Love Regardless: A Billionaire BWWM Pregnancy Romance (6 page)

“
What do you want?” His voice was
thick with years of smoking and sounded groggy and tired. I guessed
that if we were avoiding pleasantries than I could jump straight in.

“
I need to know what you experienced, the
night of the
Rouge Rooms
fire – your son told me you were there.”

“
You know my son?” He sounded
surprised, though his voice gave nothing away. His eyes narrowed
slightly at the word
son
.

“
Yes. He works for my firm
Greyson
Iron Lawyers
now as a legal assistant
intern.”

Mr. Teller nodded at that, dismissively. I probably shouldn’t
have ever mentioned that.

“
Why do you want to know about that night?”
He asked as a bang from outside made me jump. He chuckled darkly at
that and I sighed, knowing I had just shown how distinctly
untough
I was.

I feel like slapping him for his rudeness.

“
Because,” I pressed on defiantly. “I
am defending Elliot Cresham – the man accused of starting the
fire, in court in the coming months. I’m sure you’ve
heard of it.” Even across the Brooklyn Bridge.

If I had thought Mr. Teller was unresponsive until then I was gravely
mistaken. His eyes widen and his chest swelled as he peered at me
indignantly. He huffed and puffed for a moment further before he
found his words.

“
How dare you come into my home and have the
audacity to ask such a question?!” He bellowed, rising to his
feet, still blustering like a bitten chicken. I rose too, startled
with the reaction I had provoked. It suddenly struck me that, as old
he was, he was nearly a foot taller than me and twice as broad. I
took a wary step backwards, thinking of the phone in my pocket -
maybe I should have called Charlie, just so that someone would have
come with me.

“
I’m sorry – I never meant to
upset you, I was just trying to build a case-” I scrambled,
trying to remain calm despite the fact that the man looked like he
was about to have a heart attack at any moment.

Mr. Teller let out a breath which was wrought with tension. He looked
down at himself, as though realizing for the first time that he was
shouting at a woman that was no more than a girl.

He took a step backwards, breathing slowing and I let out a small
sigh of relief.

“
What I saw was him there. I saw him leaving
through the backdoor before bolting it shut. It was dark but I saw
his hair. I know he did it because the backdoor was the first door I
tried.” He said, his voice was almost hissing. Before I could
say anything else he reached over with his right hand and tugged his
left sleeve – exposing his forearm. The skin was a marred mess
of molten flesh that had cooled but was still red raw. “I have
that, all over my back too. Wanna see?” His eyes flash as he
grins into my face. I wince under the wave of breath that followed
me.

He’s goading me.

We looked at each other. I went for as long as possible without
blinking – I didn’t want to miss a single change in his
expression.

“
Why were you there at all?” My voice
was a squeak – far from the strong steel I required – I
was an embarrassing excuse for a lawyer right in that moment. “No
one else was hurt because the place was empty.”

I knew I was pushing my luck by the look in Mr. Teller’s ash
color eyes.

“
Because I needed help, the kind of which
young, rich girls like you wouldn’t understand.” His eyes
narrowed but I held my cool. I was used to the consistent presumption
of my background, yet I took his ignorance as a sign that I should
leave.

I nodded with respect – he had still told me more than I had
ever expected to get. I turned and swept out into the hall.

The exposed bulb over the staircase flashed as I paced myself swiftly
outside – away from the crowd of youths, coughing on the smell
of smoke rising in spirals over them. Outside the light had vanished
altogether – I walked further still until I reached my car.

I stopped mid-stride.

My car was battered, windows smashed and tires
slashed. My heart began to pound until I could feel the stress in my
mouth. Sprayed over the bonnet of the car, my beautiful prized car
was two words;
black bitch.

The majority of the population of Harlem is black, but this doesn’t
stop the insult hitting hard.

I heard the shouts of goading over my back and instantly panic.

I wasted no time in pulling my phone from my
pocket, my fingers fumbling embarrassingly. Who would I call? Charlie
would have gone home by now – home to his wife and Kally didn’t
have a car of her own. While scrolling through my phone for the
number of a cab service, one name popped out – and I couldn’t
even act surprised;
Elliot
.

The dial tone had started before I had registered that I had decided
to call him.

“
Clara?” His perfect voice was smooth
and surprised all at once.

“
Mr. Cresham.” I started, overly
formal and voice waving – we were dating, but still I was
nervous at the very sound of his voice. The street was started to
fill with undesirables and loud, toxic noises. “Are you busy?”

Voice incredulous, he answers. “Not particularly, I was just
out for a run, why?” The pause was enough to give away my
situation – the background noise filled the phone. “Where
are you?”

“
My car was attacked and I need to get out
of here, I’m sorry to call, but…” My face trailed
over as I decided to walk down the street to look like I had a
purpose.

Elliot hissed into the phone with anger and I
frowned – could he be angry with me
already?

“
Tell me where you are.”

I gushed the address to him and listened as the line went dead –
he clearly wasn’t expecting me to be in the same place as when
I last text him. Sighing, I stood outside the shining lights of a
liquor store – at least it was lit. I could only imagine how
unwelcome the sight of Elliot’s limo would be in these streets.

My wait was exactly fourteen minutes long and in
that time I was leered on three times by highly intoxicated men. I
didn’t immediately recognize the roaring noise as my incoming
savior – my ears were trained to hear the smooth whirring of
the limo. Elliot pulled up in the Audi R8 Spyder – I knew it
only from the advertisements on TV. I couldn’t help but roll my
eyes –
really ostentatious,
Elliot
.

“
You rang.” He said through the open
driver’s window, eyebrow cocked in sarcasm. I dashed towards
the passenger side as Elliot leaned across and threw the door open.
Sliding in on the black leather seats I blushed at my relaxed attire,
instantly aware of Elliot’s smooth black jeans and crisp gray
shirt. In the nightlight he looked more beautiful than before –
if that was possible. I squirmed slightly when I remember that the
last time I was in his car, it was after being harassed by the
paparazzi.

He took off up the street, seeming to relish in the squeal of the
wheels. As we passed my poor beat-up car, I sighed. It was likely
that I’d never see my old Beetle in the state I had come to
love her in again.

“
Who did that?” Elliot’s thick
set brows were furrowed in a deep frown.

“
I don’t know.” I whisper. I
could make a thousand guesses towards the youths in Mr. Teller’s
building, but I’d never know for sure – but a complaint
was useless.

“
If there’s one thing I hate, it's
racism.” Elliot’s voice was dark and sullen.

Growing up black, I had experienced a degree of racism in every step
of my life-long ladder, from kindergarten to the office politics. I
didn’t mention that I was used to it to Elliot, but simply
offered a shrug and a sad little smile, as if to say what-can-you-do.

He looked over at me long enough for me to panic and dart my eyes
back to the road again – my hands gripping the sides of the
leather tightly. He chuckled and returned his lackadaisical glance to
the traffic of the Upper East Side.

His smell of sandalwood filled the car’s cool scent, playing
with my head, making my head swim and fill with thoughts of the way
his muscles looked when he gripped the steering wheel so tensely.

I blame his smell for my inattention towards the fact that Elliot was
steering us towards his penthouse apartment, and not my own home. I
became instantly flushed in a way which I most certainly never had
with a client before. He, on the other hand, looked perfectly still.

“
Where are we going?” I blurted out,
somewhat rudely, causing Elliot to chuckle once again.

“
To my apartment;
the
Countess
.”

“
Your apartment is called
the
Countess
?” I asked,
incredulously. It was such a grand name that I shouldn’t have
been surprised. Elliot was nothing if not ostentatious.

“
Yes.” He peered over at me
cautiously. “I thought you might like a drink after that
unfortunate episode. Just the one.”

He entered an underground parking littered with the most beautiful
cars I had ever seen. I could think of nothing to do but nod –
my entire body seemed to be moving slower than without his presence.
Was this just drinks? I suddenly felt under dressed in my T-shirt and
jeans.

He pulled open my door for me before I had registered that the car
stopped. Out in the cool air of the underground parking lot, my skin
pricked up in goose bumps which Elliot did not fail to notice.

“
It will be warmer inside.” His voice
was quiet, serious and serene at the same time. He directed me
towards an elevator with posh carpet and irritating music playing on
a low level. We stood a foot apart in the elevator.

We rose nineteen floors before a calm, female
voice announced that we were approaching
The
Countess.

The elevator doors led out directly on a white marble foyer complete
with the lavish furnishings I would expect of Elliot.

“
This way, Miss Greyson.” It seemed to
be his turn to be overly formal.

I followed him into a large kitchen space where he wasted no time in
addressing his generous collection of wine. The kitchen was like
mine, open-plan, but smoother in finish with white marble counter
instead of black.

“
Red or white?” He seemed to ponder
under his breathe, his long eyelashes fluttering.

“
White for me – please.” I said
from my spot by the door. Elliot smiled at my decisiveness and
quickly gathered two glasses.

“
Why didn’t you tell me you were
there? That night, at the casino?” The words pushed one another
from my mouth before I could stop and think.

Jesus, Clara
!

Elliot looked up – his look icy.

“
Because I wasn’t.” I was
dreading that he would say this. Who could be trusted? My client
which stood to lose a lot by telling the truth – or Mr. Teller,
a man who had nothing to gain from lying.

“
You weren’t?” I tried to hide
any tone of skepticism from my voice.

To my surprise, Elliot smirked, eyes on me.

“
Are you sassing me, Miss Greyson?” My
mouth popped open into a ridiculous
O
as I looked into his playful fiery eyes.

I rolled my eyes as him as I took a glass of wine off the counter and
sipped. It was deliciously sweet.

“
You know, I don’t like when people –
especially women – roll their eyes at me.” Elliot said,
in all seriousness. In the half light, his eyes seemed to burn
through my clothes – my skin was tingly.

He took a few strides until he was directly in front me – eyes
trained on mine. He took the glass from my hand, and placed it
delicately behind him.

“
I should punish you.” He whispered,
voice like silk.

“
Oh?” I asked my voice breathy and
full of desire.

Before I knew what was happening, he was kissing me, though this was
far from the gentle kisses I had imagined. His tongue pried its way
into my mouth, exploring. I kissed back enthusiastically. Elliot
lifted my arms and rested them around his neck where I tightened my
grip. Bending slightly, his mouth never breaking rhythm, he grazed
the backs of my thighs gently before bending and scooping me up as
though I was a feather. My legs wrapped around his waist, as Elliot
took off.

Though I had imagined Elliot Cresham’s bedroom a million times,
being here in person was a whole different feeling.

He had a four poster bed with little embellishment. His sheets were
gray-blue satin, just longing to be touched. All of these
observations flew from my mind as I was laid down on my back, my head
reaching half way on the bedspread, my legs still locked around his
waist.

The devilish grin that Elliot offered was frightening to behold.

He dropped to kiss me again, but although my lips were ready, he
kissed the base of my neck and I squirmed. As a response to my
movement, Elliot chuckled and gently took a hold of both wrists in
one of his massive hands – pinning them above my head.

His trail of kisses followed all the way to the top button of my
blouse where he paused for a minute, his cool breath raising goose
bumps on my chest.