Liability (Alfha Law Firm 2)

Chapter 1

Carter

I know I shouldn’t be looking at her.

I know she is way too fucking young and innocent for me.

But every goddamn time she walks into her grandfather’s office in her school uniform, with her cute black-rimmed glasses, her thick red hair pushed away from her innocent face with a headband, her white button-down top tucked neatly into her green pleated skirt resting just below her ass, her long white socks hitting her mid-thigh, giving the occasional glimpse of creamy perfect skin, I have the urge to get up from behind the desk keeping her from me, push her down onto the cold surface, and ruin her for anyone else.

I want her.

No. I fucking crave her.

“Carter, we’re going to have to call it an early night. Fern’s eighteenth birthday is today, and I promised I would take her out,” Mr. McCauley says, leaning back in his chair across from me and rubbing his hands down his face.

“And you’ve been working all week, Gramps. You need a break,” Fern’s soft, melodic voice chimes in as she pushes her glasses up the bridge of her nose.

“And I need a break,” he agrees, turning to look at her with an easy smile.

“That’s fine. I have some business to catch up on, so I’ll see you Monday,” I tell him, pushing away from the desk and slipping on my suit jacket.

“Have a good weekend, son,” he says, standing as well.

“Happy birthday, Fern.” I smile, giving her a wink and opening the door.

“Thanks.” She smiles back as her cheeks turn pink and her face dips toward the desk. Closing the door behind me, I wonder what the hell it is I’m feeling. Elation? She’s eighteen now, legal in every sense of the word. I can have her if I want to, and no one can stop me.

It shouldn’t make me this happy. I can have my pick of any beautiful woman—fuck, I’ve had most of the beautiful ones in this city—but I want Fern.

No. I need her.

Hitting the button for the elevator, I take it down to the garage level, where I parked my Bugatti Veyron this morning. Slipping off my suit jacket and tie, I toss both onto the passenger side seat before getting behind the wheel and starting her up. Hearing the purr of the engine, I back out of the parking spot, switch gears, press my foot to the gas, and speed up the ramp to the exit, using the mirrors at the entryway to judge the street before taking a right onto it. I should go home, but I need to drive. I need to drive and clear my head so I don’t track down wherever the fuck it is Fern sleeps and sneak into her room.

Hitting the highway, I head through the Bronx then out toward Westchester.

I’m going to have to find a way to get Fern alone. I know she goes to an all-girls Catholic school, but I wonder if she would freak if I met her outside when she got out of class. She probably would; she’s shy anytime I address her directly, and turns the sweetest color pink.

Getting off the highway, I head back toward the city. I do have some paperwork I need to get done before Monday.

An hour later, I pull into the garage of my condo and park just as my phone rings. Looking at the caller ID, I see it’s Britney calling and, sighing, I answer, “Hello.”

“Hey, baby,” she purrs into my ear.

I wish I could use her to get rid of this pent-up energy I feel, but I know my boy, and he won’t have it. He has a mind of his own, and since Fern walked into my life, he’s not interested in anyone but her.

“Britney, what do you need?” I ask, keeping it casual.

“I need you,” she whispers then my phone dings and a picture message pops up on my screen of Britney in bed, her legs spread wide.

“You need to lose my number,” I say, hearing her gasp as I click off her call and delete the picture.

If I’m going to get Fern to come to my bed, I’m going to need to make a few changes, and one of them is deleting all of the women from my phone and life. I don’t want anyone to ruin my chances of having sweet Fern under me or over me.

Taking the elevator up to the penthouse, I get off when the doors open and the view of the city comes into view. I love this place. I bought it for the view before there were even walls put up. When I designed the floor plan, I wanted to keep it open. The only walls are the ones around the two bedrooms, my office and the guest bath. It’s four thousand square feet of open space.

Moving to my room, I unbutton my shirt, laying it over the end of the bed, and take in the view through the wall of floor-to-ceiling windows that run the length of the room and look out over the city. I can imagine myself pressing Fern to that glass and taking her from behind, her innocent cries of pleasure filtering through the open space.

I need a shower and a game plan.

I’m not worried about Fern’s grandfather. Not yet, anyways. My biggest dilemma is going to be getting Fern alone so I can tell her what I want.