Chapter 5: Whenever you want, wherever you want.
1789 Words
Franco Rossi, standing like a statue, gazed out of the enormous window in his office, taking in the city view. His left hand was casually in his pocket, and he held a glass of brandy in the other. His mind was busy trying to figure out if the woman in the suite was telling the truth.
"Am I making the right call?" he pondered with skepticism, letting out a scoff. A man accustomed to always getting what he wanted, and when it came to women, he was no different. However, the unexpected rejection from Sarah, his long-time girlfriend, had left him unsettled. His gaze darkened entirely.
"You'll pay for this, Sarah," he growled, taking another sip of his drink. "You'll come crawling back to me." Thoughts of Susan crossed his mind. The girl was young and stunning, so he knew that when his ex found out about his new fling, she'd retaliate, and he'd humiliate her just as she had humiliated him by rejecting him. Then, once he had her begging, he would return to Sarah and leave Susan alone. At least, that was the plan he had in mind.
Suddenly, the office door swung open, and a man of the same age, impeccable in appearance with blond hair and blue eyes, walked in carrying a leather briefcase.
"Hey, Franco, good afternoon," he greeted politely, using his first name as they were acquainted. "I took the liberty of coming in since I didn't spot Margaret outside."
"Hello, Mike, no problem. My assistant is on a mission," he informed, gesturing for him to sit. "What's the latest on George Miller?"
"The girl didn't lie to you. Her father is indeed in prison, facing fraud charges," he reported and settled into a chair. "He claims innocence, but there are documents with his signature on them."
Franco rubbed his chin in contemplation.
"Do you think he's telling the truth?"
Mike cleared his throat.
"A guy accused of fraud usually has properties under other people's names and money stashed abroad. But he doesn't. He has investments abroad, in real estate projects. His conduct has always been decent; he appears to be an upright man."
Franco recalled Susan's words.
"Tayler set a trap for my dad!"
"Do you believe he was set up?"
"It's a possibility. His right-hand man is someone who lived with him for years, raised like a son, and he's the one who reported him. His name is Tayler Jones," he mentioned.
Franco nodded, reclining in his chair.
"Investigate this Tayler guy, and take care of Mr. Miller. Can he be released on bail?"
"Yes, he's eligible for bail, but the amount is substantial, and he doesn't have the funds. This Tayler guy drained everything from him."
Franco scratched his chin again.
"Why would a man who was given everything do this?" he wondered, furrowing his brows in thought.
"I don't know. I need to meet with Mr. George Miller," Mike stated.
"And does the daughter's testimony hold up?" Franco asked.
"Absolutely," Mike affirmed.
Franco cleared his throat, picked up his phone, and called his assistant.
"Margaret, tell Susan that I'll be up with the lawyer in twenty minutes. Make sure she's ready."
"Yes, sir," the girl replied.
Mike observed Franco closely, still deep in thought.
"If you don't mind me asking, what's the interest in the Miller family, especially Susan?"
Franco rose, poured a whisky for his friend.
"The less you know, the better. I can only tell you it's business. By the way, I need you to prepare a promissory note for five million dollars. The debtor is Susan Miller."
"Five million!" Mike exclaimed, nearly choking on his drink.
"It's just a precautionary measure," Franco said, smirking.
****
In the suite, while Franco went downstairs to his office, Margaret had called an exclusive women's clothing store to bring over several outfits for Susan.
For Susan, all of this was nothing out of the ordinary because her mother used to have the entire store delivered to their home, and there in the garden, while drinking champagne, she would choose her best attire.
Susan didn't want to take advantage of Mr. Rossi's generosity; she only picked what was necessary.
"Is that all?" Margaret asked, frowning. "My boss won't be pleased that you only picked that," she pointed with her hand.
"I don't need anything else," Susan replied, looking at the store's employee and smiling. "That's all, thank you."
The girl looked at Margaret, expecting further orders, but Margaret asked them to leave. As they were removing the rolling racks, the woman's phone rang.
"Yes, sir, I'll let her know," she hung up and then looked at Susan. "The lawyer will come up in twenty minutes; you need to get dressed."
Susan let out a hopeful sigh. She longed to hear some good news. She gathered the bags with the clothes and went to the bedroom. A few minutes later, Susan in the bedroom heard male voices in the living room; she knew that Franco and the lawyer had arrived. She took a deep breath while looking at herself once again in the mirror, then went out to greet them.
Franco was pouring two glasses of brandy when he heard the footsteps in the hallway. He turned to look, and his lips parted; he stood still, contemplating her beauty.
Susan was wearing light blue jeans, clinging to her slim figure, she matched her outfit with a white silk blouse, which fit snugly on her slim torso. The buttons were open at the bust level, and she looked much taller in those beige high-heeled stilettos. Her long brown hair fell over her back, she wasn't wearing any makeup, but she didn't need it; she was beautiful without needing to do too much.
"She's so beautiful!" Franco thought, never taking his eyes off her.
"Good afternoon," he greeted, his tone of voice soft.
Mike discreetly surveyed the girl. Susan was very beautiful and too young for his friend's tastes. He raised an eyebrow and observed Franco enchanted by the girl; he quickly drew his own conclusions.
Franco cleared his throat to make sure she noticed his presence. Susan turned her head, looked at him, and her attention returned to the strange man, who was supposed to be the lawyer.
"He is Mike, my personal lawyer. He is here to talk to you about your father's case."
Susan's eyes lit up, and her heart beat quickly.
"Did he see him?" she asked anxiously.
"Not yet, miss. I hadn't taken the case yet. I just went to the prosecutor's office to familiarize myself with the accusation."
"My dad is innocent," Susan said firmly, "it was Tayler; he's the guilty one."
Mike cleared his throat, took the glass of whiskey that Franco had served him in his hands.
"Why are you so sure that man planned everything?" Rossi inquired, with his deep, masculine voice that sent shivers down Susan's spine.
The woman sat on one of the armchairs, in front of both gentlemen; she felt intimidated, as if she were the accused one. Their gazes on her skin made her shiver.
"Tayler told me that my dad was responsible for ruining his family, but that's not true either," Susan emphasized, "our families were very close; my parents were best friends with his parents. That's why when they committed suicide and left him alone, we took care of him." Her voice broke, and she held back the tears that were trying to escape from her eyes.
"Did you ever suspect his intentions?" Mike asked.
Susan shook her head.
"Never!" the young woman replied, wiping her tears with the back of her hand. "He always showed great loyalty to us. My dad loved him like a son; that's why he trusted him blindly." She sobbed, "We could never have imagined that it was all a lie, that for years he was plotting this plan to destroy us."
"Why didn't he file a complaint if he had those suspicions?" Franco questioned Mike.
"It seems to be more of a revenge. I need to interview Mr. Miller and learn more about the facts," he informed.
"Can I see him?" Susan asked desperately, her eyes filled with tears, and she looked at the lawyer, eager.
"It's late, and I don't think they allow visits," the lawyer announced.
Susan lowered her head, nodded, feeling a burning sensation in her chest. Franco looked at the expression full of sadness on the woman's face, and how thick tears ran down her cheeks. He took a deep breath.
"Get a special permit; you can do it," he ordered Mike.
Susan lifted her face; her eyes flickered. She looked at Franco in a special way; their eyes met, and that look full of tenderness moved him. Then she shook her head and focused her attention elsewhere.
Mike stood up.
"I'll make a call; give me a few minutes."
The lawyer left; Susan clasped her hands together, waiting for a positive answer. Franco didn't say a word; he just drank his whiskey. Then, about ten minutes later, Mike returned to the living room.
"You can see him, Susan," he announced. "We must go, now."
Susan felt her heart about to burst out of her chest. She stood up abruptly, ran to the bedroom for her purse, and in a matter of seconds, she was ready.
"I'm ready," she stated, thinking that only she and the lawyer would go, but it wasn't the case.
"I'll accompany you," Franco said with his strong, masculine voice.
"I'll go ahead," Mike informed.
Then Susan remembered who she owed the possibility of visiting her father. Before leaving, she approached Franco.
"Thank you," she said, hugged him without giving him time to react, and then kissed his cheek with tenderness. "This means so much to me; my dad is everything to me," she confessed.
Franco stood still, completely shaken, as no woman had ever accomplished before. Susan's words moved him, as they shared a common feeling: love for their parents.
"You have nothing to thank for," he kindly stated. The tone of his gaze softened, and she felt her legs tremble.
"We'll talk about this," she almost stammered, abruptly stepping back upon realizing the closeness of their bodies and that he had embraced her. "I...," she bit her lower lip, "it was the emotion. I'm sorry; I shouldn't have touched you."
Franco tilted his lips, his deep and cold gaze fixed on her, but this time with a glimmer that shook her.
"We have no rules; you can touch me as much as you want, whenever you want, and however you desire," he spoke in a husky voice, "just as I can do it with you." And that last sentence sounded like a verdict.
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