Chapter five
Chase, Chase and Waite Law Firm, Canary Wharf
Connor
Russell storms around the main office. He strides between the desks of our team members snarling at people as he passes. He’s always been an asshole, but today is one of his worst days ever. I know my brother, and he acts like a jerk when he hurts. What’s hurting him, however, is the real question.
Unable to watch any more carnage, I rise and go to open my office door.
Harrison isn’t here; he’s in court all day.
His calming influence is missed. The three of us run the law firm together, but he’s the best manager.
I keep to myself, preferring to pore over files rather than discuss issues between staff members.
Russell is the loose cannon and has caused more than one employment tribunal against the firm.
“Russ, can I have a word?” I call.
“No, I’m busy.” Intense eyes barely glance in my direction before returning to focus on our poor accounts clerk, who’s on the receiving end of his wrath.
“Russ, now.” My voice is raised higher than before, the tone sharp. He pauses mid-scream then turns to face me, his face contorting in irritation. “Now,” I repeat.
Before my eyes, he transforms further into a sulky teenager, slamming his hand down on the clerk's desk then storming across the office floor.
He goes to push past me, one suited shoulder colliding with the other.
I step back to allow him entry, and he grunts what could be a “thank you.”
After he starts pacing around my office, I close the door and return to sit at my desk.
I watch my brother stalk in circles, every so often stopping to look at one of the pieces of artwork on the walls. He spends a few minutes studying a contemporary abstract that hangs center stage on the longest wall.
What interested me about the painting was the bizarre mix of colors and outlines, which allowed different viewers to see a variety of subjects.
To some it’s merely shapes and tone, for others, there’s a battle scene with horses and knights.
For me it’s also an investment and, hopefully, profit.
Artwork has held value for centuries, and that won’t change now.
It’s somewhere I feel safe lodging my money.
“I never know what you see in this shit,” Russell says, his eyes still fixed on the painting. “A toddler could draw better.”
“I see dollar bills, brother. Long-term security. My man tells me this artist is one to watch. It made sense to buy now rather than in a year when his notoriety grows more.”
“Is your art expert a magician as well? It would take a miracle to make this crap worth anything. What did you pay for it?” he asks, finally breaking his stare and turning to face me.
“You don’t want to know.”
“Tell me. Make my day better.”
I shrug and lean back on my chair. Russell is tense—that much is obvious—but then again, he always is. My brother is always one sentence away from detonation, no matter how well his day is going.
“Five hundred.”
“Well,” he says, “for five hundred pounds it's worth the risk, I suppose.”
“No, brother. Five hundred thousand.” The familiar flare of shock washes over his face, his eyeballs bulging from their sockets as his hands ball into fists.
“You spent five hundred thousand pounds on that.” He gestures over his shoulder with his chin. “Have you undergone a lobotomy I wasn’t aware of?”
One syllable at a time, I tell him, “It is an investment.”
“You would be better throwing cash on a roulette wheel.”
“Maybe, but then again, I could be sitting on the next Picasso.” He grunts non-committally, then returns to staring at the blocks of color. “Are you going to tell me what’s bothering you, or do I have to guess?”
“I’m fine,” he says, “just fed up being surrounded by fuckwits and love-drunk idiots.” I snigger, and he spins to face me once more. His eyes narrow. “You being one of them.”
“Am I a fuckwit or a love-drunk idiot? Please tell.”
“Both. What did you want, or did you call me here for your entertainment?”
He moves to sit on the opposite chair, then leans back to mirror my pose.
It doesn’t escape me how alike we are, though I am not sure Russ sees it.
Our mannerisms often mimic one another, something I notice again as I maintain my calm state.
Meanwhile, my brother misses small things daily in his constant state of fury.
“I wondered what your thoughts were on this supposed organ theft Waite has uncovered. Interesting, no?”
“There will always be a crime when there’s money to be made,” he says. “People’s desperation to survive makes sustaining life a lucrative business.”
“True, but I wonder how the donors are chosen and then matched with the recipients.”
His focus moves around my office, and I hear his foot hitting the floor in a slow rhythm as he thinks.
“The majority of major organs need to be transplanted within a matter of hours. It’s a delicate operation to manage legally, never mind under the radar.”
“No doubt we will be dragged into this shit whether we want to be or not,” he says at last. “So, how was your romantic evening?” His question surprises me after his shitty attitude earlier.
“Enjoyable.”
“I bet.” He squares his shoulders and his mouth twists in the way it always does before he offends someone. “I mean, she is a professional sex worker, so she’s bound to know the best ways to milk a cock.”
“You disgusting bastard. She dances.”
“Now,” he continues, “but maybe you should ask the stunning Samantha what she offered as extras in the past.” His eyes widen, and I grind my teeth in a pathetic attempt to hold my temper.
“We all have a past, Russ. We’ve all done things we regret. It’s how we look to the future that matters. Samantha has ambition and career goals.”
“To do what? She’s yet another failed Westend wannabe according to Violet.”
I won’t comment on his knowledge, but I file away the fact that he has been discussing my soon-to-be girlfriend with our sister.
“She wants to be a nurse. She has been looking at options to return to study,” I tell him, and his mouth snaps closed.
Shock flutters over his features before he rearranges them again to become inexpressive.
“Her dream of working in theatre may have fallen flat, but she knows where she wants to be now. And her long-term goal isn’t to be a pole dancer.”
“And she told you this?”
“Yes.”
“She’d look hot in a nurse's uniform,” he says, and I pick up the blue spikey stress ball sitting on my desk to launch it at him. It bounces off his forehead, and he laughs. The charged atmosphere disappears with the sound—I love to see him smile when he’s relaxed. It’s sadly all too infrequent.
Even though my brother is an asshole, I love him and he loves me.
We have watched each other’s back since we were kids, but with Russell being the oldest, it was always him who bore the brunt of our father’s wrath.
That’s something I’ll never forget or take for granted.
My brother took a beating more than once for me, and I know, if he felt he needed to, he would do it again now.
“You’re such a jackass.”
“But you love me,” he says. I don’t answer him, but we grin at each other for a moment. “Are you seeing her again tonight?”
“No, she’s working.”
“Ah, the complications of dating a career woman. Well, brother, the chat was great, but I need to return to my station.”
“Don’t fire anyone,” I say, and he shrugs. “I mean it. The team is working well, and we don’t need any reruns of your previous dismissals.”
“If the bastards will do their work and not eat my lunch in the process, then we won’t have a problem.” My mind flits back to the afternoon I found him clearing someone’s desk because they had eaten his sandwich. “It’s a simple request.”
“Stick to the process, Russ.”
“Why should I when I have Waite to sort it out? He loves a difficult case to fight. I like to keep him on his toes by creating some myself.”
With that final statement, he walks out of my office, slamming the door as he leaves.
My prized artwork rattles on the walls, and a signed copy of Stephen King’s The Shining crashes to the floor.
It falls open on a familiar page, and the quote about always being the caretaker blinks back at me.
Yes, Mr. King, and don’t I fucking know it.
My mind wanders back to the night before, my first taste of Samantha.
Hell, it had been amazing. She was sweeter than I could ever imagine.
After my unexpected meal on my kitchen island when she arrived barely dressed, we moved to my bedroom.
It had been explosive from start to finish.
Her body had molded around my fingers as if she was made for me.
As I grazed her thighs with my fingertips, she’d spread her legs further.
My lips touching her skin caused a tingle of electricity to pass between us.
When I took her the first time, she was beneath me.
Her blonde hair spilled over my black satin sheets.
Still wearing her see-through bra, I’d released her tits from the cups.
The wire pushed them higher, erect nipples begging me to suck them.
I’d taken the first one between my teeth gently, then run my tongue around the tip.
Her back arched, pussy touching my cock still contained in my boxers.
“Please,” she’d whimpered, impatient.
“Not yet.” I’d tightened my grip on her nipple, my teeth biting into the soft flesh. She pushed harder against me, then wrapped her hands around my neck. I’d removed them one by one, pinning them down on the pillows on either side of her head. “I said, not yet. When I tell you no, I mean it.”
“Can I not persuade you?” Her wrists flexed beneath my grip, and I responded by pushing them further into the goose feather. The dark satin gave way as smooth flesh sunk into the fabric. “I need you to fuck me now.”
“No. There’s something you need to learn if this is going to be a regular event.” She blinked up at me with bright blue eyes, her fierce expression morphed into curiosity. “When I fuck, I like to be in control. As this is our first time, I’ve been gentle.”
“Why? I’m a big girl. Tell me what you want to do to me.” Her lips widened to expose perfect white teeth. I tightened the grip on her left wrist.
“I want to tie this to that.” My eyes moved deliberately to the left-hand bedpost.
Her line of vision followed mine. “Then I want to do the same to this one over here.”
I transferred the pressure to her right wrist before moving my focus to the right-hand bedpost.
Her breasts rose into the air as a breath caught in her throat.
“Are you nasty in the bedroom, Mr. Chase?” she teased, and I smiled to myself.
“Nasty? No. Demanding? One hundred percent. When you allow me to do what I want to do to you, Sam, I want you to enjoy it. I want to be able to secure you, and use your body for my pleasure while you crumble under me.”
Her breathing, which was getting louder with my words, deepened further.
With my left hand, I skimmed her skin then placed my palm over her pussy.
“Are you wet thinking of what it would feel like for me to have complete control of you?”
“Yes,” she hissed between her teeth. “I want it now.”
“No, our first time needs to be like this. But one night soon, I’ll tie you up, spread your legs, and fuck you until you can’t walk. Now, close your eyes.”
The blue orbs I’d been fixated on disappeared.
I quickly freed my cock and moved the scrap of material dividing us to the side, then slid between swollen, wet lips.
Her pussy opened enough to let me in, but her walls held on tightly. She groaned with my entry, immediately flexing, her hips wanting more. “You’re on birth control?” I whispered, dropping my lips to her ear.
“Uh huh,” she confirmed, eyes still closed.
“Good, because I never want to fuck you with anything between us. You feel so fucking good, Sam.” Her eyes opened, and she smiled the most dazzling smile.
“Move,” she said, deliberately mouthing the word. “I want to feel what it’s like to be fucked by a gentleman.”
“A gentleman, you say. I doubt you will call me that after you can’t walk tomorrow.”
Sex has mostly been pleasurable for me. I could count on one hand how many times I’ve not enjoyed the feel of a woman.
Over the years, though, I’ve never had a serious relationship.
Sure, some girls hung around for a while, but I was never sure if they were there for me or my wallet.
My experience has been that as time passes, expectations increase.
The restaurants have to get more expensive, the trips more luxurious, and the gifts more frequent.
When the time inevitably comes that I feel more like an ATM than a man, I tend to end the connection.
Samantha, however, emits an alien vibe—one I am unfamiliar with.
When we are together, her attention is never fixed on the label on my suit jacket or the color of my credit card.
When she talks to me, she looks me dead in the eye, her focus never wavering from the words coming from my lips.
She listens and responds with sensible points or an amusing quip.
The conversations we’ve had over these few short weeks have been mind-blowing.
Not because of the content, but because of the interaction.
The fact is, she listens to what I say. She’s interested in my opinions on topics that may seem unimportant to most.
She seems happy for me to discuss my latest artwork purchase or the new horror novel I’m engrossed in.
We touch on my work and my role within the law firm, where I fit into the puzzle of Chase, Chase, and Waite.
We speak about my ongoing issues with the family dynamic between my criminal father and Violet.
Russell’s never-ending issues and toxic temperament seem to be a recurring theme. I’ve told her stories of our childhood, the good and the bad. We discuss whatever pops into our heads at the moment, whether it’s complex or a random news report we see in the newspaper as we pass by the store.
In return, she’s given me a small glimpse into who she is, though her information is guarded.
She talks of her childhood fondly. Her parents still live on the coast somewhere in a small cottage by the sea.
She speaks to them often but hasn’t visited in a while due to her work commitments and lack of funds.
London is an expensive place to live when you’re trying to make ends meet.
What would be pocket change to me is a week’s wages to her, and that’s a fact I’m highly aware of.
She’s talked of her disappointment over how her career has progressed.
The bright lights she craved so badly have dulled in her eyes.
I can see it. For all her buckets of sass and independence, Samantha Coleman is lost in some ways.
She's stuck somewhere between wanting a better life and being forced to work to pay for the one she has.
There’s a lot I don’t know about her, and I know if I wanted to, I have the connections to find out.
In the past, I would have, but what I have with Sam is different.
There’s a trust there I’ve never felt before and deep down, I truly believe I’ll find everything I need to know when the time feels right for her.