Mr. Wright & Mr. Wrong: A BWWM Romance (23 page)

I
t was plastered all
over the news the next morning. Despite the firm’s best effort, Clayton had come under attack severely. Never underestimate the public’s outcry for a villain to focus their angst on. Investigations were already being scrambled.

Representative Davis didn’t come out completely unscathed. There seemed to be a general hint at incompetence, but that was far better than the alternative. His numbers certainly weren’t going to be “higher than ever” come Friday. Fortunately, it was early in the campaign, and there were still only two serious candidates.

It made London think of Michael.

At least now he knew his father wasn’t a crook. On the other hand, what was in those photos?

She thought back to their fight. It had been her fault completely. She shouldn’t have used what he’d made very clear early on, against him. All the same, she missed him. Now she worried about what he was going through, no doubt thinking about those photos.

She picked up her phone to call him. As it rang, she braced herself, ready for him to put her firmly in her place.

“London,” he answered with surprise on the second ring.

“Michael,” she responded, loving the sound of his voice. “So, I’m assuming you saw the news this morning.”

“Yeah,” he breathed out on the other end.

“I’m not fishing for information, here,” she said quickly. “I was just worried about you.”

He chuckled on the other end. “I know you aren’t,” he replied. “It’s good to hear your voice.”

“Yours too” she smiled into the phone. “I’m sorry about what I yelled at you that night. You made it clear what you wanted and I shouldn’t have—”

“Hey, hey,” he interrupted softly. “How about we start from scratch okay? Tabula rasa.”

She laughed lightly into the phone. “You’re still using the term wrong.”

“Either way, let’s just leave it at you and me, meeting for drinks and going from there.”

“But can we also go back to being complicated?”

He laughed. “Shall I book a room at the Roosevelt? I’m kind of hooked on this hotel room sex.”

“It
is
delightfully naughty,” she mused.

“Meet you at 7?” he offered.

“I’ll see you then, Mr. Wright.”

“I look forward to it, Ms. Jefferson.”

* * *

S
he went
through the familiar motions of slipping the card key into the slot, looking both ways before opening the door to step inside. Michael was already seated at the table, enjoying a glass of something amber colored.

He began to rise to meet her.

“Stay right where you are,” she said, dropping her overnight bag and strutting toward him in her heels. This time when she untied her trench coat she was in nothing but a pair of thigh-high, lace top stockings. She let the coat slide to the floor before kneeling before him to undo the fly to his slacks.

There was something thrilling about being naked on her knees before him, while he was still in his work clothes. It made her feel like some high-priced call girl…or cheap whore. Either way it was getting her off.

“God, I missed you,” he murmured as he looked down at her.

London just looked up at him with a seductive smile as she reached in to pull out his cock, which was already springing to life in her hands. She kept her eyes trained on his as she slipped her tongue out to lick the tip like a lollypop. Her mouth went around to circle the head sucking on it gently, letting her tongue slide over the slit to lick up his pre-cum.

As she lowered her head down, opening her throat to take as much of him as possible, she inhaled is scent, savoring it. She wanted to bathe in it, etch it into her subconscious. For the moment she was happy just to pleasure him. She felt the veins glide over her tongue as she brought herself back up, only to wrap her hands around the shaft and follow them down again.

“Jesus, London,” he groaned.

This time his hand came around to run his fingers through her hair. He grabbed lightly, holding on as she worked her way up and down his dick faster and faster. She moaned as she embraced the feel of him sliding down her throat. She heard him groaning above her in response.

“Christ, your mouth is like a fucking piston,” Michael growled.

She pulled herself off of him to respond. “A week and a half is a long time to make up for,” she grinned before lowering her mouth to continue.

“It sure is,” she heard him respond. She felt him tug lightly at her hair, pulling her head up before she could take him again. He gripped her hair in his hands and stared down at her intently.

“I want to fuck you so hard you’ll never forget how I feel about you.” He said.

With that he grabbed her and picked her up off the floor. He tossed her lightly onto the bed and she lay there, stunned as she watched him practically rip his clothes off. Once he was naked, still fully erect, he grabbed her legs and pulled her closer to him. He leaned in between her legs, guiding his dick into her wet opening. With one quick thrust he was deep inside of her. She brought her legs up high around his waist, her heels and stockings still on.

They continued in unison, indulging in what could only be described as a raw, animalistic, make up fuck.

* * *

A
fterwards
, a much needed shower was in order. Michael pulled his exhausted body off of her and reached out a hand to lift her up. The bathroom was blessed with an actual tub. Even though it was on the smaller side, they decided to take a bath rather than a shower. They had quite a bit of making up to do.

When the tub was half full they realized their error as Michael tried to squeeze his 6’4” frame into the small space. There was no way they could accomplish this in the typical fashion that lovers often did, her back against his chest. So Michael sat straight up, with his back pressed firmly against the tile wall while London sat on his lap facing him. In the end they decided this was a far superior solution.

“So are you okay?” London asked, washing his hairy chest with soapy hands.

“I am right now,” he sighed with a grin, his eyes closed.

“I’m serious,” she pressed, tweaking his nipple.

He sighed again, this time less playfully. “I don’t know. I tried getting information out of my dad but the man has no shame.”

“You don’t have to tell me the details, you know. I only care about
you
, not what your father’s done.”

He opened his eyes and took the bar of soap from her, lathering his hands up. He began massaging her shoulders and neck with soapy hands. “Well it’s bound to come out now that the other side of the equation is out in the open. I’m more concerned about my brothers. I’m an adult, I can brush it off, and frankly I’m used to my father’s embarrassing antics. As much of a terror as my two youngest brothers are, they aren’t as…seasoned as I am. Throw in an election and, well, it’s bound to be messy. Far worse than anything I’ve ever had to go through.”

London continued to run her hands over his chest and shoulders. “I just want you to know that you can trust me. My ethical obligation is to provide legal representation, not rat out my boyfriend.”

He smiled. “So I’m your boyfriend, now am I?”

She felt her face get warm then she thought about it. “Yes, yes you are,” she said confidently, tapping him on the end of his slightly dented, oh so imperfect nose, leaving a soapy dot that made her smile.

His smile grew. “Okay then, girlfriend.”

She scrunched up her nose. “That sounds really wrong. I think only gay and female friends are supposed to use it like that.”

He nodded, laughing. “I think you’re right. How about ‘plus one’?”

She wrinkled her nose again, shaking it in the negative.

“Significant other?”

She raised her eyebrows in consideration.
Promising
.

“Ball and chain?”

She punched him lightly in the chest.

“What about BAE?” he asked with a teasing grin.

“How the hell do you know what that means?”

“What? I’m hip to the new lingo.”

She laughed. “Okay that’s a no on
BAE
, and a
big
no on you ever using that sentence again.”

“Future Mrs.?”

“Ohh…I like where your mind is going,” she smiled.

“Okay how about this,” he said, wrapping his arms around her and bringing her in closer. “My someone special, my someone
very
special.” As he said it he looked deep into her eyes with a solemn expression. He reached up to caress her cheek, leaving a soapy streak that she didn’t care about.

“I like it,” she said softly, then reached in to kiss the soap away from his nose.

T
hat Friday
, Frank Jefferson didn’t give a hoot about Dion Davis’ polling numbers.

As per London’s suggestion, Clayton Moore had gone down fighting…and he had kicked the law firm of
Jefferson, Jefferson, Jefferson & Associates
right where it hurt.

In an exclusive interview he had pointed the finger directly at the firm, claiming that they were the ones who coordinated this crime. It wasn’t hard to believe. After all, it made more sense that an established law firm could finagle something like this, rather than a single individual.

It didn’t hurt that the presumed ringleader, Frank Jefferson, was well known in media circles, having made a career of having his name and face plastered right next to whatever famous client he was representing. Thus, the papers had eaten it up all too eagerly. A famous face made for a much juicier story than some unknown campaign staff member.

The irony was that Clayton had incorporated almost the exact language that London had used to defend him. How could a lowly Senior Legislative Assistant have the kind of connections to pull this off? Frank Jefferson was the notorious “publicity hound” with all the right friends and legal connections. The attack on her father was particularly hurtful and London knew Clayton had done it just to twist the knife in her back.

London had to tip her hat to the fact that he’d done it on a Friday. It gave the firm no time to hit right back, so the residents of New York could read the firm’s response while they ate their Cheerios, first thing in the morning before work. No, this juicy tidbit would sit idle in their minds as they slept in, or took their kids to soccer practice, or drove off to their weekend getaways. No one cared about the news on the weekend. It wouldn’t stop them from subconsciously judging the firm in the backs of their minds. By Monday morning, the firm would be tried, sentenced, and ready to be hung.

Already clients had been calling to—rightfully—drop them like the radioactive firm they now were. They hadn’t taken on new clients because of the Davis campaign. Now the campaign had fired them as well. Even London couldn’t fault them for that. After all, the main focus of their services had been to (ha ha) distance Davis from this scandal in the first place. The firm had reserves, but it was going to be a rapid circle down the drain soon enough if they didn’t handle this.

Right now Cleveland and London were sitting in Frank Jefferson’s office watching the facade crack. Seeing her father like this, London was pretty sure she would have done a heck of a lot more than throw wine in Clayton’s face if he were here. But she had to focus. Focus on saving the firm. Focus on keeping her father from losing it. Focus, on not feeling incredibly guilty.

“A calamity,” Frank groaned. “Absolute devastation. We’re ruined.
Ruined!”

“We’re not ruined, Daddy,” London assured him. “We have reserves. We’ll pull through.”

“And to think,” he continued, ignoring her. “I turned away all new clients for his sorry ass.”

“Cleve and I are partners in this firm too,” she countered. “We should have counseled you better.”

Frank just spun around in his chair to stare out of his window for a few moments. Cleveland and London waited anxiously.

“Perfidious!”
Frank shouted, spinning back around and slamming his fist on the desk, shocking both of his children. “Deceit, and faithlessness, that’s what this is!”

It was refreshing to see him suddenly transform like this.

That’s right, Daddy,
London thought,
get angry.

But anger alone wouldn’t do it. They needed to find out the truth.

“It’s time we address the fact that Dion Davis somehow knows what’s going on here, and may actually be responsible.”

Her father just nodded, conceding the point. “Well we can’t very well ask him now. There’s the treasurer, but he’ll probably be loyal to whoever paid him off. I have a feeling there are some very deep pockets involved here.”

That didn’t bode well. The
Jefferson
firm may have made a name for itself within the black community—and anyone who enjoyed a good court room saga—but it didn’t have the kind of connections that screamed: deep pockets.

It was going to be a long night.

* * *

B
y the time
London made it back to her office it was well past 1 a.m. She felt beaten and bruised and completely helpless. The three of them were no closer to a solution than before. The only thing they could do was counter Clayton’s claim with one of their own, and offer as much evidence as possible. But without the real culprit to point the finger at, it was just a case of he said, she said. And in this scenario,
Jefferson, Jefferson, Jefferson & Associates
was the Goliath to Clayton’s David. Nobody ever sided with the giant.

The cell phone lying on her desk was lit up with messages. She could only imagine what they said and right now she was too tired to deal with it. She just wanted to go home, open a bottle of wine and forget about this day completely.

She was gathering her things when it rang. She instinctively moved to just turn it off completely when she saw who was calling: Michael.

The one person without an agenda. The one person who wouldn’t try to console her in the hopes of gaining first-hand information. The one person who wouldn’t offer fake condolences with schadenfreude delight. The one person who wouldn’t give her shit she really didn’t want to deal with tonight.

She answered.

“So it’s my turn to ask if you’re okay…but I guess that would be a stupid question.”

She smiled wearily. “Very stupid.”

“How about I just do my best to make it better.”

“You wouldn’t happen to have proof of whoever stole those funds would you?”

He gave a rueful chuckle on the other end. “Sorry.”

“Well, it was worth a shot,” she sighed.

“Why don’t I come up there to be with you? No hotels this time.”

She sighed. “Michael, tonight is just not the night.”

“I’m not talking about sex here, London,” he said. “You’re my someone special, someone
very
special, remember? I want to be there for you. We can just sit and talk, or sleep, or drink, or watch stupid movies and forget about everything.”

She smiled into the phone again. “That does sound nice.”

“Okay, I’m going to hang up now before you do something stupid like change your mind. I’ll pick up some food and meet you at your place.”

She gave a soft sigh. “Okay, then.”

* * *

L
ondon had changed
out of her work clothes into an old t-shirt and a pair of Victoria’s Secret gym shorts. She was most definitely not in a sexy mood and Michael just had to deal with that.

She was left with her own thoughts as she waited for him to make the trek uptown. Her mind was a scattered mix of thoughts and emotions.

How could Clayton have been so cruel?

Who had really done this?

What would happen to the firm?

Did her brother and father blame her?

How could they show their faces anymore? There was the legal community, the local community, even their church. She could already imagine their judgmental eyes.

The rest of their family would suffer as well. Her mother. Her grandmother. Even Brooklyn, as much as she tried to be an outsider.

By the time she heard him buzz her apartment she was a frazzled mess, a brittle piece of paper ready to scatter into a million pieces from a single puff of air.

She opened the door and saw Michael standing there with a bottle of wine in one hand and a large bag stuffed to capacity with what looked like Chinese take-out cartons.

“Hey,” he said smiling down at her. “I wasn’t sure what kind of Chinese you liked so I got practically everythi—”

She fell into his chest and the dam broke. Her arms clung tightly around him as the weight of the entire day flooded from her eyes. She sobbed and sobbed, snot coming out of her nose, ruining his dress shirt. This was the persona she couldn’t show in the office. She was the one with the straight head on her shoulders, the voice of reason. Now all reason had flown out the window and all she wanted to do was curl up and have someone else do the comforting for once.

He brought the arms full of wine and food around to hold her, and rested his chin on her head. “Shhh,” he cooed. “It’s okay, London.”

“No it’s not,” she cried. She could hear the 12-year-old coming out in her voice but she didn’t care. “Everything is just awful.”

“Okay, baby,” he said into her head. He walked her in his arms toward the nearest place to rest the food and wine down as he held on to her. It was the coffee table in her living room. He took a moment to place the food and bottle down and brought her back into his embrace as he sat them down on her sofa.

She curled in a ball into his side, wanting to bury herself as deep as possible into him. Part of it was complete humiliation at how quickly she had fallen apart. Most of it was just wanting to use him to erase all her troubles away, as though the more she pushed into his body, the more troubles she could push out on the other side.

Michael opened himself up to her, as if understanding exactly what she was trying to accomplish. Pretty soon, she had found her comfort and just relaxed, letting him close himself in on her. He didn’t say a word, just sat there rubbing her back until she was ready to talk.

“It’s daddy I’m most concerned about,” she finally said into his chest. She pulled her face away to look at him.

“I’m a lawyer, a damn good one. I’ll be fine, probably. But this firm,” she looked past him, shaking her head, “it’s his pride and joy. He built it himself when Cleve and I were just babies. I’m pretty sure he had us in mind when he started it.” She gave him a sad smile. “I know it sounds weird but it’s like his fourth child, this firm.”

She fell back against him. “And I’m partially responsible for ruining it. If I’d never started dating Clayton in college.”

Michael immediately sprang into action, shifting his shoulder and grabbing her chin so she turned to face him. “You listen to me, London,” he said. “This is not your fault. Okay?”

She just stared at him morosely.

“I want to hear you say it,” he ordered.

“It’s not my fault,” she monotoned. It was the best she could muster. In the back of her head she knew it was true. Clayton was just a shit.

But she needed this time to feel sorry for herself. She could pick herself up on Monday and jump back in the ring again. Right now she just needed a fucking break.