CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
ZANDER
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I keep Sean and Jason busy for the next week while Warren Vanguard constantly rings and emails demanding a meeting between Adam Blackmore and Courtney Blackmore.
I ghost him.
Well, not the entire time. I replied yesterday, sending a fake out-of-office response.
It read;
Zander Sterling is out of the office today, being, in the words of The American Lawyer, brilliant. Please await ‘his brilliance’ to return and then deem you worthy of a reply.
Warren replied, Fuck off.
It made my day.
The only way it would’ve been better is if Courtney was under my desk sucking my cock as she’d done in the shower.
We won’t be doing that again.
But, fuck, I want to.
The number of nightmares I’ve had since that night is off the charts. One minute I’m hard and on the verge of waking up and jerking off, next minute my dream turns into the FBI swarming my home and arresting me. It wouldn’t happen like that, but my brain seems to think it would.
At least she’s not pregnant.
I met Courtney in the coffee shop down the road from a local pharmacy the next morning. She beat me to it, holding up a paper bag saying, “I got it already.”
I stood there with my hands in my coat pockets as she opened the package, swallowed it down with her coffee and grinned.
It wasn’t relief I felt; it was more fucking lust.
I wanted to kiss her so badly. To pull her against me and breathe in her floral perfume, thread my fingers through her soft red hair and let every man around us know she was with me.
Instead, I had to glance away as if I couldn’t give a damn and nod. “Great. I’ll be in touch when we’re ready to take the next steps.”
Her sweet smile didn’t hide the flicker of something akin to hurt within her eyes. But what could I say? What can I say to anyone? I trust my friends with my life, but I can’t talk to them—it’s too risky.
Every damn day I wonder how she is. Every single day. Multiple times a day. I’ve nearly driven over there, called her, messaged her. I can’t.
If I did, I wouldn’t be able to write off our night together as a single moment of weakness.
Just lust.
Nothing more. But that’s exactly what I want. More. So much more of her.
Why? I never date. I don’t have any desire to commit, and I hate women who hunt out rich men.
Despite our discussion, the facts remain: Courtney married a man when she didn’t have more than a dollar to her name. Now she’s divorcing him without any sound reason, claiming she fell out of love with him.
How convenient.
Five billion dollars of convenience.
It makes her the epitome of the type of woman I avoid and dislike.
Unless you’re talking about her curves, all that long red hair and her stunning green eyes. The vulnerability and way she’s like putty in my hands—and mouth—when I fuck her.
Goddamn it. I need to see her.
No, I need a distraction.
I message the guys to see who is available tonight. It’s Friday after all. As I wait, watching a few dots appear in our group chat, I reflect on what Sean and Jason might dig up.
Here’s another question: how do I know he’s been honest with me about his assets?
Let loose, my pretty client would be a firecracker in a courtroom. I wonder what she plans to do with her life. It wasn’t that I hadn’t thought about our next steps, but when she voiced it as I left, I wasn’t sure if I should marry her or fuck her again.
Leaving was the smart thing to do.
And you kissed her goodbye.
Ignoring those thoughts, I focus on our current strategy of learning more about Adam Blackmore.
“If he has anything hidden, find it,” I told Sean and Jason. “His business accounts will be layered and complicated to avoid taxes, like any billionaire.”
Myself included.
“Marry it against his Statement of Worth,” I added.
If Adam has lied, we’ll find out.
Courtney had to make the same sworn statement, and if I’d taken a look, I’d know she has very little in her own account. From our discussions, Adam didn’t know she had her own account and that she’d squirreled anything away.
If he’s as controlling as she says he is, that will anger him. An angry opponent is not a reasonable one.
He doesn’t know she had to lie to fashion retailers to have cash of her own to spend. The fucker.
His claims that she stole money from their marital assets without proof is a scare tactic and a form of bullying.
I’m surprised Warren didn’t tell him not to try that with me. I’m not some new kid on the block. Still, if a client instructs you, we are obligated to do as they ask.
Courtney was rattled, but it provided us the chance to speak more openly and for me to learn more about her.
Now, I’m keeping a distance between us.
Being near her isn’t wise.
Even hearing her voice would have me craving her. So I’ve asked Jason and Sean to be the point of contact with her on a daily basis.
Jason messaged to tell her we won’t respond to his claims and simply ask Vanguard to bring evidence to the mediation for our clients.
Which they won’t have.
Courtney has respected the new boundaries and sent her thanks via Sean.
Which fucked me off.
I want to see her.
This is why lawyers shouldn’t fuck their clients.
I wonder if her body was aching after I pounded that ass of hers. If she had bruises where my hands gripped her hips.
Has she dreamed of me sliding my cock inside her again, licking her pussy, sucking on her sweet nipples?
A message appears on my phone finally.
Mason and Dereck are keen on drinking, although Mase adds not at Obsidian Club.
Predictable.
I flick them the name of another bar we often meet at, tell them to bring the girls, and am not surprised when Colt and Sebastian say they’re going to join us. Then, I message Terrance to bring the car around and head home to change.
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BY MIDNIGHT, AND several whiskies into the night, I think I’ve seen Courtney three times.
“Hey beautiful.” I leaned into one woman only to have her turn around angrily to tell me to piss off. Then she smiled when she saw my face.
Nope.
Not my client.
I was drunk. Pretty drunk. I wasn’t swaying, so to speak, but I was starting to question whether gravity was real.
Probably fake news.
I pour myself another one as Emily plonks down beside me. “Hey, Zander.” She says in her English accent.
“Emily, Emily, Emily.” I wrap an arm around her. “You should’ve married me.”
“Then I wouldn’t have my beautiful baby boy. Who I need to get home to now. Anyway, you hate marriage,” she states, unfazed.
“I do. Get married. Get divorced. It’s made me a rich man.” I take a sip.
Her shoulders slump. “That’s not true. Some people stay married. Only fifty percent don’t.”
“Ah,” I say, holding up my whisky. “But ask me how many of those people speak to a lawyer about leaving their spouse but don’t because of the cost.”
I toss back the rest and grin.
“I don’t want to know.”
I lean into her ear and whisper loudly. “All of them.”
“That’s not true and get your fucking arm off my wife.” Sebastian kicks my foot.
I do, because having a black eye when facing my opponent would see me at a disadvantage. Courtney and Adam will finally sit opposite one another on Monday.
“Just for the record, though, if I didn’t hate marriage, you’d have married me, right?” I grin at Emily and wink at Sebastian.
“Give me your fucking phone.” He rips it out of my hand, and next minute I know I’m being loaded into my car, and Terrance is taking me home.
Rude.
“Go down Seventh, Terrance.”
“Why, sir?”
“I feel like cruising around,” I lie.
Then I put my ear to my phone and let it ring.
“Hello.”
I smile.
I was going to hang up, even though I know she has my number programmed.
But I don’t.
“Open your door,” I rasp.
Then I hang up.