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eighteen

Damien

I arrive outside of Michael Fairchild’s downtown office by noon and stomp on my cigarette as soon as I flick it onto the sidewalk.

I remember the first time that I met him, I was so bothered by the smoke of his cigar, but now, I smoke like a chimney. But I’m not a straightedge anymore, I’ve seen some shit in my time.

And some of that shit was dealt by this man.

I walk past his secretary and she tries to stop me.

“He’s in a meeting-” She cries as she gets up from her desk, but I brush right past her.

“He’s expecting me,” I growl as I fling the young woman with an obscene amount of plastic surgery to the side as I enter his office.

He’s not expecting me, actually. And judging by the way the young redhead falls away frantically from under his desk, I can tell she wasn’t either.

His eyes widen as he spots me, then they narrow as I hear him zip his pants beneath the desk.

Gross bastard.

“Crystal, leave. Now,” he barks and she exits the office immediately, wiping her mouth with her head down as she speeds past me and out the door without meeting my gaze.

I don’t need to look at her. I can feel her shame. This room fucking wreaks of coercion. It always has.

“What do you want?” he growls as he stands to pour himself probably his fifth scotch of the day, not bothering to offer me one.

He hasn’t in quite some time actually. In truth, Michael Fairchild has probably hated me since the day he met me, but he’s definitely despised me since I divorced his eldest daughter.

“Not even a hello?” I flash a fake smile at him as I sit down and cross my leg in his cheap, squeaky leather chair in front of his desk.

He sneers at me from his spot as he sips his drink.

“Did the divorce papers not finalize?” he grumbles and I shake my head at him as I roll up my sleeves.

“Oh, they did. Thank god. Your eldest daughter is quite the pest,” I say with a sinister grin, and his face turns red.

Easy now, don’t have a heart attack, you old fuck.

“Speaking of daughters, how is your youngest? Lucy, right?” I ask, and his eyes narrow on me.

He doesn’t know because he hasn’t spoken to her in years. He left her on the streets pregnant and alone, abused and terrified.

I could kill him for that. I could kill him for many things.

Then again, I abandoned her too. I guess guilt is easy to wash away when you turn a blind eye to it.

“I’m sure she is fine. Why are you here, Reed?” He growls as he sits down and sparks up a cigar.

Why is it only gross when he does it?

“I’m here to collect my money, Senator,” I say, and he scoffs at me.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he says and I lean forward to eye him close with my elbows pressed to my knees.

“I think you know exactly what I’m talking about,” I say, growing more and more irritated by him.

It’s why I’ve put it off for so long. This man infuriates me, mostly because it’s like dealing with a perverted child. I don’t need thirty grand that badly, I just need him out of my hair.

Then again, marrying his youngest daughter won’t solve that. He still wants to sue me, put me under investigation. Because he’s a snoopy bastard.

“Or are you too stacked on other hush money trials to remember our little deal, Michael?” I sneer as he glares at me, knowing damn well he owes me money because I helped fund Megan’s best friend, another woman he fucked and paid to keep quiet about.

“You think you know about everything, don’t you, Reed?” he says, and I shrug.

“I know a lot. Head of Special Forces, remember?” I smirk and he continues to glare at me, except this time, he’s assessing me.

“But you’re not anymore, are you, Reed? As far as I’m concerned, you haven’t been for quite some time.” He puffs on his cigar, confidence exuding because he thinks he has a leg up on me.

But I’m always ready to bring him right back down to Earth.

“No, I’ve been too busy loaning money to people who pay for their daughter’s friend to get an abortion because their dad decided to fuck them,” I retort, and he falls silent instantly.

“Actually,” I remove my phone from my pocket and pull up Lucille’s file before turning the screen to face him.

“I think I have an actual example for you,” I say, his eyes pinned to Lucille’s hush money file that I dug up on him. “This one might be a little close to home too, right?” I taunt.

His eyes stay narrowed and I don’t back down.

“It’d be a shame for this to become public before the end of the year. Really might steer the opinions of some of your younger voters, huh?” I say, and he swallows tightly, eyeing my phone for ages.

Yeah so, marrying his youngest daughter might not stop him from launching the feds at me, but it might be a little difficult to launch an investigation on the husband of his love child. People won’t really want to believe a man who impregnated his underage secretary and then paid her to lie about it.

Then again, he doesn’t know I’m going to take this a step further anyway. I’ll save that surprise for later. I’m still going to oust the bastard, just after Lucille is legally my wife. And definitely after he signs a check right now.

The thirty grand he owes me is just a little bonus.

A fund for his little girl’s wedding day.

“What do you say, Michael?” I grin as he sighs and leans back in his chair, his eyes locked on the ceiling as his hand moves to the drawer of his desk.

“You know, Reed,” he starts as he opens the drawer and pulls out his checkbook.

“I really thought you would make a great son in law,” he says as he writes the check and rips it out, slapping it on his desk with a sour expression on his face.

Oh, trust me, I will.

Again.

I grab the check and put it in the pocket of my suit jacket before straightening and standing tall.

I offer him a smile and a quick nod before I turn on my heel to leave his office.

“It was a pleasure doing business with you, Senator,” I say as I leave.

“Burn in hell,” I hear him mutter as I close his door.

What he doesn’t seem to get is that I’ve been burning for a very long time.

“Bruno,” I bark into the phone as I step into my Audi.

“Tell my event planner to meet me at Terrace in Queens by three. I’ve got some details to smooth out.” I end the call and make my way towards Queens, ready to get this wedding planning shit out of the way.

* * *

When I arrive later that evening, my head is pounding from the day’s events. I cashed the check and immediately gave it to Terrace on The Park, a wedding venue near the East side. With the amount of money that I’m paying both the venue and my event planner, I have no reason to worry about the wedding at all.

Lucille will be married to me in front of all of my friends and employees by the end of this month. She’ll get the dress, the pretty little marriage in the park, the big party in the massive reception area, all of it. Everything that a girl could dream of in my opinion.

Then again, this is not the ideal scenario. But I try not to think about it. Megan planned every single detail of our wedding in Connecticut and it was filled with socialites and politicians. The thought of having that again is enough to make me hurl, but I know it’s impossible. Lucille Fairchild has no one to attend her wedding. No father, or mother, no maid of honor. Then again, I could talk to her little friend she lived with, but I have bigger things to focus on.

Her contentment shouldn’t be my priority, even though a stupid part of my brain wants to please her.

I look to my chef who’s already preparing dinner. The house smells of roast chicken and he hands me a glass of white wine that I try not to swallow in one large gulp.

Jesus, my head.

“Where is she?” I ask as I set the wine glass down on the marble countertop.

He shrugs as he chops carrots on the cutting board, his towel draped over his shoulder. I’ve noticed he and Lucy have taken a liking to each other, and a part of me would be jealous since we’re fucking and she’s mine, but the man is engaged to another man. She’s not really his type.

She shouldn’t even be my type.

“In her room. She didn’t eat lunch when she got back. Just went there and mumbled that she had some studying to brush up on.” He mentions it casually, but I grow suspicious.

It’s unlike her to skip a meal, something I’ve grown fond of. I’ve been around her sister and supermodels for so long, I forgot how sexy it is for a woman to have a normal appetite.

I tug at my tie and remove it with my suit jacket before laying it on a nearby barstool. I make my way down the hall to her door. Not bothering to knock, because this is my fucking house, I try to barge right in.

But it’s locked.

Another first.

“Lucy?” I call out, agitated.

I hear scrambling on the other side, her little mumble to tell me that she’s coming. When she unlocks the door and opens it, her hair is wild and her face is flushed.

She looks…nervous. Aroused even.

My eyes rake her entire body. From her form fitting, low cut black shirt. To her skin tight jeans that are tucked into a pair of brown leather books. She’s casual, but so fucking sexy.

And she’s hiding something from me.

I stalk her then, backing her into the room before I shut the door behind me. When I look around the room, I spot her laptop slightly open on the bed. She watches me as I eye it.

“I was brushing up on my marketing. I only have a month to get my schedule together and the counselor suggested that I start on my thesis since I’m only going part time.” She’s rambling, her voice frantic sounding.

I narrow my eyes and walk to the laptop, opening as she rushes over to me near the bed and grabs my arm.

“Damien, don’t-” she starts, but she’s too late.

I already see it all.

Several tabs open on porn sites, google tabs with the same question reworded over and over again and articles with the same topic of…

How To Give The Best Blow Job.

Jesus, this woman.

“I was…you…I mean earlier today you did…you know and I realized that I haven’t done that for you yet…or anyone for that matter. So I just wanted to make sure…well, I wanted to be sure that I was doing it right or…” She trails off, her cheeks flush with both embarrassment and evident desire.

When I look down, I realize that the brown leather belt of her jeans isn’t latched all the way and her zipper is slightly down.

I want to grin then, but my cock hardens instantly.

“Were you playing with yourself, Lucille?” I growl, all of the blood that was once rushing to my brain is now pulsing through my cock.

The thought of Lucy touching herself to porn is…well, it’s a fucking aphrodisiac.

She drops her head and stares at the floor, hiding her face from me.

I hate that she’s embarrassed. She should feel empowered.

“I just wanted to make sure I knew how to please you,” she whispers and I’m lost right then and there because those words send me over the goddamn edge.

I drop the laptop on the comforter and grab her chin with my hand, forcing her to meet my eyes.

“Get on the bed,” I growl and her eyes search mine before she sits down in front of me on the edge of the bed, her eyes now level with my hardened dick.

I trace her lips with my thumb as I cup her jaw, she really is so beautiful.

I’m in deep with this one.

Deep shit that is.

“Your first lesson starts now,” I growl out as she smirks at me, stealing yet another frozen piece of my heart away from me.

Deep, deep shit.