Try as she could, Abby could not get more out of the officer.
“Get an attorney for your boyfriend, kid. That’s the best you can do for him at the moment. Call his folks.”
Abby doesn’t even know Devon’s relatives. He has certainly never mentioned them, and she has avoided asking him about that for fear that he might expect reciprocation from her about her own family.
And now it is Monday morning, and she still has no attorney for the man she loves, who is sitting in a jail cell, accused of a murder he did not commit. She is as sure of that as she is sure of the air she is breathing now.
Devon cannot and will not kill anyone. He is the gentlest, kindest soul she knows.
The digital clock on the dresser shows nine a.m. She has a plan now, and she is about to execute it.
She picks up Devon’s cellphone, which he has not brought with him when he was arrested, and dials a number she has searched for earlier through the Internet.
She gets the reception desk.
“May I speak with Helmut Dresschler, please?” Pause. “Yes, I understand he is in a meeting, but tell him this is Abigail Holt. That’s right. H-O-L-T. He will want to speak to me.”
She waits for a while longer.
Helmut Dresschler comes onto the line.
“Abigail Holt?” he says hesitantly.
Abby has only met him once or twice. She has been dealing more with their Southern office.
“Hello, Mr. Dresschler. Do you remember me?”
“Yes, of course, Ms. Holt. Where are you now?”
“Where I am doesn’t matter. But I need your help, Mr. Dresschler. I need my money.”
“That would be rather difficult, Ms. Holt, seeing as it is in trust – ”
“I am fully aware of the terms in my trust fund, Mr. Dresschler. I just turned eighteen, and the trust fund stipulates a certain amount to be made available to me upon my eighteenth birthday, followed by twenty-one, and twenty-five, and so on. I have total independence as to the monies in that trust.”
Silence.
Then: “How much do you need?”
“A million. Maybe more.”
Pause. Abby can feel the accountant’s mind churning on the other side.
“You’ll have to come into my office to sign a few papers.”
“Of course. Before you put down the phone, Mr. Dresschler, I know you intend to call my father right after this . . . but I would advise you not to. Right now, you are working for me discreetly, and there is the clause of upholding your client’s interest. Each member of the Holt family has individual and discreet businesses with your firm, and you are required to respect and maintain their individual privacy. My grandfather signed the original contract with you that way.”
Another long pause.
“Of course, Ms. Holt. Are you all right?”
“Yes. I am all right. Thank you for your concern.”
“Your father is very concerned about you, Ms. Holt.”
“Yes, but not for the reasons you may think. I will be coming in today to your office. Please have all the documents ready.”
“Yes, I will. What time will I be expecting you?”
Abby tells him.
She puts down the phone, her heart hammering. She wonders if Helmut Dresschler would betray her, but it is a chance she has to take if she wants to get Devon out of this mess.
Devon.
She will do anything for Devon. She loves him, and he loves her. She is sure of that now.
Abby gathers her new purse, slings on a jacket, and walks out of the front door. She will pick up a newspaper along the way to the accountant’s firm to search for more details, if the press has gotten wind of the murder already. But she will do whatever it takes to get Devon off this murder charge, even if it means exposing herself and her family to the world.
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TEMPTING FATE
By Aspen Hayes
Chapter One
Squinting against the brilliant morning sunshine that filtered through the soaring penthouse windows, Alex Stone moaned and burrowed further into the crumpled rug that had served as his bed. The night before it had been the cream leather couch, and the night before that, one of the loungers on the lofty deck overlooking the city. Only the silken domain of his custom-made bed remained pristine, the crumpled sheets undisturbed since...
... Since when, exactly?
Alex’s eyelids fluttered. Opening slowly, they revealed a blurry close-up of the rug’s striking black, red and white geometric pattern. He frowned, the sledgehammer headache pounding at his temples effectively preventing cognitive thought. Sleep had been evasive, despite the empty high-end vodka bottle staring him in the face like a reproachful lover. Noticing a musky odor, he paused to sniff suspiciously, realizing that the pungent aroma harkened to at least two days since his last shower.
From an unseen location, Alex’s phone angrily buzzed. The intrusive sound bore into his head, causing him to wince. He rolled over with a groan and noticing that he was naked, tried to recall what had happened to his Beckham body wear. His memory refused to cooperate, so he simply stared out the window at the expansive city view forty floors below. Glittering in the morning sun, the city bustled with the energy he normally thrived on, but today, he felt more like a street bogged down by an endless traffic jam.
The phone paused, then buzzed with renewed vindictiveness. Alex peered blearily around a contemporary living room of high-end glass, chrome and leather furnishings reduced to a chaos of discarded clothing, dirty dishes and empty booze bottles which would undoubtedly elicit a string of curses from Mrs. Vance, his shrew of a housekeeper. A fixture of the Stone family for twenty years, nothing short of an asteroid strike would prompt her to retire, and she was much too loved by Alex’s family to fear reprisal from anyone, Alex included.
Uttering the cry of a damned soul, he rose to his feet and staggered toward the phone playing peek-a-boo beneath a crumpled bath towel that had found it’s way into a planter of lush bamboo palm trees. He scrolled through eighty-seven missed messages and almost as many emails. Noticing most were from his father, he steeled himself and played the most recent voicemail.
“Alex, it’s Dad. Again. Remember me? Or do we need to run a DNA scan? I’ve got Langley breathing down my neck about the campaign. Miles may be a lifelong friend, but business is business and I can’t be covering your ass any longer. Look, if you don’t want to tell me what’s going on, that’s your call, but I’m telling you now, if it starts affecting Stone Advertising, then I’m not covering for you anymore. Maybe you can ‘fly in’ early from your vacation and get back here or else I’m going to have to let Nora take it from here.”
Nora ... the very mention of her name elicited a physical stab of pain through Alex. Even now, images of a face and the voluptuous figure of a goddess swirled in his mind, releasing a floodgate of emotions that nearly brought him to tears.
“Alex,” he said aloud. “What the hell are you doing, man?”
Taking a deep sigh, he speed dialed his father. A moment later, Brad Stone’s commanding voice resonated so loudly from the phone’s speaker that Alex was forced to lower the volume. At that moment, the low battery alert sounded. He scrambled frantically in search of the phone charger.
“Alex? Goddammit!” Brad raged. “I’ve been calling you for days. Have you decided to singl
ehandedly bring down the company your grandfather worked so hard to build?”
Alex winced and ran his fingers through his matted chestnut brown hair. It desperately needed a trim and gawking at his reflection in a mirrored section of a divider wall, he saw that he was beginning to resemble a Roman senator, but an elder senator whose healthy growth of beard exceeded the limits of trendiness.
His eyes traveled from his haggard face down to what had been, until recently, a trim, finely cut body now hinting at softness. A look of horror crossed Alex’s face. Glancing around the room, the crumpled remains of pizza boxes confirmed his worst fears.
“Alex?” Brad bellowed. “Have you gone AWOL on me again?”
“I’m sorry, Dad,” Alex said, turning away from the mirror with a look of disgust while he continued his search for the phone charger. “I was going to call you today.”
“Bullshit,” Brad said. “Enough is enough. I don’t know what the hell you think you’re doing, but your mother and I are really fed up. You’d better sort out whatever the hell’s got you hiding from the world. Nora’s not saying a word and I’m not pressing her, but I’m telling you now to get your act together – and fast.”
“Dad, trust me, I know. It’s…it’s something I just can’t talk about right now.”
“Judging by your recent behavior son, trust is a little hard to come by at the moment.” Brad replied. “Once you were the rising star of Stone Advertising. Clients were lining up outside the building waiting to sign up with us. Now I’ve got Langley threatening breach of contract if their campaign is delayed any longer.” He paused and murmured to someone in the background. “Look, Alex,” Brad said, “I’ve got to put out some fires here, but I’m making it clear that if you don’t show your face first thing tomorrow, Nora Myers is not only completing the Langley campaign, but she’s taking over your job. Do I make myself clear?”
Spotting the phone charger mysteriously coiled beneath the stairs, he quickly plugged it into the nearest outlet and connected his phone.
“Did you hear me?” Brad asked.
“Dad, don’t worry,” Alex said. “I promise I’ll be in tomorrow.”
“I’ll be expecting you at nine a.m. sharp,” Brad grunted before hanging up.
Alex winced and stared at the charging phone. The fog in his head was finally starting to clear and the stark reality of a situation verging on critical looked him squarely in the eye. At thirty-two, he was an alumni of one of the most prestigious Ivy League schools, a Forbes Person of the Year and the star of one of the most successful advertising empires in the country. He had come into life kicking and screaming, an attitude that had navigated him toward the lofty peaks of success without the help of his family ... but all of it was about to sink like the Titanic on its maiden voyage – all because of Nora Myers.
He scrolled through the glut of waiting messages. Besides his father, everyone from Mrs. Vance to his best friend Rick had been trying to reach him. He was about to start deleting the backlog of his other messages when his gaze fixed on an older email. His fingers hovered indecisively over the touchpad, then reluctantly tapped to open the message.
Alex merely stared at the stunning image of Nora smiling at home from a captured moment that he could never forget. Blinking away tears, he traced the outline of an ethereal face worthy of Botticelli, framed by a cascade of curly smoky black hair. A gauzy veil fanned from a jeweled coronet, and sea foam green eyes gazed sublimely, complemented by the cream silk, pearl-encrusted gown barely peeking into the photo.
Above all else, it was Nora’s radiant smile that caught his breath and sent his pulse racing, and even as he gazed at her image with the demeanor of a love-struck puppy, the memory of his uncle’s colorful wedding reception overwhelmed his mind and heart with emotion.
*
Basking beneath a warm June sun, the manor grounds tumbled around a sparkling sapphire lake like the colorful splashes on an artist’s canvas. Emerald green lawns vied with stunning, fragrant gardens and stream-fed woodlands were alive with birdsong. A charming guesthouse festooned with dozens of banners, ornate flags and flowers reflecting a Renaissance-themed wedding reception flanked the lake, its sprawling patio and dock extending into the clear, pristine water.
A miniature village of white tents and gazebos decorated in similar style as the guesthouse boasted wandering minstrels, jugglers and serving staff clad in full costume. Displayed within a specially cooled tent, an eye-popping buffet tempted guests with a staggering array of authentic Renaissance dishes, while an adjacent bar tent lured in the thirsty with a selection of contemporary as well as more authentic wines, ales and beers.
Guests clad in authentic costumes mingled and feasted, lending to the magical atmosphere, at least most of the guests. Locked inside a bathroom tucked away in the top floor of the guesthouse, a naked and wet Alex and Tisa aggressively frolicked in the oversized shower. Condensation fogged the etched glass enclosure, their writhing bodies slapping against the polished marble walls.
Pinning Tisa against the wall, Alex wrapped her toned, tawny legs around his waist while she whimpered obscenities in Spanish and clawed at sculpted muscles of his back like a rabid animal. Though Alex’s finely chiseled physique attested to hours of workouts in his private gym, his classic cowboy good looks, augmented by sexy curls of chocolate-brown hair and eyes the color of a Montana sky, were the result of good genes passed down from both parents. Good genes from his father certainly also contributed to his solid, truncheon sized cock rising between Tisa’s slick pussy.
Like his mother, Alex had been a model until he entered university in his early twenties to pursue his MBA, but the years of jet setting around the world had filled his passport with more than an enviable collection of stamps. Alex Stone had graced the cover of virtually everything publishable, and there wasn’t a party, event or premier where he didn’t appear with some equally gorgeous female, or two, in tow.
Inevitably, as partying overtook modeling, Alex started popping up in some not-so-notable publications. After a few nude scandals and failed paternity cases, his parents Brad and Delilah Stone threatened to cut off his trust fund if he didn’t settle down and restore the family image. Growing weary of supermodel drama, Alex had agreed to focus his energy on his education, and proved to be a genius at anything he tackled, including the Stone Advertising empire, which he joined immediately after graduation.
Within the years since, the company became an empire to rival Rome, as reputation, stocks and clientele soared. Alex became the golden child of advertising and had forged a path to the dizzying heights of Forbes Person of the Year. Though Alex’s younger brother and sister followed in his footsteps, it was Alex’s high-beam personality and porn-star sexuality that sucked in women like a magnet.
Just as he now sucked on Tisa’s pink, rigid nipples while his hands worked his way toward her curvy ass. Kneading her luscious, protuberant cheeks, his fingers trailed down her crack and teased the tight ring of her asshole.
Tisa screamed and snarled, sinking her laser-white teeth into his shoulder.
“Fuck, Tisa!” Alex muttered between labored breaths. “I told you not to do that!”
“Fuck Tisa, yes! That’s good!” she panted before returning to her Spanish exclamations.
Alex responded by lightly biting her bullet-hard nipples, but it only seemed to excite her more. Setting her to the floor, he turned her around and bent her over until her voluptuous ass and plump, cleanly shaven pussy yawned open like an exotic fruit. A moaning Tisa spread her legs wide and placed her palms on the floor to support herself while her pendulous breasts swung like heavy gourds.
Gripping her by the hips, Alex knelt and teased her swollen lips with eager fingers and tongue. He lapped and nibbled hungrily at her sticky wet flesh, his tongue seeking her moist folds and crevices before slipping into her quivering hole. Tisa cried out and bucked, her hot juice oozing onto her thighs.
Muttering like a woman possessed, she ground her ass aga
inst Alex’s face. He briefly came up for air before he thrust two fingers knuckle-deep each into her pussy and asshole.
“Dios mio!” Tisa screamed, jerking so violently that she almost cracked her head on the shower.
“Quiet, Tisa!” Alex admonished. “I mean it…quiet down.”
He clutched her hips, kneed her thighs further apart and drove his thick cock inside her slick entrance. Though he heard his phone distantly trilling from the bathroom counter, he deliberately ignored it, his focus solely on the scorching flesh that gripped his hungry cock like a vise and forced it deep inside her.
Biting her bottom lip, Tisa whined and clawed at the cool ceramic tiles while Alex furiously pumped her until her face was squashed against the floor. His cock sloshed wetly as he claimed her, then he paused to withdraw from her and jammed his slick cock deep into her twitching asshole.
Tisa jerked, winced and flailed uselessly. Alex cursed above her urgently mounting cries, her curly mane of jet-black hair a wildly swinging curtain. Bodies slick with sweat, they thrust and writhed in unison until they came explosively. When Tisa’s frenetic cries became full-blown death-knell screams, Alex clamped his hand over her mouth while he groaned, spasmed and collapsed on top of her.
Gasping for breath amidst a sweaty tangle of limbs, Alex felt a spur of irritation when he heard the incessant trill of his phone. Blinking like a stunned animal, Tisa slithered from beneath him and cast him a reproachful glance.
“Querida, but this is too much,” Tisa said. “You could at least turn the volume off. If you want sound while we fuck at least put on some music.”
As always, when she was upset or angry, her accent became heavier, an occurrence that Alex noted seemed to be happening all too frequently these days. He rose, stepped from the shower and hurried toward the phone, which stopped ringing the moment he picked it up.
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