Liability (Alfha Law Firm 2)

Chapter 7

Carter

“I don’t want your money!” Fern yells, crossing her arms over her chest and glaring at me.

“It’s your money now, baby, so there is no reason for us to fight about it.” I shrug, starting my Bugatti.

“You can’t just give someone that kind of money, Carter. Are you crazy?” She groans, leaning her head back against the headrest of the car seat, making me smile.

I’m starting to see my little mouse occasionally turns into a roaring lion.

“Why are you smiling? What about you giving me fifteen million dollars sounds funny to you?”

“It’s already done. Now, are you ready to go get your stuff from your grandmother’s?” I ask her.

“Fine,” she growls, crossing her arms over her chest, knowing she can’t win.

“You know why I did it, don’t you?” I ask her softly, picking up her small hand and intertwining her fingers with mine.

“No.”

“Now it’s just me and you. There is no money hanging over your head, making you feel guilty. You can do what you like.” I lift her hand, kissing it. “Except leaving me—that you cannot do.”

“But I could. There were no stipulations,” she whispers, sounding like there are tears in her voice.

“There are no stipulations,” I confirm, watching her eyes close.

“You’re crazy, but thank you,” she says quietly, making it all worth it. And really, that money is nothing but a drop in the bucket. I know in the long run that as long as I have her, I couldn’t care less about the money.

“Now, let’s get your stuff and then go out to dinner. What do you say?” I ask, watching her smile.

“I’d like that,” she replies, leaning over and kissing my cheek.

Pulling away from the curb, we head across town to one of the wealthy neighborhoods. There was a time I thought about buying one of the houses over on this side of the city, but at the time, it was just me and I wasn’t planning on having a family. Now that I have Fern, I might reconsider moving. I want any kids that we have to have their own bedrooms, and a backyard.

Pulling down the block ten minutes later, my anger is back tenfold when I see all of Fern’s belongings are outside on the sidewalk in front of her grandmother’s house, covered in paint and garbage.

“Oh no,” she whispers, covering her mouth. “No, please stop!” she cries when she sees I’m going to speed up and drive by.

“Baby, it’s all ruined,” I point out to her. “We’ll get you new stuff.”

“I have to see if my jewelry box is there,” she sobs, fumbling with the handle of the door and swinging it open before I have a chance to put the car in park.

Following her out of the car, I ask her softly, “What does it look like?”

“It’s pink and has a ballerina on the top of it,” she says, digging frantically under stuff until she comes up with the small box. “It’s here,” she whispers, opening the top and pulling out a necklace from the confines before dropping the box back into the pile of garbage.

“What is it?” I ask her, seeing the sadness in her eyes as she grasps a chain in her hand.

“It was my mom’s,” she says, holding it up and placing it around her neck.

“Did she leave it for you?” I ask while leading her back to the car and helping her in.

“No, I found it in Granddad’s desk drawer at his office, along with her picture.” She smiles a sad smile.

Buckling her in, I kiss her lips, whispering, “I’m sorry, baby.”

“It’s okay. I don’t remember her, and every time I would ask about her, Grandma would act like she never existed, but this necklace is the one thing that proves she was around at one time. In the picture, she was wearing it and holding Granddad’s hand.” She smiles, placing her hand on my cheek. “I think my grandpa loved her.”

“I bet he did,” I agree, still pissed at the old man for not protecting his granddaughter and daughter, from what it sounds like.

Placing one last kiss on her cheek, I walk around the car and slide in behind the wheel. “We’re going to go out to dinner another night, baby. We need to get you some clothes,” I tell her, watching her face scrunch up.

“I hate shopping.”

“Really? Don’t most women love it?”

“I guess, but I used to have to follow Grandma around for hours while she shopped, and I hated it,” she confides.

“Didn’t you

get stuff for yourself?”

“Sometimes, but I still hate shopping. If I buy stuff, I just order it online.”

“Well, let’s get you some stuff to hold you over, and then you can just order the rest and have it delivered,” I suggest.

“That works for me.”

“Where to?” I ask, and she shrugs then answers, “Old Navy.”

“You’re not shopping at Old Navy.” I shake my head in disbelief.

“Okay,” she says, and I hear it in her tone and know right away that’s what has always been done to her; her opinions or wants are always ignored.

“Old Navy it is,” I mutter, watching as her face lights up while I mutter, “Fuck,” under my breath.

Four hours later, I’m happy as fuck to shove the rest of Fern’s clothes into the trunk of the car, which is now overflowing with shopping bags, most from Old Navy. But three large black ones have made the trip worth it, because I picked out the shit in them and can’t wait to see how my Fern looks covered with lace and silk.

Speeding through downtown, I make the trip in half the time and leave my car with the doorman, giving him instructions to leave the stuff outside the penthouse door when he brings it up. Then I pick up Fern, who squeaks as I carry her inside, through the doors, and straight into the elevator, which is thankfully empty.

Once the door closes, blocking us from view, I lift her in my arms until her legs wrap around my hips then hold her to the wall, pulling her dress up around her waist. Growling when I see she doesn’t have any panties on, I dip my face closer to her and order, “You’re never to leave the house without panties, baby, unless you want me to beat your ass until it’s red and you can’t walk for a week.”

“I won’t do it again,” she promises, but I see a heat in her eyes that makes me wonder if the idea of me spanking her makes her hot.

Running two fingers through her folds, I find my answer then hold it up for her to see. “Looks like you want me to spank you,” I tell her, flicking my tongue over my fingers and tasting the sweetest ambrosia I’ve ever had the pleasure of eating.