“Are you sure?” Nate raises a brow. “You’ll handle the civil side of this case, considering that Sandra Bell is demanding compensation.”
“Yes, but the criminal case might happen right after this and I can assist Sandra.”
“You’re well aware that this case will be media-heavy, not only because of the nature of the lawsuit but also due to who she’s going against. Matt Bell is a known producer and that makes him a public figure.”
“Which will bring more awareness to these types of cases—and the firm, of course. It doesn’t matter who Matt Bell is, I’m going to crush him and his lawyer.”
Aspen gives me a little smile. Despite her behind-the-scenes role, she doesn’t miss a chance to give scums what they deserve. “My little elves tell me the prosecutor will be charging him with a Class B violent felony for the sexual abuse.”
“Since she’s related to him by blood, the opposing counsel will argue for a Class E felony. Then they’ll easily get him put on probation and it’ll be as if it never happened.” Nate is stating facts in his cool tone that’s slightly provocative, as he does in court. “That’s if the prosecutor finds proof of the sexual assault. If it turns into a his-word-versus-hers scenario, who do you think will come out of it unscathed?”
“Not that lowlife, for sure.”
“He already got bail for the criminal case, so it’s not looking good,” he says.
“Then I will change things to my favor. I’ll even find evidence to force the prosecutor’s hand.”
“I wouldn’t be so cocky if I were you.” Aspen crosses her legs. “Reginald Pearce himself is representing Matt Bell. Not to mention that the DA appointed Gerard as the prosecutor and he’s besties with Pearce & Powers.”
“Thanks for all the depressing news, Aspen, but as I said, I don’t give a fuck who I go up against. It might as well be the Supreme Court and I will still fuck them over.” I smile at that.
And no, Anastasia didn’t play a part in my decision. Fine, maybe a little, but it’s more for me.
She gave me a genius idea earlier.
This is another chance to fuck up the system that left gigantic loopholes for predators like Matt Bell to take advantage of.
“Even the mafia?” It’s Nate who asks.
“The mafia?”
“Russian mafia. Matt uses his position in showbiz to launder their dirty money and bring them profitable ventures, among other things.”
I grow silent.
Aspen fixates me with a smug look. “Want me to take over?”
“Fuck no. The mafia’s involvement will make this even more fun.”
“You mean, dangerous. This is a bad idea for your first large-scale case.”
“You forgot something, Nate. I love bad ideas.”
Like Anastasia.
She’s the worst idea of all, but all I’m thinking about is keeping her coming for more.
11
ANASTASIA
I know I said I’m not the type who gives up, but convincing Knox to change his mind is harder than I thought.
I wish his brain was a computer I could hack into and alter its wires, maybe leave a malware there to pay him back for being an asshole.
Unfortunately, I’m out of my depth and definitely not dealing with a computer. He’s a man, a beautiful jerk at that. A jerk who knows which buttons of mine to push and which will set me on fire.
I’ve never dealt with men before. Yes, I’ve been surrounded by them all my life, but they only ever treated me like a princess. One with no crown and no say in anything.
My interactions with them were few and far between, so I’m absolutely clueless about how to persuade a man—or a woman, to be completely honest.
Sometimes, I feel so helpless that I consider running again, disappearing again to where no one can find me. Especially Knox.
But that would mean I’d have to abandon Sandra and that’s just too similar to abandoning my mother.
I can’t even consider that option, so I have to stay, despite my struggles, despite the constant irritation and strange arousal I feel every time Knox and I speak to each other.
As of now, all I’m able to do is hold on to the perseverance I thought I had tons of.
It was implemented in my upbringing, in the life that was chosen for me.
Turns out, there are limits to that, too, because Knox is a fucking manipulator.
There’s this thing he invented that’s called “convincing sessions.” They all happen in that supply room he caught me in three days ago. They all start with his hand around my throat and end with me on the floor or against the wall as he wrenches violent pleasure out of me.
Then he uses my mouth and marks me with his cum.
“I’m still not convinced. Try harder tomorrow.” Are his words after we finish.
Or more like, he finishes, because I’m a marionette in his hands. A doll he can do whatever he pleases with. I probably should fight harder, push him away, and stop this endless loop.
But what’s the point when I can’t remove him from my head? Not only that, but I’ve also started looking forward to coming to work, to being cornered by him. I’ve even grown fond of that small nook that I was going to use as my hideout for when I do research on the life I left behind. Or when I used the firm’s servers to learn more about what’s going on between its walls.
And maybe, just maybe, that first taste I had a few weeks ago has turned me into an addict. Maybe I’m craving more of it and stupidly telling myself “one more time.”
But he’s keeping me on the edge. He hasn’t fucked me, and I’m sure it’s not because there isn’t a condom.
It’s a game of his, something that he enjoys doing to make me frustrated.
But if he thinks I’ll give him the satisfaction of asking for it, he’ll have to wait a long time. We’ll see who will give in first in this game.
God. This is so different from who I am. What I am. I don’t usually let anyone play with me—not that they ever got close enough to do so. But now, the promise itself makes my skin tingle with something I’ve never been allowed to feel before.
Excitement.
And maybe that’s dangerous. Maybe I should say no. But for the life of me, I can’t.
It’s harmless fun. Just sex.
Nothing more. Nothing less.
I plug in my earbuds and hit Play on my “Oldies” playlist. The sound of the eighties and nineties rock music puts me in a serene mood. I’ve always been a lover of vintage music, even though new technology is my jam. I’m a paradox that way.
I rarely listen to my music when I’m working, but ever since I encountered the hostile situation Chad and Ben have been creating, I’ve become religious about it. Not only do I get to enjoy good music, but I also get to tune them out.
Win-win.
I think they’re mostly jealous and while I don’t pay them much attention, I also don’t stay quiet when they start throwing jabs my way. I might not make eye contact with them, but I won’t allow anyone to treat me as if I’m a pushover.
A finger taps my shoulder while I’m typing away and I pause, thinking it’s one of them coming to start shit.
It’s not.
The girl who’s looking down at me smiles widely and holds out a small basket of baked goods. Her name is Gwyneth—or Gwen, as she asked me to call her.
She’s a pre-law student who’s interning at W&S during the summer and we’re the same age. We met two days ago and I had her help me with a new system I was creating. Ever since then, she’s started coming to the IT department frequently because the other interns are avoiding her.
I didn’t know why at the time, but she told me yesterday that she’s actually Kingsley Shaw’s daughter. As in, the Shaw of Weaver & Shaw, and apparently, that makes everyone wary of her. She’s even interning for Nathaniel himself. I know he doesn’t really take interns, but it makes sense since she’s the daughter of his partner, who can’t monitor his daughter due to being in a coma.
I remove my earbuds and offer her a small smile back.
“I brought you cupcakes.” She pushes the basket at my chest. “I had to save some from Daniel. He’s a cupcake monster.”
“Then maybe you shouldn’t make them all the time. I heard everyone wants some now.”