Page 3 of Disgrace

“Sell everything. I want nothing. Honestly, I didn’t think she would’ve kept me in her will at all.” I keep my tone level and, with considerable effort, maintain a much softer timbre than I feel. Rage and sorrow blend and course through me; my nerves are raw and knots the size of footballs roll in my stomach. Mr Brown shifts uncomfortably and won’t meet my eye.

“Um yes…you are right. Sadly, I believe that was her intention.” He clears his throat. “There was some irregularity in the documentation and essential forms weren’t completed correctly. In such cases the will is nullified and by default the estate would be bequeathed to theclosestliving relative.” I scoff derisively at his misplaced assumption and inwardly smile that my mother would be turning in her grave at this outcome.

“Onlylivingrelative.” I correct and draw in a steadying breath. Did I honestly think she would’ve softened over time and this be her final gesture of forgiveness? Of course not, she was evil, and evil is timeless. I shake myself free of the useless thoughts. “Regardless, it is what it is. You have my instructions. I just came today…” My voice catches, he doesn’t need to know why I came. He doesn’t need to know my gory past. “Sell it all.” I repeat.

He looks a little shocked but nods. “I know it’s of little comfort, but you will be a very rich woman, Ms Bonfleur.” His smile falters on his pallid face, and there is sweat beading on his top lip. I make him uncomfortable. I smile. I like making men uncomfortable.

“I am a very rich woman already. I don’t want a penny from the sale. I don’t want to take anything for a keepsake. It is all to go to the charity I listed. You have something for me to sign?” I hold my hand out expectantly.

“Why did you come then? We could’ve done this over the phone or at my offices.” His tone is a little irritated when he hands me a small stack of papers with little markers. I quickly work my way through signing my childhood away.

“I needed to remind myself. I needed this fresh in my mind so I won’t do it again.” I curse myself that I mutter this out loud enough for him to hear. I return his pen and he nods with kind eyes of understanding.

“Fall in love.” He offers with a knowing look but my bitter laugh cuts him dead and now I do feel like I have to clarify…He does need to know.

“Not fall no, sometimes that sadly can’t be helped. But I needed to remind myself why I will never again tell someone I love them. All men lie, Mr Brown, but once you tell a man you love him, he seems to think it gives him certain rights, rights to hurt and control you.” I take my time to look him up and down, my glare accusatory. I feel only a tinge of shame that I judge all men by the one very bad apple, especially when I know it isn’t true. Leon isn’t like that, but it is better to be safe, to live by this rule than die being sorry. “Never again will I let someone control me.” I step past him but turn when he coughs for my attention.

“Sorry, Ms Bonfleur, but I need a forwarding address. I can’t use the PO Box I’m afraid, but perhaps I could send it to your office,” he stutters.

“My office?” I hold back a smile.

“I noticed you had passed the bar. I assumed you were practising law somewhere?” He is checking his notes again, and I let out a light laugh.

“You have been busy.” I turn to face him, drawing up to my full five foot ten height, six foot in my heels. His cheeks pink and he drags a finger across his shirt collar. He has the decency to look a little sheepish.

“You took some finding.” He shrugs and I bite my lip. He obviously didn’t look hard enough or he wouldn’t be asking this question. Or maybe he did.

“I qualified but I don’t practice, Mr Brown.” I raise my brow and fix him with a glare to see if he withers…To see if he is hiding my secrets and trying to play me but he doesn’t flinch. Satisfied he knows no more than he has alluded to already, I hand him my card, my smile widening with the stretch of his upturned brow. “Send whatever you need here. This is where I work.”

“What do you do?” He flips the black card over. There is nothing on the back and just my signature on the front and the club address.

“I’m a whore.” I smile sweetly at his sudden dropped jaw.

It’s not until the houses start to crowd together, vying for prime location space that I start to relax. The endless expanse of lush green fields diminish to tiny pockets of manufactured parks and protected communal areas as the train speeds closer into the heart of the city, toward my home. Myrealhome. Leon was right. I didn’t have to be there in person to sort the sale. Documents could easily be signed and witnessed elsewhere but something made me want to remember. No, not something…someone. Jason Sinclair.

Despite whatIcall myself, I don’t fuck for money. I fuck because I want to fuck, and I wanted to fuck Jason…very much. A hook-up with a hot guy at Bethany and Daniel’s wedding. That wasallit was supposed to be. I knew his reputation for absolute dominance. He’s a silent partner in the club I work for, for Chrissakes, but I felt safe to cross the line in a civilian setting. I could blame the whole ‘weddings make people crazy’ notion but… well, I might’ve mentioned Jason Sinclair is fucking hot! Taller than me by several inches but eye level when I’m sporting my six-inch killer heels, broad, built shoulders that narrow to perfection in his immaculate three piece navy suit. Light brown hair with natural flecks of gold that just beg to be gripped and tousled. But his eyes, oh God, his eyes. As if the rich honey with the same golden highlights hypnotically swirling wouldn’t captivate a mere mortal. The intensity with which he wields his most potent weapon, well I was a fool to think hooking up was anything but his decision.

A one-time thing, I could handle a one-time thing. It is all I have ever done since leaving home. Not so many as to warrant my moniker but always just a one-time thing. I can feel the hairs on my neck dance as a delicious chill sweeps my body when I recall the moment when he put his strong palm around my neck and squeezed a little too tight. I came so hard I couldn’t breathe. I wanted it…I wanted more, but more shocking still, I realised I wanted him, and that thought terrified me.

That is why I didn’t return his calls and that is why I came today. I needed to remind myself why I won’t let another man control me…ever.

Today

“You know I can’t eat any of those.” Leon stretches his over-sized frame on my couch. The muscles in his torso flex and contract with the effort he is putting into his waking yawn. His hand automatically dipping into his lounge pants…checking. I snicker. He lifts his head to see me peering over hob on the kitchen bar.

“Is it still there? I raise a brow and point my palette knife directly at his crotch. His hand unashamedly massaging himself. He winks but doesn’t remove his hand.

“You know it.” He lets out a satisfied sigh. “But I am worried the little fella might not be working properly, and as my best friend, I feel it is your duty to help me out.” It never gets old. Almost ten years of trying to get in my pants, and he is as fresh as the day he found me in that club. Saving me from making the biggest mistake of my life.

I left home on my eighteenth birthday, took the train to London and checked into a hotel. I was on a mission. A new life, with no rules, no boundaries and no limits. After all, I was a whore. I may as well live up to the name. I had no family and no friends thanks to my strict upbringing, but I was determined to change all that. I found myself in a sleazy nightclub slowly getting drunk with the nastiest guy I could find. Shaved head, thick neck with bulging muscles so large they distorted the ink on his skin to unrecognisable markings. I don’t remember his name, but I do remember the second he was called away an arm swept around my waist, the briefest of conversations, and the next moment, my feet barely touched the ground as I was whisked away from the danger zone and out of the club. I remember at the time I didn’t feel scared. I should’ve been scared, but I was either numb or stupid; Leon told me I was stupid. The guy at the bar I later found out was Eastern European mob, had just slipped something in my drink and was just checking if the van out the back could take one more. I pinch myself every day at my lucky escape thanks to my Knight in Giorgio Armani.

“But not today.” The stock response I fire at him with a smile and a kiss. He rolls himself up to a sitting position and drags his hand through his shoulder length glossy dark hair. “Today, I am making Danish pancakes…a lotof Danish pancakes so you have to eat them.” I flip the tiny delicate circles in the pan and whisk some more mixture for my next batch. It’s a ready mix packet that all I have to do is add milk and even then, with my innate skill in the kitchen there is no guarantee they will be edible.

“I’m leaving for my flight in an hour, and I don’t want the plane to have trouble taking off because I have a shit tonne of your ‘coping strategy’ setting like concrete in my gut.” He slaps his toned, flat stomach with a loud tummy clenching sound. “What’s got you in such a state anyway?” He saunters over to the kitchen completely at ease with his near-naked appearance. Sliding onto the high stool, he picks up a handful of the pancakes and slowly munches them despite his protestations. He closes his eyes and moans, an overly sexual sound, savouring his enjoyment. I roll my eyes and throw the oven gloves I’m holding at his bare chest. He catches them and holds them hostage in his lap.

“Behave.” I warn, and he hands them back looking a little sheepish.

“Sorry, Sam…I can’t help myself sometimes.” He grins.

---