corner of the shabby
apartment I delicately sat on a footstool nearby, awkwardly moving
the mounting pile of newspapers. He watched all the while.

The air was full of cigar smoke and the lights we dimmed. I shifted
uncomfortably in my seat as he looked at me like I was an anomaly.

We stared at each other for merely a moment.

“
I’m sorry to arrive so unannounced, I
hope you won’t mind-” I began, but was cut off almost
instantly as the man before me seemed to instantly move to action.