7
1429 Words
Adonis Praxis Edward.
I shut my laptop the moment the footage ends.
Was I like that when I was younger? That clumsy. Desperate to have a woman’s breasts in my mouth, clumsy hands everywhere, acting like that was all there was to intimacy? I genuinely can’t remember and that alone annoys me.
That’s why I sent Chris in, told him to step in and shut it down. Just like I told him to go to the public library and set up a camera in the study room so I could listen. So I could hear every word Maddison said. In case she lied again.
I lean back and exhale slowly.
What sticks with me isn’t the boy. He’s irrelevant. A background character at best.
It’s her.
The way she looked at him like he was a stranger she’d accidentally sat too close to. Like she was tolerating him, not wanting him. That’s not exciting. That’s not desire. I remember girls when I was a teenager. They were all over me. I had abs, confidence, presence. They practically lined up to date me. If I had them alone, they jumped on me.
Maddison didn’t look like that. She looked appalled when he touched her.
If anything, I helped her by ending that situation.
Of course, spying in the first place wasn’t exactly moral but morality has never built empires. I operate on control, not apologies.
Still, I swallow, irritated with myself for noticing details I shouldn’t have noticed.
About how her breasts looked when he pulled her top off. How perfect they were in that bra. Ivory skin, soft, full…glowing. The boy was an amateur and I’m not supposed to be thinking about her at all.
“Sir?”
Estella’s voice pulls me back.
I glance up. “Hmm.”
“Your personal assistant from the office is here.”
My jaw tightens. “I didn’t ask her to come in person. It’s Christmas. I told her to get on the line.”
Even as I say it, I know exactly what happened. Any woman in my company will gladly misinterpret instructions if it means standing in the same room as me.
I click my tongue, annoyed.
“Let her in since she’s already here.”
I stand, straighten my cuffs, and move away from my desk toward the sitting area of the office. Leather chairs.
Emily walks in wearing a thin pencil skirt and a blouse that dips just enough to make sure I notice her cleavage.
“Hello, sir.”
“I didn’t ask to see you physically. I may be demanding as a boss, but not enough to steal your Christmas. You should be with your family.”
“Oh.” She blinks, lashes heavy with mascara. “I must have thought—”
“It’s fine. We’ll discuss it here and be done. Are there any job vacancies in my office?”
“Uh… no. You have a personal secretary, an assistant, finance, legal—”
“I need a small opening. Something basic. Someone who picks up phones.”
“You already have a receptionist, sir.” She smiles again, then tilts her head. “Is it for your daughter? You want to teach her some early work ethics?”
“No. It’s for someone else. Her name is Maddison Lorenzo. She’s a new college student. Ivy League scholarship. I want her to have a clean, standard résumé before she starts looking for real work. Find a role for her…I don’t know, shift a quarter of someone’s workload and le tMaddison handle it.”
Emily writes it down immediately. “Maddison Lorenzo. When does she start?”
“After today ends.”
“All right. Anything else, sir?”
“That’s all. My driver can take you home.”
“Oh, it’s fine.” she says, standing. “I drove.”
She smooths her skirt as she moves, hips swaying deliberately, waiting for my eyes to follow. They don’t. I’ve seen this performance too many times since the divorce of my wife. Women mistaking attention for power.
When she realizes she isn’t getting either, she leaves.
A moment later, I hear the rev of the new car I bought for Myron. god, I hope I didn’t make a mistake dropping four hundred and fifty thousand on that sports car.
But the boy’s been making championships with his hockey team, carving a name for himself outside of my shadow with headlines that don’t end with Adonis Edward’s son. He made me proud. The gift reflects that.
And Fuchsia… Birkins. She’s exactly like her mother. Speaking of which, I can’t believe I agreed to host some family. Two things I despise: people, and people who leech. My relatives are a masterclass in both.
I would have to open my arms to extended family or as I call them…parasites dressed as relatives, waiting for an excuse to sit at my table and drain what they didn’t build.
I decide I need air before they cost me my sanity.
I leave my office with a cigarette between my fingers and start down the massive central staircase, smoke curling lazily as the house breathes Christmas lights, pine, excess. At the same time, Maddison steps inside.
She pauses near the door, staring at the giant Christmas tree where Fushia’s presents boxes are still arranged.
Maddison looks… misplaced. I clock it instantly. Christmas like this, surrounded by strangers and money that isn’t yours…of course it stings.
She finally turns to leave, clearly deciding invisibility is safer, but at the foot of the stairs she sees me coming down. I watch her hesitate, one foot lifting, then setting back down. Regret flashes across her face. She should’ve taken the elevator or disappeared faster.
Instead, she straightens. Pride over fear.
She grips the strap of her bag tighter and walks toward me, chin lifted, pretending she isn’t walking straight into a lion’s path.
She almost passes me while I smoke, and then—
She speaks.
“I would like to return the clothes Fushia got me. Estella told me my clothes from my apartment are here now, so it’s only right I give them back.”
I don’t even slow down.
“Keep them. It’s not like you received anything special for Christmas.”
I already know what she got. A lamp. Cheap. Thoughtless. Something a boy whose father sells motors grabs without spending a hundred bucks.
I’m already walking away when she speaks again. “With all due respect, I did receive something.”
Smoke curls from my lips as I turn my head just enough to look at her. “What? That silly little lamp?”
“Excuse me?”
The look in her eyes is as if I just told her that heaven doesn’t exist. s**t. I’m not supposed to let her know that I know that. Now she’s gonna wonder how I know that—
“Excuse you—what?”
“How… how do you know that?”
The corner of the lamp peeks from her bag and I point at it with the hand holding my cigarette. “It’s right there.”
Her face changes when she realizes it’s showing then it becomes less pale.
“I’ll gather the clothes Fushia got me.” she says stiffly. “I’ll give them back to Estella.”
“I said keep them.”
“I don’t want anything from you.”
I stop smiling. “Do I have to repeat myself?”
I step toward her and really that’s all it takes.
Her shoulders fold inward like something fragile collapsing under pressure. She doesn’t step back but she doesn’t look at me either. Her eyes fix on the last step between us, like it’s safer than meeting my gaze.
“It is my gift to you.” I say in a final tone. “Accept it and later, you’ll give me your school timetable. I’ll tell you what time to arrive for your job at my office.”
I hear her sniff.
Her nose is red, though I’m not sure she’s crying. I haven’t touched her. I haven’t raised my voice or one anything unreasonable.
She turns abruptly and bolts up the remaining stairs, nearly colliding with Estella on the way.
“I—I’m sorry.” she blurts out as she passes.
“Ugh,” Estella mutters, then catches sight of me and wisely swallows whatever else she intended to say.
I turn and continue on my way, smoke still burning between my fingers.
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- Writer
