The Seduction (2 page)

“But you should have it.” Ashcroft’s eyes
turn watery. “You have to take it!” He reaches across, trying to
push the box back into my hands. I resist, but he’s insistent.
“Please,” he begs, then suddenly breaks into a cough, the spasms
shaking his frail body.

“Oh God, are you OK?” I leap up to grab a
glass of water. “Here, drink this.”

Ashcroft sips at the water, and slowly his
gasping cough fades away.

“Can I get you anything?” I hover, worried.
“Where’s June?” I look around for the nurse who’s usually
nearby.

“I sent her to run errands.” Ashcroft shakes
his head, recovering. “There’s no cure for old age, my dear,” he
says, his voice still hoarse. He sips the water again, and looks
around the room, his expression confused. “What were we talking
about?”

“Your will,” I tell him, carefully moving
the bracelet box out of sight. I’ll give it to June to take back
later; with any luck, he’ll forget all about the strange gift.

“Ah, yes.” Ashcroft blinks. “Of course.”

I sit down again, but keep an eye on him,
just in case. “It’s all fairly straightforward,” I say, turning to
his file, the one I’ve been working on all month. “We’ve gone over
your assets, and you’ve drawn up a list of charities.” I pause,
still wondering about one thing. “Are you sure you don’t want to
name any of your children? According to this document, they get
nothing.”

Mr. Ashcroft scowls. “Spoiled, selfish
bastards, all of them. Spent their lives using my money, and what
do they have to show for it? Never even visited for the holidays,
until I had my third stroke and it looked like I might not make it.
Then they couldn’t fly in fast enough. Vultures.”

“OK,” I calm him, worried he’ll have another
coughing fit. “I’ll finalize the will.”

“I bet you treat your folks better than my
pack of disappointments do me.” Mr. Ashcroft gives me a look.

I pause. “My parents passed,” I tell him,
feeling a pang.

Mr. Ashcroft looks shocked. “I’m so sorry, I
didn’t realize. When did it happen?”

“A car crash, five years ago,” I reply.

“And you have other family?” he asks.

“Nope. Just me.”

“Terrible. Terrible.” Ashcroft coughs again,
looking even more distressed. He’s still staring at me with sad
eyes, so I force a smile.

“It’s fine,” I insist, not wanting to make
him feel any more uncomfortable. “You couldn’t have known. Now, it
looks like we’re all set here. I’ll have Mr. Abrams Jr. look over
the papers, and you can sign them.”

“That doofus?” Ashcroft snorts. “No, honey,
I’d rather stick with you.”

“You know I’m not a real lawyer,” I tell
him, laughing. “I just help prepare the documents.”

“You’ve got more smarts in that pretty head
of yours than half this bunch of asses put together,” Mr. Ashcroft
tells me.

I smile. “Well, until I magically come up
with a couple of hundred thousand dollars for law school, I’m
afraid they’re the ones signing on the dotted line.”

My parents weren’t wealthy people, and they
didn’t have life insurance. They left me a small amount from the
house, but once their debts and the mortgage were paid off, it
barely covered my college tuition and living expenses. Now I’m on
my own with only my dying succulent plant for company, scraping
rent on a tiny studio apartment, and working extra hours here at
the law firm whenever I can.

Mr. Ashcroft gives me a piercing look.
“Never say never, my dear. We don’t know what the future will
bring.”

I smile and nod, but inside, I stifle a
sigh. The problem is I know exactly what my future holds: another
five years of fetching Carter’s dry-cleaning -- unless he fires me
first.

THREE

KEELY

I see Mr. Ashcroft off, and then leave the
documents with Carter’s assistant. “Oh, and he needs more of his
juice,” Erin tells me with a superior grin. “Vitamin and kale. The
place is just around the corner.”

“I was just going to take my lunch
break.”

Erin just arches her perfect brows at me.
“Sorry,” she coos, “I’m just passing on his message. It seemed
really important,” she adds. “But I can tell him you said
‘no’.”

“No,” I gulp, imagining Carter’s reaction.
“I’ll go.” I take the order from her and head out. Perfect. Now I
get to spend my precious lunch-break running errands – just because
Erin keeps him satisfied doing the one thing I never will.

I hope his precious juices give him
diarrhea.

I’m feeling pretty depressed as I walk three
blocks to the fancy juice store, thinking of all the hurdles I need
to leap over before my dreams can be a reality and I can kiss
goodbye to Carter’s power-crazy demands. The truth is, despite what
I’ve told Justine and Ashcroft about law school bills, that’s only
half the truth. Sure, I’ll need money to pay for the degree, but
the biggest problem I’ve got right now is getting in to law school
in the first place.

Because I suck at tests.

I’ve always been bad. There’s something
about sitting down with that number two pencil that makes my brain
freeze up. No matter how hard I study, how well I know the
materials, it’s fifty-fifty whether I’ll make it through a quiz
without having a minor panic-attack and forgetting everything I’ve
ever learned. I managed OK in college by picking courses that were
graded on essays and group work, but when it came to sitting the
LSATS?

I bombed. I bombed hard -- all three times
I’ve tried taking it. I’m trying to work up the courage for time
number four, but part of me wonders what’s the point? I’ll never
make it. And even if I did? I’d need to make it through law school,
and the bar exam after that. I may as well give up and accept that
I’m going to be running errands forever.

I reach the store and head inside, but I
stop dead when I see how long the line is. “You’ve got to be
kidding me!” I whisper under my breath.

The person who just entered behind me
chuckles. “You’d think they were grinding up crack in those
shakes.”

I giggle, turning to agree. Then I lock onto
a pair of deep blue eyes, and promptly forget what I was about to
say.

It’s a man.

A ridiculously attractive man, sexy-as-hell,
in a perfectly-cut designer suit. He’s got a square jaw, dark
blonde hair, and a playful smile that suddenly makes me forget my
own name.

“Now, a good burger, I’ll stand in line
for,” he casually continues. “Hell, I’ll wait around for ribs if
the smoke is good enough. But bitter green juice that gets stuck in
your pipes? No thank you.”

“So what are you doing here?” I finally find
my voice again.

He gives me a devastating grin. “Call it my
shot at being a better man. You can have too much of a good
thing.”

“I don’t understand why people say that,” I
sigh. “I could use more good things, not less.”

“You’re right.” The man leans in, his arm
brushing against me with a shock of sensation as he draws closer,
just for me to hear. “When something’s that good, you never want it
to end.”

I reel back, my head spinning. Are we still
talking about juice?

His gaze skims down my body, and I feel it
tense under his stare. Not defensive, the way I get when Carter
gives me a skeezy look, but a hot curiosity prickling in my
veins.

I like the way he looks at me.

Before I can figure out what to say next,
it’s my turn at the head of the line.

I pass over Carter’s order, and they start
packing slim green bottles into a bag. “That’ll be a hundred and
twenty dollars,” the clerk says with a perky grin.

I look through my wallet and realize with a
sinking heart that I didn’t think to bring Carter’s business credit
card – and my rent check just cleared, meaning there’s a grand
total of fifteen bucks in my account until tomorrow.

I pause, about to explain, when suddenly a
black credit card slides across the desk. “She’s with me,” the sexy
stranger instructs them.

“No, I couldn’t,” I protest.

“I insist. I’ll take an OJ with that.” He
signs the credit slip with a scrawl. “I’m being a better man,
remember?”

“But this is too much.”

“Too late, it’s done.”

The clerk hands me the bag, and I have no
choice but to take it. “Well, thank you,” I tell him gratefully.
“You really saved me. My boss would kill me if he didn’t have
this.”

“My pleasure.” He holds the
door open for me as we exit. I catch a drift of his aftershave as I
pass, a rich, masculine scent with a hint of something spicy. I’m
so distracted that I don’t notice the step down to the curb. I
trip, stumbling out into the street.
Way
to make a good impression, Fawes
.

Strong arms close around me, pulling me back
up.

“Easy there, ” he murmurs, crushing me tight
against his solid chest. “Wouldn’t want you to take a fall.”

A strange thought floods my mind: the only
falling I want to do is into his bed.

I scramble to pull myself together. “I’m
fine now. You can put me down.”

“Are you sure about that?” His gaze turns
hotter.

I press my hands against his chest. It’s a
mistake. I feel the chiseled muscle of his pecs and have to catch
my breath again, but he’s already releasing me, setting me gently
on the street.

The way he’s looking at me…
I can’t remember the last time a man gazed at me with such
intensity. Like he sees me,
really
sees me -- not just as Keely, go-to girl, but as
a
woman
.

“Be careful.” The man winks again. “ Or next
time, you’ll wind up on your hands and knees.” He leans in to
whisper, just for me. “Exactly where you belong.”

His words shock me, piercing the haze of
desire. “What did you say?” I gasp.

“You heard me.” He tilts his head, giving me
a lazy grin. “Take care, Keely.”

My head spins, as I watch him walk away. For
years it’s felt like I’ve been locked in a prison of numbness, ever
since my parents died. Nothing breaks through, nothing affects me.
But with one brief encounter, this man has pierced my defenses. I’m
reeling from his touch, his words. But he’s already disappearing
down the street before I can wonder.

How does he know my name?

FOUR

VAUGHN

I throw the photos from last night across
the desk at Phil Markham: my client, and an all-around chump. He’s
got a beer-gut, receding hairline, and a nervous laugh that’s
already driving me out of my fucking mind.

No wonder his wife got wet the minute she
laid eyes on me. This guy couldn’t find his way to her clit with a
fucking GPS.

“There you go.” I nod at the pictures of his
wife with her legs spread, licking my cum off her own tit. It’s not
artistic, sure, but it gets the message across.

His mouth drops open in shock. “Is this...”
he stutters. “Did you..?”

“Fuck her, like you wanted.” I yawn. Half my
clients are happy just to have the job done, but then you get guys
like Phil, who wanted her to cheat -- right up until the moment she
does it.

He flips through the photos, his eyes
widening. “She never goes down on me.”

“Consider it a lucky break.” I remember her
slobbering. “She can’t suck for shit.”

He bristles. “That’s my wife you’re talking
about.”

“Your soon-to-be ex-wife,” I correct him,
“who’s about to be screwed in the divorce, thanks to those. Aren’t
you the one who wanted to cut her loose with nothing?”

“Well, yes, but...” Phil squints at the
final photo like he wants to argue some more, but I’m already
done.

“My final invoice is in the file. Don’t let
the door hit you on your way out.”

Phil blusters some more about my prices, but
he clears out pretty quick once I remind him about the money he’s
saving on that invalid prenup. When the door closes, I sigh in
relief.

Finally. Some motherfucking peace.

I grab a handful of Advil and wash them down
with a swig of Jack from my bottom drawer. After I left last
night’s job, I wound up at a club downtown with a couple of exotic
dancers and a bottle of tequila. Now, those girls could show Mrs.
Markham a thing or two about giving head. They’d been around the
block for sure, but damn, if they hadn’t picked up a trick or
two.

I remember Desiree licking her way across
Lola’s breasts and feel myself get hard again. That’s when the door
flies open and my newest client comes striding in.

“I thought I paid you to get the job done!”
he growls, dark eyes flashing. “So why the fuck are you sitting
around here instead of screwing that bitch?”

I slowly get to my feet. He’s a smug
bastard: flashy pinstripe suit and a king-sized Rolex. Cloak and
dagger shit too: no full name, no contact address, just a cell
number for a burner phone. If it wasn’t for the huge check he came
waving around, I wouldn’t have touched his business. I’m already
regretting the choice.

“You don’t barge the fuck into my office.
Make a damn appointment. Maggie!” I yell to my assistant in the
next room.

She pokes her head around the door. “He
wouldn’t listen.” She shrugs, then disappears.

“I’m paying an arm and a leg for your
‘services.’” He makes air-quotes, like the asshole he is. “So tell
me when I’ll see some results.”

I don’t answer. I just fix him with an icy
stare, this close to punching his fucking brains out. I’ve got
fifty pounds of pure muscle on him, and I’d bet my last dollar that
pretty-boy rich kid here hasn’t swung a punch in his life.

He realizes that he’s just waded knee deep
in shit creek here. “You’re right, I’m sorry.” He backs down, his
face red. “It’s just a stressful time for us. There’s a lot on the
line. I need her dealt with. And photos too.”