My phone is probably ringing off the hook right now with women wanting my dick. But I have it on silent for the purposes of this meeting.
“Did you want to go down to Manny’s and have a drink?” Ron asks, referencing the ritzy bar on the first floor of the building where the firm’s office is located. He stands up. “It’s happy hour. Ruby, can you finish up the filing work while we’re gone?”
“No thank you,” I tell him.
I don’t drink. I don’t smoke. I don’t do drugs. I don’t fuck women I work with.
I didn’t get to be the billionaire CEO of several different companies by lacking discipline. I’m stronger than any of these other guys, both physically and mentally. I don’t need crutches such as booze or pills to get me through my day.
Plus, I don’t want to have beers and chit chat with Ron. That would only give him an opportunity to try to schmooze me and charge me more money for whatever arrangement we end up agreeing upon.
I like to keep things short, sweet and to the point. My time is money— especially when lawyers bill by the hour. Sure, I doubt he’d charge me to go have a drink with him— he’d probably even pick up the tab on his firm’s credit card— but I don’t like to get into the habit of having long conversations with my lawyer. The only place that can lead is to higher legal bills in the future.
“Okay, well,” he says, sitting back down. “We can stay here then.”
Yes. We can.
“As I was saying,” I continue, finally. “I appreciate the fact that you’ve taken on my humble case. This little toy company of mine is very near and dear to my heart—”
“Shall we cut through all this bullshit?” someone interrupts, not even bothering himself with pleasantries before barging into the office with even more bravado than I did just a few minutes ago.
I turn around to face the legend.
“Asher Marks,” I say, standing up from my chair to shake his hand. “I’m Damien Hudson.”
Behind him is yet another young lady— Asher is probably banging his secretary as well. Asher started this firm and his aura clearly announces that he thinks he can do what he wants around here. Sure, he had the help of Cameron Sanchez and Jameson Reed when he founded it but he’s the big moneymaker.
I came to Ron to work on my case because he’s a nice guy and I know he’ll be sympathetic to my plight. I’ve heard that Asher is a good man underneath the tough exterior but I also know he’d try to gouge me for all the money I own— which is a whole hell of a lot— when it comes to attorneys’ fees for this case or any others I might have.
“I know who you are,” Asher says, nodding. “And I know you know who I am. This is an associate at our firm, and my fiancé, Madilyn St. Clair, and she has been helping on your case.”
How very fucking presumptuous of him, I think, but then I realize what he just said about his associate Madilyn.
“Your fiancé?” I ask, quizzically.
“Yes, in addition to being an associate here at the firm, Madilyn is also my fiancé
This must be a joke, I think. But no one appears to be laughing. I look around wondering if there’s some hidden candid camera. Asher looks very fucking serious. In fact, he looks very proud.
I look at Ron, trying hard not to let my mouth hang open in surprise.
I know that in law firms it’s relatively common place to have a secret or even open affair with one’s secretary or underling. But proposing marriage to them is pretty damn rare. This isn’t the Mad Men era when you had to protect a young woman’s reputation and marry her if you slept with her.
Ron is looking back at me with a face nearly as earnest and proud as Asher’s.
“Don’t tell me—” I begin, looking at the young woman sitting in the chair beside me and then back to Ron “—you two are engaged to be married as well?”
“Not yet,” Ron says.
Asher laughs as if he thinks my surprise is funny.
“Ruby is also Ron’s legal assistant, and a damn good one at that,” Asher says. “Now let’s get down to business.”
“I’m only here to meet with—” I begin.
“—Ron,” Asher finishes my sentence for me. “You came to meet with Ron about the costs to continue your legal representation. I know that, but we’re a package deal. And we want to let you know our hourly rate and increased retainer amount requirements up front, so that there are no surprises going forward.”
“Now look,” I protest. “I’ve told you. This is a humble company. I make toys for children with disabilities.”
“Well, as you know, Ruby here found out otherwise,” Asher says, pointing at the legal assistant sitting next to me.
“I’m sorry— Ruby?” I ask, not able to believe my ears. A secretary knows more about my company than they do?
I see Ruby and Madilyn exchange a look that comes close to an outright wink. Fuck. Women these days. They really do run the fucking world.
“Yes,” Ruby says. “I’m the one that found out that your main company holds a lot of subsidiary entities. I know your net worth. You’re not just a small toy making company. You have a lot of other business ventures as well.”
I still can’t believe they found all of this out about me. I go to great lengths to make my business dealings and financial holdings private. And now I’m really flabbergasted to know that this broad is the one who did the snooping.
“Let’s just say you’re right about that,” I tell her. “Without agreeing to it…”
“You’re starting to sound like a lawyer yourself,” Ron says, with a smug smile. “But go on. Let’s just say that.”
“I only need the firm’s help on this one issue,” I continue. “It really does involve the toy company. And the toy company is my smallest venture by far. A labor of love really.”
The four of them exchange glances, as if distrusting me. What the hell kind of firm have I hired? One where everyone couples up and then gangs up on new clients, apparently.
“Nice appeal to our emotions but our rate is $500 an hour,” Asher says, so quickly that I do a double take. “We were helping you pro bono for a while to earn your trust and because you keep insisting your toy company is nothing big. But the free ride is up and so are our rates. That’s our going price. It’s the amount all our other clients pay and you have more money than most of them. So take it or leave it.”
“Ron—” I say, hoping that the more rational partner will have some sense and see the light.
But he just shrugs.
“I wish I could help you out, Damien,” he says, with a shrug. “But our rate is our rate. I know you came to us for a reason. You want the very best legal representation that there is. And we provide that for you.”
Damn. Ron has grown some balls since I first met him while playing golf with him at the country club. That’s when I initially let him know I needed his legal help, and he was a lot more mild-mannered.
I have a feeling that the lady to my right with the dyed purple streaks in her hair has something to do with his new and improved attitude.
Fucking women do that to a man. They change him. For some men, like Ron, it’s a good thing. But not for me.
I already have everything I need— I certainly don’t need a woman to change me for the worse. I like my life and my attitude just fine the way it is.
“Well, my toy making company is of meager means and cannot afford that,” I tell him, returning his shrug. “I wish it were as simple as digging into one pocket to find money to fund the other empty pocket. But you guys do commercial litigation. Business law. Patent disputes.”
I shrug, not really knowing what all kind of law they do. But I do know it’s lucrative enough to make them the biggest law firm in Albuquerque and one of the biggest ones in the Southwest United States. And that they’ve been perfectly competent at the work they’ve handled for me.
But now a large patent lawsuit is gearing up against my toy making division and I need them to do more work for me and they kno
w it. They’ve got me over a barrel.
“You know how it is,” I continue. “I can’t fund anything from my other ventures or the other side would be able to pierce the liability shield. I can only use the money that the company has and it really isn’t as big as you think it is.”
Unlike my balls, I think, as I stare at the forlorn look on all four of their faces. They’re bigger than yours are.
They didn’t expect me to turn them down. They thought they had me right where they wanted me. But no one has me anywhere I don’t want to be.
They think I need them more than they need me. They’re wrong. Sure, they’ve done good work for me and I know they can help me on my big case. But I also know that running a big, fancy-looking firm like this isn’t cheap.
They need whatever money they can get from me. And I didn’t get to where I am by giving up my money that easily. They’re going to have to do better than that, or kiss my money’s ass goodbye.
I nod at all of them.
“It was very nice finally meeting you in person.” I nod at the men, and then at the women. “I hope that both of you couples have very nice ‘happily ever afters’ together. But I must be going now.”
As I turn to walk out the door, I hear Ron calling after me “Wait, Damien, don’t go.”
“Damien, Damien, Damien,” Asher chimes in, trying to sound nonplussed even though I know he’s shitting bricks at losing my business. “You know we’re all just negotiating here. Let’s work something out—”
“Nope,” I say, as I walk out the door of Ron’s office, while they still try to call out to me to come back.
Let them beg and plead and fall all over themselves chasing me down the hallway trying to get me back in there. They’ll just make fools of themselves.
Asher’s right. We’re negotiating. And I’m a better fucking negotiator than they are. I learned a long time ago that the best negotiation tactic is a willingness to walk.
And walking is what I’m doing. Until I run right into one of the sexiest fucking girls I have ever seen.
“Ouch,” she cries, dropping the legal files that are in her hands.
“I’m so sorry,” I tell her. “Here, let me.”
I bend down and pick up her files but I can’t stop staring up at her face.
What is it about this fucking law firm? I can’t help but wonder. Do they only hire absolute goddesses who make men want to trade their soul— and their wallets— for the privilege of being close to them?
The two women in Ron’s office— Madilyn and Ruby, I think their names were— were typical lookers but in my personal opinion— which is all that fucking matters, of course— this girl I’ve just bumped into is head and shoulders above them or any other girl here. I don’t just mean that literally— she’s tall; she should play basketball or volleyball but she looks like more of the bookish type, with her horn-rimmed cat-eyed glasses and her blonde bangs nearly covering her eyes— but figuratively, too.
Those eyes are still managing to peek out at me despite everything trying to cover them up, and they’re a beautiful shade of light green, like a field that goes for miles and miles that I could just fucking get lost in. And speaking of things I’d like to get lost in, she’s got curves that go for miles too, and they’re in all the right places.
“I’m Damien,” I tell her, reaching out to hand her the files.
“Katie,” she says, looking flustered, as she takes the files from my hand. “Sorry. I’m Katie. And I’m a bit of a mess considering you just ran into me like that.”
Her own hands might as well be an electric fence. Both because they send a jolt of electricity throughout my entire body and also because they should be marked “Danger, danger— do not get too close, do not touch.”
“I’m sorry about that,” I tell her, and as she blushes I realize I’m having the same effect on her that she’s having on me. “I didn’t see you. I was in a rush to leave.”
Holy fucking fuck. I just literally ran into the woman of my dreams. And that is not a good thing. Because I don’t dream about sweet innocent looking girls like this. My dreams would be more like a nightmare to her.
I’d only corrupt her. I’d like to tie her up and lick her from her neck to her toes while she shivers with anticipation.
I’d like to bite her nipples and then her clit until she begs me to take her. And then I’d like to pound the fuck out of her with my huge cock that is already getting hard just from looking at her and standing this close to her.
She couldn’t handle me. I would tear her to shreds.
“My apologies, again, for that,” I tell her, as I rush to the door, glad I didn’t make a deal with the outrageously expensive Ron and Asher.
I can’t be in here again. Because if I’m being honest with myself, I must admit that I don’t think I could handle this Katie girl either.
Sure, my cock could— my cock could handle any woman and leave them whimpering, out of breath but still begging me to fuck them all over again. But my heart’s a different matter.
I don’t give that to anyone. And certainly not to someone who makes me feel powerless just by standing in front her of her.
She would do me in. And I don’t get done in by anyone.
I’m Damien Hudson, self-made billionaire and master of self control. I have got to get out of this place and make sure I never see that beautiful creature again.
Chapter 4 – Katie
When I get home, I take a few big hits from my vape pen and give myself a little pep talk before getting out of my car.
You can survive the crazy circus. Just a few more months.
Even though my job is boring, sometimes I wish I could stay there forever. At least at the office, I’m free to do what I want: help Jim when he actually needs my help, read my many books when he doesn’t, even smoke weed although now I’m relegated to doing it in my car, which isn’t too much different from how things are at home.
Except at home, I not only have to hide my dirty little weed smoking habit but pretty much everything about myself, too. I’m nineteen years old and I still live with my parents. How fucking embarrassing.
The reason I don’t have many hobbies is that there isn’t much they let me do. Books have always been my best friends before I met Ruby. I also watch movies on my iPad or tablet since my parents don’t believe in TV. And I even taught myself to sew and embroider to pass the time.
Yeah, I’m a regular little house on the prairie dweller. But I need to get out of here because it’s driving me crazy. I just need to save up the money.
Luckily the law firm pays legal assistants— even newer ones like myself— pretty damn well. I started out as a “floater”— a temporary assistant who fills in where needed— and was pretty happy in that position since it was light on responsibility and heavy on free time.
And they still paid even the floating position pretty well so that I could save my money and get out of my parents’ house. I had no complaints. Life was pretty smooth sailing. Then they promoted me to being Jim’s secretary because no one gets to hang out in the sweet spot of being a floater forever.
At first I dreaded extra work and responsibility— I had no idea what I was doing and was sure I was going to someone commit malpractice even though I’m not even licensed to practice law— but it turned out to be an even easier gig. And it paid even better— much better, in fact— than the floater position had.
So now I’m coasting along in the slightly faster but still slow lane at work. You know, the one where you’re not sure if you should scotch on over to the right to let the cars behind you go faster, or if it’s worth putting pedal to the metal a little bit and joining the cruisers in the far left lane, risking speeding tickets and pile-on accidents.
People keep asking me what I’m going to do next, but change is fucking scary and increases my already- present anxiety, so I usually say nothing, even though I want to say it’s none of their damn business. The next step up would be a paralegal but th
at seems like way too much work although they’re paid even more.
I don’t even like the legal field. I’m just doing this to save money, get out of here, and figure out what I might want to do next. So for the time being, I’m happy with where I’m at in life— a concept I’ve found that most other people have a hard time grasping.
If they’re not striving towards the Next Best Thing or working towards some Perfect Vision of the Future they might never have, people just don’t seem content. It takes a pothead like me to have these deep, profound thoughts and to be happy with the here and now, when I’m not freaking out with anxiety or depressed over circumstances beyond my control.
Speaking of circumstances beyond my control, I need to go face my crazy family. I reach into the consul and grab the little bottle of Febreze fabric spray and apply a generous portion of mist all over my clothes and skin.
It’s probably overkill, because it seems my parents wouldn’t recognize the smell of pot if it wafted over to them and said, “Hi, I’m of the Devil.” But if they did find out what I was doing, they would probably make me go give a public apology to the entire congregation. So I try to stay on the safe side.
My dad is a pastor. We have to live in the parsonage house right beside the church where he preaches. So we’re always under scrutiny from the congregants. And we’re always reminded of that fact and told we must be on very best behavior. Hence my anxiety.
Anyone in my situation would need to smoke pot to calm down. I can’t even tie my shoe without my dad looking out the window to see if some neighbor is watching and judging how far my skirt rides up my knee as I tie it.
Now, as I walk into the house my little brothers are running around shooting each other with Nerf guns while my slightly younger sister is practicing her piano lessons. She’s still fully indoctrinated and plays the organ for church services. Obviously we have nothing in common.
“Hi,” I yell to my mom, who is cooking dinner in the kitchen and who strains to hear me over my sister’s pounding of the keys and production of the music notes.
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