Love Regardless: A Billionaire BWWM Pregnancy Romance (8 page)

Most of November slips by this way.

The rain beats down heavily on the car roof as I watched the streets
slip by.

My secretary glances up from her desk at the
ding
of the elevator. I throw her a small smile and make for my office.
Before I’ve even passed the interns at their desks, my
secretary calls me back.

“
There’s a Mr. Stein to see you here,
ma’am.”

I frown. I don’t know a Mr. Stein, do I?

“
Send him in five minutes.” I sigh.

I was hoping that I could get directly started on Elliot’s
files – drawing up the case in his defense in more finalized
form, but I’d need to get this done first.

I pour two small glasses of distilled water from
the machine by my door. Resting them on my impeccably organized desk.
I toyed with a pencil in my mouth as I waited for Mr. Stein. My
thoughts never strayed too far from Elliot.
My
boyfriend
.

As if knowing what I was thinking my phone beeped and vibrated on my
desk.

I hope you got to work safely –
E.

I tried my best to wipe the smile from my face.
Get it together Clara.

“
Mr. Stein for you, Ma’am.”

I looked up in time to see the short, balding man sweep into my
office with confidence. I immediately stand taller. He will be a
challenge, his stride tells me that much.

“
Welcome, Mr. Stein. It’s a pleasure
to meet you.”

I hold out my hand and in doing so I note that he is nearly a foot
shorter than me, with weak blue eyes.

His handshake is firm though – impossibly firm.

“
It’s nice to finally make your
acquaintance Miss Greyson.” I tried not to be effected by his
sneer. I’m used to this – men twice my age treating me
with contempt.

I gesture towards the open chairs by my desk with a polite smile.

“
So what can I help you with today?” I
asked kindly.

“
I heard you were hired to defend Elliot
Cresham in court next month.”

“
That has been made public.” I said.
If he’s here about the case then there is little I will be able
to do to dissuade him.

“
My name is Harry Stein, Miss Greyson. I am
the current retailer in charge of renting the casino which Mr.
Cresham is accused of burning down.”

“
Ah.” I responded, my smile faltering
only slightly.

“
I just wanted to tell you that this
morning; this was dropped anonymously at my front door. Not the
casino, my front door.”

He withdrew an envelope from his briefcase and tossed it on my desk
before me. Curious, I leaned forward and opened it. Out slide two A4
photographs in patchy condition – it was clear that they were
taken from some kind of CCTV camera. In the photo I could see the
back entrance to the casino door. The old carpets were down and the
date in the corner told me that these were taken the night of the
fire.

The perfectly caramel head of a tall, muscular figure was coming in
through the doors. His head was down, his face hidden from view. I
glanced to the other photograph and saw that it was a zoomed in
version of the same one, this time focused on the figure.

I tucked the photos swiftly back inside the envelope.

“
I see. Thank you for bringing these to my
attention.” I said, not at all thankful.

“
These are only copies. The originals are
with Ophelia Cresham.” He confirmed my worst fears which I had
already guess to be true.

I stood. This man only came to lay a threat.

“
Thank you for coming, Mr. Stein.”

I walked to the door as he stood and held it open for him briskly. I
needed him gone. I peered out to my secretary before saying; “Cancel
all of my meetings for today, please.”

Mr. Stein walked out past me and I closed the door, suddenly wishing
there was a lock on my door.

The rest of the day passed without consequence as I worked in my
office, making slow progress. Time seemed to tick towards
end-of-business too slowly for my liking.

I kept my phone switched off – I didn’t think I could
handle another sarcastic message from him. Not when his caramel curls
seemed to be burning through the pages of the photographs and into my
mind.

When I had made as much progress as I knew I would make for the day I
packed up my bag and donned my trench coat, sending Charlie a quick
message and telling him I needed a lift to Elliot’s apartment.

“
Thanks.” I said distractedly as
Charlie closed the car door after me.

The drive to Elliot’s was too long for my impatience. I wasn’t
sure if he’d even be there – if he wasn’t I would
wait.

I buzzed in and his housekeeper sent me the code for elevator. I rose
and rose until the nineteenth floor.

Stepping out onto the marble floor I saw him straight away. He was
sitting on his white leather sofa with his laptop on his lap, typing
furiously. As if looking through a daze he looked up.

His cook was in the kitchen. She gave me a respectful smile before
walking away.

We were alone.

“
Clara? To what do I owe the pleasure?”
Elliot asks, snapping his laptop shut and standing to greet me with a
feather light kiss.

I pulled the envelope from my bag knowing that if I didn't do it now,
I wouldn’t ever do it – not when his face was upturned
with genuine joy to see me.

“
Look at these for me, Elliot.” He
took them but doesn’t look at them. Tucking them under his arm
he lead me to the kitchen. The click of my heels on the marble
reminded me of how different I looked the last time I was here.

He opened a bottle of wine, poured two glasses and hands me one. He
nodded to me to take a seat at the breakfast bar after he took my
coat from me. I watched him lean against the counter opposite me and
sip his wine, withdrawing the photos.

He looked at them for nearly four minutes and thirty-six seconds. I
counted.

“
You told me you weren’t there that
night.” I said. I couldn't stop my voice becoming accusatory.
Elliot’s eyes flash up to mine as he dropped the photos on the
counter.

“
I didn’t start the fire, Clara.”
His voice is black.

“
But you were there.”

He didn't disagree so I groaned and rested my head in my hands.

“
The time on that photo says that the fire
had begun at the time.” I called his bluff and watched his
expressions. He didn't have a tell – his eyebrows don’t
twitch and he doesn’t blink any more than usual. There’s
no knowing whether he is lying or not.

He looked…
disappointed
that he had to address this issue with me.

“
I was there earlier in the evening. I left
before the fire began.” He spoke with the kind of seriousness
that I knew he wanted to beg me to believe him.

He walked around the counter to me and I turned in my seat so that I
was eye-level with him. Slowly, as if he’s asking for
permission in his slowness, he touched my arms, running his warm
hands up and down them, easing my goose bumps.

“
I need you to be honest with me.” I
said to him – meaning it.

He sighed, a hint of anger there now. I could see the frustration was
plain on his features and I wanted to wipe it away with a kiss.

“
I have been, you have to trust me.”
His grip tightened in time with his pursed lips.

“
How can I do that?” I demanded,
pushing his hands away.

“
Because I have never lied to you!” He
shocked me by shouting. I flinched backwards and I could tell by the
turmoil in his eyes that he instantly regretted raising his voice.
The regret played out for a second longer before he spoke.

“
I’m sorry, God, Clara…”
He ran both of his hands through his hair, sighing further still. “I
didn’t mean to shout. I just would never lie to you.”

I relaxed, shoulders slumping. I’m exhausted and I don’t
want to argue. I believe him – against every logical fact, I
believe him.

He leaned down, slower than before, and touched his lips to mine. It
was short and sweet and I knew that he meant it as an apology.

“
I like you. A lot.” He said, nose to
mine, forehead to mine.

“
Elliot?” A voice from behind said –
a distinctly cheerful, unfamiliar voice.

In unison, we turned.

Elliot’s sister Ophelia stood by the door, a young man next to
her. I could tell at one glance that he was Elliot’s younger
brother Henry.

The corners of Ophelia’s mouth were twitching.

The initial shock of Henry and Ophelia’s arrival left Elliot’s
face surprisingly fast. He strode over to them and clapped Henry on
the back in a fatherly way before turning to Ophelia.

“
Who let you up here?” He demanded –
voice blistered with anger.

“
Your housekeeper. Come on, Elliot; don’t
tell me your own siblings can’t pay a visit.” Ophelia’s
feigned innocence is almost convincing. I gently hopped off the chair
and walked over to them. To my surprise Elliot reached out and swept
me to his side – his broad arm at my back.

“
Not unannounced they can’t. And I
thought Henry was with mom today?” Elliot’s face was made
of concrete which only seemed to entice Ophelia further.

“
Mom had an appointment. May I use your
bathroom?” She asked voice sickeningly sweet. Her dimples are
even more prominent than Elliot’s. Elliot nodded reluctantly
and gestures to the hallway to our left. Ophelia trotted off. I
watched her hair bounce in sequence with her six-inch clanking heels.

My attention is brought back to those nearest me by Henry, leaning
forward and touching my hair by my face. Elliot roughly breathes out.

“
Henry, this is Clara. Clara this is my
younger brother Henry.”

Elliot had told me when we first met that his brother had the family
estate in Moldova – yet how this was possible I could not
understand. Henry stood taller than Elliot by two or three inches,
with the same caramel waves. His eyes were a sparkling green though.

The vacant look in his face, the bemused smile and the lax way he
stood were undeniably of someone who was not fully mentally
functioning. His green eyes twinkled to me as he smiled the softest
smile I had ever seen. It was magnificent to witness such easy
kindness.

“
Hi there Henry.” I said, holding out
a hand to Henry. Henry looked at it confused for only a moment before
grasping my hand and instead of shaking it; he massaged the skin
there in soft little circles.

I smiled a crinkly, beaming smile to him.

“
Clara?” Elliot said. “I think
you should go, and take those photos.”

With that I was snapped back into business.

“
She already has them.” I said
quietly, casting a look down the hall where Ophelia had disappeared.

“
I don’t doubt that she does.”
Elliot agreed, his eyes dark. “Henry, Clara is going to leave
now.” He spoke clearly and Henry nodded, his smile never
wavering.

I turned and picked up my coat and bag. Elliot quickly stuffed the
photos back into the envelope and handed them me.

“
I can let myself out.” I want to be
gone before Ophelia returned and I could hear the clacking of her
heels in the distance.

I sped from the building, buzzing Charlie from the top of the
elevator, praying he’d be ready.

*****

I didn't see Elliot for a week, our only
communication took place in the curt replies I received from the
queries about the case I sent him via email, where his secretary is
CC’d.

I didn't try and contact him outside of work. I needed to focus on
his case, and myself. Something told me that our run in with his
siblings has unsettled him. Well, Ophelia certainly had that ability.

On a dreary Wednesday in late November, I stepped out of my office to
take a coffee break. I could just have it delivered to me, but I
really felt like I needed the fresh air these days. On my way to the
elevator, I looked over and saw Carl Teller – his nose an inch
from the page he's reading. I smiled and look around. The other
interns had clearly left for their lunch.

“
Carl?” I called, smiling further
still as he looked so genuinely shocked that I was addressing him.
“Do you want to go for a coffee?”

I was not particularly sure why I was asking Carl to join me, but he
did help me with his father, and that was something I couldn't
ignore. He hopped up eagerly and joined my side. I offered him my arm
and he laughed.

I took him to
McRae
and Dreams
even though I was still
strongly reminded of the paparazzi incident the last time I was here
with Elliot. The barista staff certainly seemed to remember, they
giggled as Carl and I took a seat by the window. I offered him sugar
and noticed that Carl was fidgeting anxiously.

“
What’s up?” I asked and Carl
smiled sadly.

“
I’m sorry that my father was
difficult when you went to speak to him. I am very sorry.”

“
Have you been speaking to him?” I
asked, eyebrows raised over my English tea.

“
No.” Carl admitted shyly taking a sip
of coffee. “But I can guess.”