Chapter 14 – Cain
“Did you really lose Madison’s case?” My little sister Rosie’s voice calls out to me from the hallway of our law offices where we both work two days after the disaster with Rhiannon.
It may have only been a few days since I brought the case against her, but it feels more like a month. And that’s mostly because since then, I’ve lost another case that I shouldn’t have.
Rhiannon didn’t just kill my winning streak, she buried it. And her and whatever voodoo magic she’s done on my lucky boxers are squarely to blame. Or maybe it’s just the fact that I can’t stop thinking about her.
And despite my weak attempts to wipe her face from my memory, everywhere I go now I’m expecting her to show up in the same unexpected way that she did when she first burst into my life seven months ago and hasn’t stopped reappearing since.
When I’m grabbing my all-black coffee at the shop three blocks away from the office, I expect her to cut in line and order something obnoxious like a peppermint mocha latte.
Does she drink those? Hell, if I know but something about her personality tells me she isn’t chugging her caffeine black like me.
When I’m taking a taxi back to my penthouse long after I should already be in bed, I expect her to be waving down the same one on the curb. Shouldering me out of the way to steal my ride and paying the driver in cash.
And when I pass Bryant Park accidentally, my eyes always search for her dark brown hair and curvy frame in the crowd.
It’s infuriating, maddening, and I know I don’t have the power to change it because Rhiannon has always been clear: She wants nothing more to do with me. And I was okay with that before. What would I do with a woman like her anyway?
So why can’t I get her out of my head?
“There wasn’t a case in the first place, so it took very little effort for me to lose it,” I respond cooly to Rosie.
The only reason I took it was because my sister begged me to for her supposed ‘best friend.’ And I’ve never been able to say no to my sister.
She laughs and leans against the wall casually, folding her arms across her chest and studying me.
“You don’t have to look so angry about it. I’m not upset. I’m actually relieved. She can be a bit much, and the person that you sued did make some good points.”
I stop before jamming my finger into the elevator button and turn to look at her, raising an eyebrow. “I thought you two were best friends?”
She shrugs. “Meh. We’re acquaintances because we run in the same circle, but I would never consider her a friend. I’ve always sort of known that she’s only kept me close because of you.”
No, fucking, shit.
“Well, you could have told me she had a crush on me. She said she only filed the case because she wanted alone time with me.”
She snorts. “She’s ridiculous but so are you. You’re so oblivious to the effect that you have on women. At least now I’ll know if I ever need her help with something, she’ll owe me one.”
She swiftly turns on her heel and I consider whether screaming, meditation, or taking the rest of the day off work would make me feel better. I just lost my winning streak in court for no fucking reason.
And now I have a beautiful, infuriating, completely distant and unattached woman invading my thoughts and controlling my destiny because she’s still in possession of my lucky boxers and apparently, my brain and my balls.
I slam my thumb into the elevator call button much too hard, feeling a jolt of pain shoot through my joint and a tiny zap.
I hear Rosie’s voice again, cutting through my angry internal monologue where I remind myself that I’m an accomplished lawyer who has never let anything or anyone get in my way in the past. I’m not starting now.
“Oh, wait, Cain. Did you get to meet the person behind that other social media account? The Living in a World of Fifty Shades of Grey, person?”
Did I meet her? Hell yeah, I met her. Months ago. Every inch of her buttery smooth, soft skin. Felt her pussy riding my cock months ago, and then again, a few weeks ago when I bent her over my hotel bed in Hartford and fucked her breathless.
And I haven’t been the same since.
Now, she’s all I see in my dreams, haunting me like some damn siren that I can’t escape.
She’d wanted this to be a one-time turned two-time thing and not to exchange personal information, I’d obliged.
I didn’t have any interest or the time for anything more either.
But I didn’t ask for her to turn up at the courthouse wearing lingerie while she chattered on about how she works as a fucking sex therapist for fifteen minutes giving me a damn hard-on in my suit.
“Yes. She was there.”
“Oh!” Rosie claps her hand like a kid, her dark blonde hair bouncing, smile wide. “What was she like?”
Magnetic.
Vexatious.
Lascivious.
A total mind-fuck of a woman like I’ve never known before.
“Exactly what you’d expect,” I respond, my tone clipped as the elevator doors slide open and I step inside.
“Well, if you ever run into her again, you should tell her your sister’s a big fan of her page!” She yells through the practically shut doors.
There’s not a fucking chance that I’m telling the woman who’s killing my career that my sister loves her.
Twenty minutes later, the taxi I’ve taken pulls up in front of the hotel where I live so that I can retrieve a brief I left here last night.
And look, I’m not a total prick, but I make damn good money as a partner at the entertainment law firm that my father founded.
And with the kind of hours that I work—often over a hundred a week—living in the penthouse of one of the most prestigious hotels in New York City just makes sense for my lifestyle.
I’ve got a doorman, 24/7 security, a restaurant downstairs for meals, and someone to take care of my laundry without me having to lift a finger.
It’s the perfect setup for a busy thirty-five-year-old man like me who doesn’t have the time or energy to deal with anything outside of the scope of my career.
I jab the PH button as the elevator doors slide open and step inside. By the time it dings at the top floor, my eyes are glued to my phone, my brain still tangled up in work.
Another email from my dad rolls in, the tenth in the last hour. This one’s about the case I just lost asking how the hell I could have fucked it up. It isn’t a minor one like Madison and Matt’s. This one was important and one I would normally never lose.
I look up just in time to nearly eat it over the cleaning cart that’s parked right in the middle of my foyer.
“Shit.”
I don’t usually come home during the daytime, so running into the cleaning staff who tidy up weekly is a never occurrence for me. I’m only here for a brief break and to pick up some paperwork that I left in my home office before a meeting with more clients this evening.
I look around the corner, searching for the maid who’s on shift today and then freeze when my eyes find her in my living room. She’s got her earbuds in, oblivious to my presence while she works, vacuuming out couch cushions that I know can’t be dirty considering I never use them.
I’ve passed the staff on occasion when coming and going—skin-tight, black skirts, white shirts buttoned all the way to the top—it’s nothing to get worked up over.
But this maid? Her curves fill out that skirt in a way that doesn’t belong in a uniform.
The kind of curves that demand attention, the kind that have my mind immediately shifting gears because I think I recognize them.
There’s no fucking way.
I step forward tentatively, trying not to scare her and be creepy, but wanting to be sure she knows that I’m here. She fluffs one of the pillows on the living room couch, humming what sounds like is a Katy Perry song.
I’m not sure what compels me other than the magnetic pull that I always feel around her. My hand reaches out to touch her shoulder, but she whips around first, her fist cocked backwards in a protective stance like she’s going to hit me.
“What the fuck!” she yells, clutching her chest as I freeze in place, completely in shock to see it’s really her.
“Rhiannon?” I whisper.
She yanks out an ear bud, head moving from side to side like she’s trying to figure out where she is.
“What are you… what are you doing in here? You can’t be in here,” she demands like she can tell me that I’m not allowed to be in my own damn house. Is this a joke?
“Ah, pretty sure I should be the one telling you that you can’t be in here.”
Her brows furrow. “What, do you live here or something?”
“Obviously. You can’t get to this floor without the goddamn key. Why are you in here?”
She scoffs. “Of course you live here. What the fuck do you think I’m doing here? Stalking you?” she laughs, loudly. “I’m at work, Cain.”
“Work?”
She nods. “I know you know all about that. Some people go to fancy law offices and defend ridiculous lawsuits that sue innocent women who can’t afford the legal fees, and other people, like me, go to their jobs at hotels and clean up after the rich who live there.”
My brows crash together. She works as a maid for the hotel where I live. What are the fucking chances she’d work at my hotel?
Zero. The answer is zero.
Unless the universe was trying to force two completely oblivious and opposite people together. Which is how this whole thing’s starting to feel.
But now that she’s here, the woman that I haven’t been able to stop thinking about, I can’t help wanting her to stay. I can’t help myself from wanting to banter with her. To drag out my stay and talk to her about absolutely nothing.
And again, this is why this whole thing makes zero sense. Because instead of grabbing the paperwork from my home office and heading back across town, I’m distracted. Unfocused. Just like my dad said in his email.
And she’s the reason.
“So, this whole thing isn’t one of your kinks?” I ask teasingly.
Wrong question.