Lethal Seduction: A CIA Romantic Suspense (CIA Agents Book 1)

by Roxy Sinclaire

  I grabbed one his undershirts from a drawer along with a pair of his boxers and some socks as well. I then grabbed a pair of jeans from a hanger. He wouldn’t miss any of it.

  I found a pair of flip flops stashed in the corner and slipped them on quickly, expecting Dylan to walk through the door at any minute. He knew that I had heard everything he and his father said about me. I had worked too hard to let their cruel opinions reduce me to the sum total of my vagina.

  I opened the door to the bedroom, and took my time down the stairs. The hall was empty except for the butler.

  “Good morning Miss Morrison.” he greeted, his mouth held in a firm line.

  I looked around expecting at least a glimpse of Dylan, the man who had just rocked my world so thoroughly a few hours ago.

  “Where is Dylan?” I asked.

  “There is a car waiting for you in the front. Your clothes will be dry cleaned and returned to your residence.” he prevaricated.

  “Are you serious?” I asked incredulously.

  He handed me my purse with the same unflinching expression that he had worn when he had served me dinner and when I had journeyed down the stairs.

  I walked through the front door, slamming it as hard as I could on the way out. The nerve of that asshole.

  The chauffeur stood just as stoically as the butler and opened the door to a black town car.

  Chapter 10

  Dylan

  My father definitely knew how to fuck up a good thing. I had Yvette naked and willing in my bed, but he had somehow found a way to make it about him and the law firm yet again. It hadn’t been enough that the law firm had affected my childhood and consumed my adulthood, but now he wanted control over my personal life too.

  “Where’s Yvette?” I asked Jenkins, my butler, as I walked out of my study and into the kitchen.

  Once my father left, I had needed a moment to calm down. I wanted to wring his fucking neck for calling Yvette a whore. I had women that I could call if I was looking for a quick hookup. He knew that I didn’t bring random women to my home.

  I walked over to the cabinet and pulled out a cup. I hadn’t done that in a while. I rarely ventured into the kitchen and cooked even less. It felt awkward, but I continued the manual labor and waited for an answer from my staff.

  Jenkins stood up and looked at me with a puzzled expression on his face. I found it strange that he hadn’t replied. Jenkins had always been very straightforward.

  “Have you seen Yvette?”

  I placed my cup underneath the cappuccino machine as Lucy, the house keeper, rushed over to make my coffee. I gratefully stepped out of her way.

  Jenkins cleared his throat and straightened his collar at the same time the liquid from the machine frothed into my cup.

  I nodded to Lucy because the drink was good and maybe just a little better because I assisted in making it.

  I look at Jenkins who was still standing and looking silently in my direction.

  “I had her removed.” He replied evenly, his hands situated behind his back.

  The liquid abruptly caught in my throat and spurted out between my lips.

  “You did what?” I questioned him.

  “When you retired to your study, I returned the young woman’s belongings to her and had William drive her home in the town car.”

  “You did what?” I asked in disbelief. I knew that Yvette had been upset by the heated discussion. I knew that she would be livid and further hurt at the ejection by my butler.

  “I apologize Mr. Hanson.” Jenkins stated. “When you disappeared, I thought that you had dismissed her.

  “Well, you thought wrong!” I told him impatiently.

  I would have to find Yvette at the office and try to fix things.

  I walked through the twentieth floor as though I owned it because I did. Everyone did their best to appear busy as I walked by. Usually their reaction gave me a sense of power. In that moment though, the need to confront the cause of my irritation superseded every other emotion.

  My father had his ass planted on my desk conducting a phone call when I walked through my office door.

  “Alright. Thanks for the notice.” He spoke into his Bluetooth phone piece. “The Jr. just walked in. Let me know if you find out any other information.”

  Pete touched the device to end the call.

  “Get off of my desk.” I commanded.

  “Whoa, son. Calm down.” he said with a half-smile. “Is someone a little frustrated?”

  His arrogance grated against me like concrete.

  “I have a few ladies on speed dial that can turn that frown upside down.” He teased.

  “I don’t need anything from you, except an apology.” I demanded.

  His laughter rang out through the room and pissed me off even more.

  “You must be on drugs.” Pete menaced. “I’m not apologizing to you.”

  “The apology is not for me. You need to speak with Yvette.”

  My father’s eyebrows squiggled.

  “Yvette?” he questioned as if he had never known a person with such a name.

  “The new associate.” I prodded. My temper flared at his pretended ignorance.

  “Oh. You mean Jelly.” He snapped his fingers as though he could finally picture her.

  “I thought you called her Gumdrop?”

  “Yea.” he said dawning a devilish smile. “Gumdrop to her face, but Jelly when she walks away. When I see that ass …” he grunted.

  “Never mind. Keep your apology.”

  “Stop being so emotional.” Pete snapped. “I’ve never seen you so intense over a piece of ass.”

  I swiped my hand through the air to dismiss his comment.

  “Why are you here?” I spat out. This conversation and his presence, were all giving me a headache. My father was not going to cooperate so there was no reason to even discuss it. Whatever feelings or non-feelings that I have or don’t have for Yvette, I would have to deal with on my own time.

  “It’s the Menory case.”

  This stupid case had become more and more convoluted at every turn. It was supposed to be simple. It had been anything but simple.

  “What about it?” I sighed taking a deep breath.

  My father followed me over to a conference table and chairs.

  “There have been some new developments.” he answered as he clasped his hands and leaned back in the chair.

  “Developments like what?” I inquired, picking up a folder I had left there. Everything was always dramatic with my father. His flair and finesse dazzled juries and swayed opinions, but made it difficult as hell to get a straight answer from him.

  “There are questions surrounding the validity of Sherry Hunter’s story.”

  “The woman who initiated the case, Sherry? The wife of Brandon Hunter?” I threw the random folder to the table and stood. “What the fuck happened?”

  I swear that I thought I saw him smirk but it was gone just as quickly.

  “The one and the same.” he confirmed. “One of the nurses kept a backup record of medication and procedures that she had provided for her patients.” he said plainly. “Her records contradict the amount of medication that was found in Brandon’s system and on the carts provided by the hospital.”

  “She’s lying.”

  “The supervising nurse and the medication log back up her story.” my dad confirmed.

  “That doesn’t mean that there was foul play.” I insisted.

  “It doesn’t mean that there wasn’t either.” he remarked. “This information is enough to cause reasonable doubt amongst the jury and topple all the cases like a set of dominoes.”

  He stood as though everything had been explained, as though our conversation was over.

  “So what does that mean for the case?” I asked while walking behind him toward the door.

  He turned to me, his lips folded and eyes flat.

  “We lose.” Pete said the two words that I never thought he would willingly e
ver speak. My father is a winner. He taught me to be a winner.

  The first words that my father ever taught me were “never lose”. When I played little league, learned the piano, took a test, or went to college, his message was consistent: life is a competition, never lose. Standing in my office, wearing the same expression that he had worn my entire life, in the same rumbling voice that he always used, he was now telling me the opposite—we were going to lose.

  I was shaken. I took a step back and looked at him.

  “What do you mean, ‘we lose’? There has to be some way around this that we haven’t thought of.”

  I moved over to my desk and pulled out information about the case.

  “Yvette and I figured out—”

  Pete cut through my words before I could even complete the sentence.

  “You consulted with a first year associate about such an important case?”

  Although posed as a question, his words sliced across my confidence. My father could cut away at me like no other person could, but not even he could erase his training that quickly. I don’t lose, not even to him.

  I gathered up the remainder of my bravado and looked him straight in the eye.

  “The point is that Menory may be trying to hide something.” I explained. “All of the patients treated used both Menory medical supplies and had at least one type of medication that was manufactured by Menory as well.”

  My father walked forward and I passed him the file.

  He quickly scanned the notes I had written outlining patient medication given and medical supplies provided.

  I waited eagerly for any sign of his acknowledgment that I’d saved his ass and the company.

  My wait was in vain.

  He looked at me with his steely gaze.

  “The Menory company makes a multitude of items.” he countered. “The likelihood of the patients using both the medical supplies and a medication manufactured by the company is just as likely as all of the patients going to the same grocery store at the same time.

  The conviction that I was wrong was reflected on his face as I turned away.

  He closed the folder and sighed.

  “It’s over,” he said as he dropped the folder on my desk.

  “Who are you?” I exclaimed. I moved from my desk to stare into my father’s face. “You’re definitely not Pete Hanson today, not the Pete Hanson who built a company from nothing, who won every case that he’s ever touched. You’re not the Pete Hanson who taught me to never back down from a challenge.”

  A cynical laugh ripped out from his throat. His eyes narrowed as he moved so we were practically nose to nose.

  “I’m your fucking father, boy. Self-made,” he bit out in a harsh whisper. “Who the fuck are you without me?”

  Although his words sent chill through my bones, I didn’t back down. I didn’t flinch a muscle.

  “A man who doesn’t give up.” I replied with resolve.

  My father stepped back as he straightened his tie, and smiled at me.

  “We’ll see.” He said lightly before leaving my office.

  I fell back into my high backed chair feeling somewhat defeated.

  However, I had never been on the losing end before, never been the underdog, at risk of losing it all. The air around me suddenly felt thick and dense. I found it hard to draw a breath.

  We had bet the entire firm on this case, pooled all of our resources and best manpower into what seemed like a sure fire money maker. We had other clients, top firms, but none that could counteract the financial hit that losing this case would make.

  “Fuck!” I bellowed as I threw my wooden nameplate across the room. It hit the wall with a resounding thud.

  “Mr. Hanson?” James called from the other side of the door.

  He knocked once before he called out again.

  “Mr. Hanson, is everything all right? Is there something that I can do for you?”

  “Find out everything that there is to know about Sharon Hunter.” I barked after he opened the door.

  “Yes sir. Right away.” he said nearly bowing as he backed out, closing the door behind him.

  I yanked open my bottom desk drawer and pulled out a bottle of Chivas Regal Scotch that my grandfather had given me on my twenty-first birthday. I kept it in the office for celebrations. Today it had garnered a new use: open in case of failure.

  I felt the burn radiate through my entire body. As it seeped through my bloodstream, I let my head loll back against the chair.

  As I relaxed & sipped my drink, I let my mind wander over the facts of the case. Over all the words in all the files. Through all the depositions and all the subpoenas and summonses and stays. I thought we had covered all our bases. Even Yvette had helped.

  The thought of Yvette brought up a different kind of fire, a yearning.

  I pulled my phone from my jacket pocket. A warmth flooded my being as I realized that she was the first person that I thought of in this crisis. Her sweet voice would calm me in any storm. Especially the storm currently causing havoc in my mind.

  Memories of her creamy skin and fresh hair heightened my desire to hear the sound of her sensuous voice in my ear.

  I dialed her number and the phone rang continuously before going to voicemail.

  I dialed her number again and hoped for a different response. I tried unsuccessfully to reach her for the next 15 minutes. I missed the sound of her voice and hoped she missed me as well.

  Chapter 11

  Yvette

  My Aunt Cheryl was of the belief that cleanliness is next to Godliness. In her opinion, the cleaner your home, the more that you appreciated it; and the more that you appreciated what you had, the more good things would come to you. I didn’t subscribe to her entire belief, but I did learn that cleaning a bathroom with the door closed created the same happy effect as a weed cigarette.

  I cleaned when things in my world were out of whack. However, when I couldn’t control the utter chaos that I had unwittingly created, a bottle of bleach, a pair of yellow rubber gloves, and a sponge helped me regain a sense of serenity. Cleaning was the cathartic for me. After Dylan’s chauffeur jettisoned me like so much flotsam, I needed something to clear my head. At least the fumes from the oven cleaner would give me a real reason to cry.

  Without a doubt, I knew that the morning I had spent running up an endless number of stairs balancing trays of hot coffee, was the worst morning of my life. That is until I was escorted from my lover/boss’s home, by his staff. That was the absolute worst. Dylan hadn’t even faced me. He didn’t even think enough of me to face me or to say goodbye. Despite the kind words and extraordinary sex, I was just another fuck for him. I wanted to burn down his home, slash his fucking tires, and cut crotch holes in every damn suit that he owned. I also wanted to weep in his arms again. They were strong, and thick, and warm. They melted away the world and every issue in it.

  I slammed the oven door and fell against the floor. The realization of my situation overwhelmed me as tears ran down my cheeks.

  There was no way that I could walk into that office every day without wanting to cry. Dylan’s presence was everywhere in the building. With his name on documents and his face on pictures, it would remind me daily of his lack of consideration for me.

  My aunt used to say that I was too impulsive sometimes, that I made decisions based on emotion rather than logic far too often. “Don’t let fickle feelings fuddle your future forever”, she would tell me. By sleeping with Dylan, I had fuddled my future with the company permanently.

  Convinced I had lost my position with Hanson and Associates, I moved to the sofa to begin my healing process. Step 1: wallow. I pulled the crocheted blanket that held remnants of my aunt’s rose scented perfume, over my legs and under my arms. Sugar coated, multi-colored gum drops and orange slices were at hand on the coffee table to counteract the sour of decaying dreams.

  After some mind numbing television, I moved on to step 2: vent.

  “Hey lady!” Ar
iel Elizabeth Whitfield-Beauchamp’s cheerful tone rang out as she answered the phone. “You’re calling pretty early in the day.”

  When my sniffles responded instead of words, Ariel sighed.

  “What’s wrong?” she inquired in her ever pleasant voice.

  There aren’t many people that I call friend, but during my senior year of undergrad, I needed to find a roommate at the same time that Ariel was looking for someone to share her apartment with. It turned out that the wealthy history major, determined to make a way apart from her family’s money, had been offered the opportunity to travel with a television show around the globe and basically needed a house sitter.

  Ariel paid most of the rent, while I took care of the utilities. She was rarely home, but we kept in constant contact through social media and the telephone, becoming fast friends. Sitting on my sofa that day with all of my pain, she was nearly my only friend, and the only person left in the world that I felt I could confide in.

  I tried to get out a few words of explanation, but hearing her cheerful voice reminded me of how happy I had been the last time that we had spoken. How excited I had been to start my new career with the Hanson law firm.

  “Yvette.” she said slowly. “Put down the gumdrops and let’s fix it.”

  “I screwed him.” I blurted.

  “Screwed who?”

  “Dylan Hanson, my boss. So now I have to quit.”

  There was silence, and it sounded like she was changing rooms because the background noise quieted.

  “What the hell is wrong with you?”

  The semi-curse sounded awkward coming from her. It was rare that Ariel used any negative words especially a curse word.

  “I can’t go back to that place. Dylan’s father, the freaking founder of the whole damn company, was trying to do the horizontal polka with me. Dylan, my boss, actually got me to sleep with him and then basically sent me out like the morning garbage with his butler. They are never going to take me seriously as a lawyer.”