Chapter Four
Elliot
By how frazzled Miss Sinclair was on the phone, I hadn’t expected her to show up on time.
It would be just my son’s taste to date a girl who is an embarrassment to the Caldwell name.
She’s a massage therapist for fuck’s sake; do you even need a degree for that?
The hunk of junk passing as a motor vehicle that pulls into my driveway ten minutes before the scheduled start of her shift only solidifies my thoughts.
I swear he does things to irritate me on purpose, to get back at me for something I’m not aware of.
Over the last few years, he’d mentioned the girl he was dating in passing, but I never got much information.
It’s not that we spoke frequently, maybe once every few months.
He likely avoided bringing her up on purpose, knowing I’d have a lot to say if he’d told me more.
A car older than she is. A job a homeless person off the street could get.
I bet her appearance is to match. I’m not sure what I ever did to Harrison to make him want to punish me, but he’s getting good at it.
Because now here I am doing damage control over him not being able to keep his dick in his pants.
I did not raise this boy to be like this.
I taught him self-control and self-preservation!
The number of times I told him to keep his shit under control was all for nothing.
If you’re going to fuck your stepsister, your main priority should be keeping it hidden.
Harrison is too cocky to concern himself with such things.
Hence, where we are now. Again, I only have myself to blame because he knows he can call me, and I’ll fix it.
But I don’t do this for him; I do it for me.
My name is on the line. My entire company is on the line.
The last thing I need is some insane PR story getting out about the Caldwell family being into shady things, especially right after getting this deal with the city!
This would be a fair reason for them to break the contract, essentially ruining my reputation. All thanks to my son.
So, I called off work to handle this girl he dated for over two years.
A girl that I need to speak with to figure out the best way to handle this situation.
I’m not in the business of making people go missing, but if everything I’ve built is on the line, I won’t think twice.
Even if she is a twenty-one-year-old woman who doesn’t even know the meaning of life yet.
If it comes to such extremes, I’ll handle it and make sure Harrison is well aware of what he’s done.
I’ve built my company from nothing, and I will not let a single person tarnish it.
I tap my foot, waiting for her to exit her car.
What could she possibly be doing in that car?
Noxious gas poisoning perhaps? Did she pass out?
Perhaps the door won’t open. Looks like it could be rusted shut.
Only it does open a moment later, and when the woman steps out, it’s like a punch right to my gut.
Knee high boots cover the bottom half of her perfectly thick legs.
The fall-colored jumper stops mid-thigh, and the black long-sleeved shirt is tight, showcasing her ample cleavage.
Her dark hair is up in a stylish, messy up-do, with wavy pieces hanging around her round face.
Her full lips form a frown when she looks up at the house.
She shields her eyes with her hand, squinting.
I can tell they’re a light shade, but can’t see exactly what color they are, but I bet they’re gorgeous. Just like every other inch of her.
No, no, no.
This girl is almost thirty years younger than me. She’s my son’s ex. She has information that could ruin me. The last thing I need to do is hit on her. But for fuck’s sake, could she be any more breathtaking?
I go to the front door to let her in, ignoring the way my dick is throbbing in my slacks. She’s just reached the bottom steps when I pull the door open. She beams up at me like I’m someone she’s happy to see and it nearly knocks me over. Fuck, she’s beautiful.
“Hi, Mr. Caldwell?” she says, coming up the rest of the way and offering me her hand.
I do what I’m supposed to: take it and shake. But it’s the weakest handshake I’ve ever given in my life. What I really want to do is bring her hand to my cock and watch as she jerks me off with her delicate little fingers. Fuck, this isn’t good. This is so, so bad.
“Miss Sinclair,” I say, clearing the raspiness from my throat.
“Just call me Sera,” she says, still smiling.
“Come in. Please.” I move to the side, gesturing for her to come inside.
She does, and her gaze immediately goes around the room, and up to the chandelier in the foyer.
It’s a custom-made piece. A massive, twisted sculpture of dark iron, almost like branches weaving together, each arm holding a cluster of hand-blown glass globes that look like drops of water frozen mid-fall.
When lit, the light filters through the frosted glass, casting soft shadows.
It's bold, a little rugged, yet elegant—just like everything in this house. It’s a good reflection of my life—of me, I suppose.
At least, that’s what the decorator said.
“Wow, you live here?”
Okay, beautiful, but not so smart. Figures.
“Yes, I live here.”
Her cheeks pinken and she ducks her head. She’s a ball of innocence. All she’s missing is a pretty little bow atop that gorgeous head of hers.
“Yeah, I suppose that was a stupid question.”
“Contrary to popular belief, there are stupid questions,” I say, holding my hand out for her purse. She hands it over and I hang it on the coat rack by the door, then move into the parlor. “Can I get you something to drink?” I ask.
She smiles at me. “You don’t have a maid to do that for you?”
I raise a brow, and she frowns again.
“Sorry, that was rude.” She blows out a sharp breath.
The girl has no manners. She’s a feral goddamn animal. Yet somehow, so fucking sweet.
“Water would be great,” she finally says, clasping her hands together in front of her and rocking back on heels.
I nod, leaving the room to get her water. I’m unsure if she wants it cold or room temperature, so I grab one of each. When I return to the parlor, she’s still standing in the same spot, looking around as if she’s never seen a house before.
“Nothing here will bite.”
Except maybe me.
She startles, turning toward me with her hand on her chest, bringing my attention there, and now all I can think about is sucking her tits into my mouth and leaving bruises for me to look at later.
“Sorry, everything here is just so beautiful. I love how dark and cozy it is.”
“Is that so?” I look around, trying to see what she sees. “Most people think it’s depressing.”
“Oh no. Not at all. I could picture myself snuggling up on the couch with a book.” She gestures to the fireplace. “That would be lit, some hot cocoa to drink, and—” She stops abruptly, snapping her mouth shut. “I’m sorry. I’m just really nervous. I say weird things when I’m nervous.”
“I wasn’t sure if you wanted this cold or not?
” I hold up the bottles, needing to get on the subject of something safe.
Bumbling isn’t a quality I find attractive, yet this young woman is fascinating.
I find her gracelessness endearing, her innocence sweet.
And those big green eyes of hers are enthralling. Which is all completely fucking insane.
“Oh, cold is fine.”
I nod, handing her the cold bottle and putting the other on the coffee table.
She cracks the bottle of Fiji open and takes a long sip.
I stare at her throat as she swallows, imagining her swallowing my cock and all my cum too.
It stirs in my pants, which is not what I need.
Laying on an erection during a massage isn’t comfortable.
And if she starts me off on my back, well, that’s going to be awkward.
I’ll admit, I hadn’t actually planned on her giving me a massage today.
We were going to talk about the situation at hand.
What she saw, what she knows, and what she plans to do with it.
But now that I’ve seen her, seen those hands, I want them on me, and this may be the only chance to make that happen.
Maybe this is sick, but it’s been a long time since I’ve seen something I want so badly, and I’m not in the habit of giving up things I want.
“So, should we get started on your massage?” she asks, capping her water.
“Yes, I think that’s wise. Right this way.”
I move out of the parlor and toward the back of the house where the in-home spa is.
Plenty of people have told me my house is too small for the land, but I think it’s the perfect size.
It’s spacious with three bedrooms, one being a master, and all of them with en suites.
Aside from that, there are three other bathrooms—all full.
There is a library, an office, a five-car garage, kitchen, dining room, parlor, theater that seats twenty, butler’s pantry, and a wine cellar.
In the back, through the solarium and outside, is an in-ground pool and a greenhouse where fresh herbs, vegetables, fruits, and flowers are grown.
Being someone in development, I find wasting space silly. I wanted my home to be something I both enjoy and use. A ton of extra space for the sake of showing it off, just because I can, is dumb. It’s also a waste of money. I’m not in the business of wasting money.
As we walk, I hear Seraphine’s whispers of surprise each time we pass a room. I can’t help but smile to myself, enjoying her excitement over the home I live in. I take pride in my work, and I love when people approve of what I’ve done. I guess I’m a sucker for praise, what can I say?
“You know I’m in property development,” I say.
“Huh? Oh, yeah. Harrison mentioned that.”