Authors: Fiona Knightingale
He rolled his eyes and shooed her away with a wave of his hand. She had no business lecturing him about his health, and he did not pay her the six figure salary as his dietician. He dug into the meal and started making his mental plans for his steak dinner with plenty of blue cheese crumbles and red wine, followed by a stop at his favorite bar for more liquid refreshment of the Scotch variety.
After he closed out his afternoon by checking more emails and confirming the arrangements of the most recent land purchase with his legal department, he sent Katherine home early and headed out right behind her.
Despite the early hour of four, Draco swung into the steakhouse and was immediately escorted to a private table in the back with murmurs of “Yes Mr. Morgan, of course Mr. Morgan” and an ocean of hushed whispers from every young female wait staff in the place. He raked his fingers through his mess of curls and grinned to himself, thinking that perhaps the evening would include less Scotch and more companionship.
The rare steak he ordered arrived quickly, smothered in sautéed mushrooms, balsamic vinegar reduction, and handfuls of blue cheese. It came with a salad but he had already had his fill at lunch and was more eager for the garlic mashed potatoes and creamed spinach. In his mind, those counted as vegetables in case Katherine asked the next morning. His stomach growled unbecomingly and he dug in ravenously. It tasted all that much better since he had been forbidden to eat it.
As he relished his meal, he perused the view from his table in the corner. The top reason this was his favorite steakhouse was the food but the second was the view from his padded leather booth, so that he could see all of the beautiful young women scurrying silently around the room as they waited on the tables.
After he finished his meal and paid the $250 tab without even blinking, he beckoned to one particular waitress and she teetered over on her stiletto heels.
“Yes, Mr. Morgan? How can I help you?”
His face split into a hungry grin, “I was hoping you’d offer. What time do you get off?”
“Actually, not for about two hours, sir.”
“How about, when you get off, you meet me at the Silver Oak bar around the corner? I’d love to buy you a drink and chat.”
She knew him and his reputation; and that his offer to chat would last about as long as it took him to call his driver to take them both back to his penthouse suite.
“Perhaps, sir, but I might have to stay late.”
“Oh I can make arrangements for that not to happen.”
“Oh I don’t mind, I like the customers and the extra tips.”
He leaned forward on his elbows and whispered loudly, “I have more than just a tip for a pretty thing like you…”
She had the decency to blush, “We’ll see, sir. Thank you, Mr. Morgan.”
She made a graceful exit, her long tanned legs rising from the black stilettos and disappearing up into the short tight black skirt. As her heart-shaped ass swayed away from him, he felt a familiar twinge in his groin and he pictured her in nothing but those high heels and on all fours in front of him. He hoisted his tall muscled frame from the plush booth, smoothed the impeccable Armani slacks as a force of habit, and headed out the door with a blatant wink in her direction.
Taylor Skiles sighed deeply and rubbed her temples in an effort to push the headache back to where it came from. The partner in charge had just left her office after requesting a status update on a particular case and she felt more behind than ever. These people and their families seem to just keep committing their crimes and she could not convince the powers that be that she had plenty on her plate already.
She knew she could not push back too much if she had any hope of becoming partner at the firm in the near future. But she was even starting to question whether she wanted to continue her career down the path of defending these hopeless repeat criminals who had more money than sense. At least as a public defender, she might be helping someone who truly needed her expertise. Or even the opposite -- a friend of hers from law school who worked for the city had told her over drinks a few nights ago that there might be an imminent opening in the city prosecutor’s office.
“C’mon Taylor,” her friend had persuaded, “just think, you could be putting these guys away instead of keeping them free to do it all over again.”
Taylor had been pondering all of her options, but none of them would be worth considering if she did not make a dent in the paperwork that threatened to avalanche all over her desktop. She dialed up her favorite Chinese food place and within thirty minutes or so; she had her vegetarian tofu fried rice steaming in front of her in its stereotypical white cardboard carton.
She did not have the time or patience for the chopsticks, so she stuck them in her desk with the pile of other chopsticks, and picked up the flimsy plastic fork. The food was not the best but it was not bad, and it kept her stomach from growling too loudly.
As she chewed thoughtfully, she dug through her email to find a specific message from her paralegal about whose signature they were waiting for on the breaking and entering case. The crime had
allegedly
been committed by the twenty year old son of a congressman, and he was willing to pay her firm nearly anything to keep the case out of court and out of the news.
She shook her head as she remembered the meeting with the son and the father. The younger man had been at minimum hung over if not still drunk, and the father was more concerned about his political reputation and career than about the fact that it appeared that the son had actually committed the crime. At the same time as she found the email message, she remembered that they were waiting on the district attorney’s final approval on the plea bargain they had negotiated. The young man’s punishment for destroying the living room of an underprivileged single mother was forty hours of community service.
The reality of her job came crashing back through her mind and she groaned loudly to no one. There was always a politician or a businessman or a judge who needed their firm’s assistance in avoiding embarrassment and loss of reputation, but no one who actually deserved the second chances that the lawyers seemed to dole out on a daily basis.
Taylor pulled her long blonde ponytail down and re-tied it back. She fired off yet another email to the district attorney asking him to put a rush on the document, and packed up for the night. There was no one waiting for her at home, and she was ready for just that – a nice long run in the park and then her quiet empty apartment.
Draco walked over to the Silver Oak tavern to ostensibly work off his dinner, and he had his driver drive the three blocks so that he would not have to walk back to the restaurant when it was time to leave. The black town car passed him as he entered the bar, and pulled into a parallel parking spot just across the street.
Draco’s face and reputation were as familiar in the bar as they had been in the restaurant, and he enjoyed table service in the VIP suite. He did mention to the hostess at the front stand as well as the girl at the VIP stand that he expected a young lady to be joining him later. They both reacted the same way, with a blush and a giggle, and “Yes Mr. Morgan”.
He took up his seat at the inlaid wooden table and gestured to the bartender with three fingers. Almost instantly, a crystal tumbler appeared in front of him with three fingers worth of Scotch, give or take. He took a long pull at the amber liquid and let it trace a warm path down his throat and into his full stomach. He knew that living this way would eventually take its toll on his physique, but up until now, he had managed to hold on to his muscled upper body and six pack abs. And no young lady that had ever accompanied him home had left his penthouse complaining. Well, perhaps they complained about walking a little funny, but that was it to his knowledge.
He kept one eye on the door for the blonde from the restaurant, and kept the other eye on the brunette at the next table over. He was perfectly aware that some women paid the price tag to sit in the VIP lounge with the sole purpose of hunting rich men, but he was not opposed to using them for temporary companionship should he be interested.
He noticed that the brunette was eying him like he was a last meal for a dying man, and while he found interest and desire appealing, desperation was really not attractive, regardless of her cup size.
He deliberately turned away from her with his whole body, and scanned the rest of the room. It was mostly occupied with men in their sixties accompanied by women in their twenties, and Draco had gotten very good at determining who was a trophy wife and who was a rent a date. He himself always paid for a date one way or the other, but he never had to rent one outright.
There were very few prospects that night that he would have considered taking home, and he hoped even harder that the young waitress would show up. He closed his eyes and pictured her walking away from him at the restaurant again, and felt the same tingle in his groin as he remembered the definition in her calf muscles and the shimmy in her breasts when she giggled. He disliked having to touch himself when he started thinking about someone, but it was certainly a better option than going to sleep horny.
After he drained the glass, he pulled out the limited food menu and ordered the charcuterie and cheese plate to go with his next drink. The Scotch usually left him feeling full just by itself, so he switched to an extra dirty martini with the snack.
As he nibbled and sipped, the young woman strolled in in that same short tight black skirt with the stilettos still on. As she approached his table, he also noticed that she had unfastened one extra button on her blouse and he had a perfect view of ample cleavage cupped in lace. He groaned quietly to himself and grinned up at her. He had not been certain she would show, but he promised himself that he would make it worth her time and effort.
Just as she reached the chair opposite him, another patron approached her from the back and started pawing at her hips drunkenly. She tried to politely swerve out of his way, but he seemed to track her body with his eager hands. She flashed a quick panicked look at Draco, and he reacted instantly, leaping up so fast that he knocked his chair backwards onto the floor.
Now the entire bar was watching the commotion, but Draco paid no attention to the crowd. He strode over angrily, and stood over the other man by a good five inches.
“Take your hands off her,” he warned.
“Man, sh-sh-she don’t belong to you,” he slurred.
“She belongs to herself, and I believe she would like you to leave,” he warned again, this time his voice dropping an octave.
“Naw man, sh-sh-she likes me,” he drooled.
“Miss, are you pleased with his attentions?” Draco asked loudly and sarcastically.
“N-N-No sir,” the poor overwhelmed girl stuttered.
“It’s time for you to leave,” Draco stated to the offender.
“No, I can shtay, it’s a free country. Now leave ush alone man, or I’ll call shecurity.” His slurring was getting worse.
“I own this bar and I own the security company who contracts here. Go ahead.” Draco leaned back and crossed his arms over his chest, letting his bulging biceps speak for themselves. His dark eyes flashed anger and his thick curls covered his forehead.
The drunken man poked Draco in the chest. “You ain’t shpecial, man, youon’t own nothing.”
“Do. Not. Touch. Me.” Draco spat out each word.
The man squinted at him and poked again.
“I said don’t touch me,” Draco uncrossed his arms and hung them loosely at his side, hands balled into fists. He was now royally pissed that his date had been sidelined before it really even began.
The man slapped Draco’s solid chest with his open palm, and Draco’s fist connected with the man’s jaw with a wet thud. The young lady gasped and jumped out of the way as the drunken man reeled backwards and then came back up swinging wildly at the empty air that surrounded Draco. Draco swung again and the man fell backwards to the floor, out cold. He whirled around to check on the woman at the center of the scuffle and she had vanished into thin air.
Draco dropped to the chair and groaned, rubbing his sore knuckles with his opposite palm. Before he knew what had transpired, his date had been ruined, his fist was sore, and now there seemed to be two armed police officers headed his direction. The cops sized up Draco’s imposing physique and mentally measured the unconscious man on the floor. As the officers clicked the handcuffs in place, Draco nodded to the bartender, who indeed did work for Draco in a roundabout way since Draco had been telling the truth about owning the bar, and told him to call his lawyers.
The next morning Taylor arrived to work at her normal time, just before seven. She was startled to see two of the partners already deep in conversation in one of the conference rooms. The phone was lit up to indicate that there was a conference call in progress but she could barely hear any other voices besides the two partners, who were speaking loudly but just shy of yelling.
“Please calm down sir, we will handle this. You need to get a hold of yourself and tell us what happened.”
The muffled voice from the phone rumbled something in a deep baritone, and she saw both partners look at each other and then rub their hands over their eyes. It certainly looked as though the two gentlemen had been up and at the office for several hours, judging from the scattered empty coffee cups.