Page 50 of The Lawyer
His thumb wipes over the side of his lip, collecting the blood I’ve just given him. “Someone’s wound up. What did I do to inconvenience you?”
Everything that wants to leave my mouth regarding Willow halts. No matter the rage I’m in, or the sense of fucking need that seems to be clawing through me to somehow claim her, I don’t know how much he knows. “Ashley Etherington. Take him off your books. He no longer works for you.”
“Who?”
“He’s a child, Jackson. Whatever contemptuous life you might live, I will not have him involved. Get someone else to sell your crap to the masses.”
He moves to the side of the room and starts pouring a drink, downing it just as swiftly. It makes me move towards him again, ready for more fists to carry on. He chuckles at the sight of me, his finger going up. “I’ll give you two, Landon, but be fucking careful before you think of trying another.”
It seems I’m not thinking much at all because another swing comes out of me so fast he doesn’t even get a chance to dodge it. Nothing trembles about him this time, though. He takes it, turns his head slowly, and then scowls. Good. I need this. I need to get that fucking woman and her legs out of my head.
My fingers wave him on, tempting him to me. I don’t even care if I hit the damn deck now. I’m lost in a mist of fury. Not at him, at her—at her audacity and game playing. Especially when it seems to be affecting more than just my damn cock.
“I don’t know what’s going on here, but I’m not about to kill the man that keeps me out of jail for his first screw up, so ….” He walks to the drinks again and pours two this time. “Sit down.”
My body moves, crashes past some filing cabinets, and my hand goes for his throat to choke the life out of him. Anything frankly—he’ll do. Something swipes my head so damn fast I barely have a chance to react before I’m planted over the desk, my arm tucked up behind me.
“Do I need to call the boys in?” he growls. I snarl against the surface, shrugging my frame to getout of his hold. It doesn’t work. He’s like a fucking clamp around me, and my size advantage over him seems to make no difference. “I’m going to let you up, but one more try, and you’ll be going home in the boot of a car. I'm not pleased with this behaviour.”
A final shrug and he starts letting go of me. I stand instantly, pissed off with everything, and watch as he places a drink in front of me.
“I haven’t seen this side of you before.” He’s right. He hasn’t. Barely anyone ever sees this from me. Too many years of conducting myself with the integrity befitting a barrister, and too many years finding ways to make situations happen plausibly, no matter how nefarious the problem.
I straighten my shirt at the thought, attempting to get a check on my own behaviour because of a woman. A lying woman at that. The glass of Scotch in front of me gets picked up and downed, then shoved back in his face for a refill.
He smirks and offers me the bottle, seating himself behind his desk. “Any other things we should discuss?” he asks.
I tip the next drink down my throat and slam the tumbler on the desk, not interested in discussing a damn thing with him. I didn’t come here to discuss. I came here to act. In fact, as I refill the glass again and stare at him, I realise the only reason I came here was because I knew he’d take this from me and I’d get away with doing it. No one else would. As he said, they’d be leaving this sleazy little den in the boot of a car with not much in the way of life left.
Having knocked the next drink down my throat, I stare until I’ve contemplated the fact that she might have fucked him too. That’s what normally happens here. If I could find a way of asking that without giving away the whole fucking situation, I would, but I can’t. Certainly not at the moment when sense is the last thing on my mind.
“Make sure he’s off the books, Jackson,” I mutter, turning away. The door gets left open as I walk out, and I curse myself the entire way back to the car. I shouldn’t have even mentioned Ash’s name. That alone is enough for this cunt to go digging around, but fuck it. It’s not like she hasn’t played with me. Maybe she can have a bit of her own medicine thrown back in her face.
Chapter Eighteen
WILLOW
The house is too small. For the last couple of days, it’s been my hideaway and my prison. I feel stuck and restless, and it’s mostly from my own doing. If I’d just worked up the courage to tell Landon sooner …
I can’t keep running the ifs and buts over in my head. It’s done. I didn’t have to take the job to dance. I could have turned around and left when I knew I’d be dancing for Landon. This is my own form of torture, and I need to snap out of it. The job is waiting for me. Landon won’t fire me; I'm sure of it. He won’t want to deal with the ramifications. However, regardless of whether he would or not,I’d never go through with outing him anyway.
How could I?
I suppose I could still perform, but to have those eyes on me, the very essence that I crave to express myself and be free from responsibility or worry, no longer holds the same level of appeal. It used to be an addiction—an itch under my skin that was desperate to be let loose. I needed it like a release valve to balance my life—to forget. It's not how I feel any longer. Now, it makes me second guess. It makes me question my feelings and my future. Sure, the money is useful, but it’s not like I need it in the same way anymore. It only enables the lifestyle that comes with the performance: the shoes, costumes, lingerie, and masks.
Still, it is a safety net of sorts.
I order an Uber to take me to The Priory. I’ve called in sick this week, but I owe Jackson an explanation. I make my way through the back and hope to avoid Jamie. Her bitchiness certainly isn't something I can deal with. It’s rare that I seek him out, but despite everything, and how he overstepped the other week, he gave me a place to be myself and, at the time, I needed that.
I pop my head around his office door and find Jackson and another guy discussing something at his desk. “Do you have a minute?”
“For you? Yes.” He cocks his head to the side, dismissing his acquaintance and leaving us together. “Want to tell me what’s going on?” he asks, cutting to the chase.
“I need some time off.”
The instant look of irritation on his face makes me realise this isn't going to go well. "You just had time off.”
“I know, but I need a break. I’ve got some things going on with my brother, and I need to be there for him.”
