Mr Spencer

by Swan, T L

  I stare at her house for a moment, glaring at the fucking idiot guard dog standing on the front porch.

  I don’t even have her fucking phone number.

  I tear out of the driveway and out through the large stone gates.

  “Well done, Spencer, you stupid prick.” I grip the steering wheel with white knuckle force.

  That was one gigantic fuck up.

  * * *

  I sit at my kitchen table and type the words ‘Charlotte Prescott’ into Google.

  It’s now Sunday night, and I’ve been in a world of pain since Thursday when I last saw her.

  I have never regretted not doing something so much in my entire life.

  I sip my scotch as I wait for the results to come up. I smile as a gallery of images of the beautiful woman flash across my screen. I click through the images one by one, taking in her perfect angelic face.

  There are photos dating back to her when she was a child in a private school uniform, and then at Polo events, a few charity events, but surprisingly there are very few images of her recently.

  That’s because she’s never out.

  Charlotte Prescott is the only daughter of Harold Prescott, and younger sister of fellow billionaires Edward Prescott and William Prescott.

  She became a multi-billionaire after her father split their family estate five years ago to invest in legalised gambling. Prescott holdings now has the largest casino portfolio in the world with an estimated worth of twenty-nine billion dollars.

  Famously known for her low-profile, Charlotte was the driving force behind the extension and establishment of the new £160 million National Philanthropic Fund in 2016.

  The fund, which she chairs, was established by her late mother over fifteen years ago.

  She is also an arts patron who sits on the boards of the Art Gallery of London and the United Kingdom Theatre Company.

  Charlotte Prescott’s estimated wealth currently sits at four billion pounds.

  I raise my eyebrows, winded by what I’ve just read. Fuck me.

  No wonder she’s so guarded.

  I sip my scotch with a shaky hand, and I read the next article.

  For almost twenty-five years, Harold Prescott’s only daughter Charlotte has been one of the great mystery women of the United Kingdom. From birth, the third born child of Harold and his wife Angelique was an enigma. Hidden away in private schools from an early age, Charlotte grew up shy and socially awkward until, as an adult, she became as fiercely private as her father—inaccessible. Charlotte is rarely seen in public and is stringently guarded as she is considered to be her family’s most valuable treasure.

  Some say that for the past five years, since her mother’s death, Charlotte has actively chosen to live a reclusive life.

  Rarely seen in public, only usually attending charity events, Charlotte resides in her family’s private country estate.

  Fuck. I slam my computer shut in disgust with myself. I keep seeing her disappointed face when I hesitated accepting what she so bravely offered. She thinks I didn’t want her because she was a virgin. If only she knew how far from the truth that is.

  * * *

  I walk into the restaurant at 7:00 a.m. Masters and Sebastian are at our usual table and have already ordered for me. We do this every Monday. It’s hard to find time to see each other, so we grab it while we can.

  “Hey,” I say as I slide into my seat.

  They both frown as they look over at me. “What’s wrong with you?” Seb asks.

  “Nothing.” I take a paper from the table and flick it open. “How was your weekend?” I ask.

  “Better than yours, obviously.” Masters tuts. “What happened in Nottingham last week?”

  “Nothing.” I sigh.

  They both smile. “She wouldn’t see you?”

  I blow into my cheeks. “She saw me.” I flick the pages of the paper angrily.

  “Well, what happened? We want details.”

  “No details.” I look up to my two friends. “You were right, though. She is well and truly out of my league.”

  “How so?”

  “She’s a virgin.”

  They both stare at me, and I swear, it’s so quiet that you could hear a pin drop.

  I throw my hands up in the air. “I know, right? What the actual fuck is that about?”

  “Oh, hell,” Masters whispers, running his fingers over his stubble. “So, what happened? She told you she was saving herself for marriage, and then kicked you out?” Seb asks.

  “Nope. She told me she was a virgin and I freaked out like a fucking baby, and then she kicked me out.”

  Masters stares at me. “You did what?”

  I shake my head. “I can’t deal with that kind of pressure, man. I can’t even be monogamous to one woman for more than a week.” I pinch the bridge of my nose.

  Seb nods. “That’s a truth.”

  Masters frowns at me, not saying a word.

  “We had dinner and then went back to her house. Before we got inside, I had words with her fucking security guard.”

  “She has a security guard?” Masters asks.

  “Yeah, and I reckon he is sweet on her. He was way too invested.” I pause as I remember the look on Wyatt’s face. “Once I got rid of him, we got busy and I told her we should fuck. That’s when she told me she was a virgin.”

  Our breakfasts arrive to a table filled with silence.

  I pick up my knife and fork.

  “Fuck me,” Seb eventually whispers. “Why does this shit never fucking happen to me?” He slaps his forehead. “I would give my left fucking nut to have a virgin.”

  Masters chuckles. “Right?” He cuts into his toast. “Imagine how hot the sex would be.”

  They both smile darkly.

  “Stop it.” I groan. “Don’t even think about sex with her.” I point my knife at Sebastian. “You go near her and I’ll fucking kill you.”

  The two of them chuckle in unison.

  “Jesus Christ, calm down.” Seb laughs.

  I run my both hands through my hair. “This woman has got me going fucking crazy.”

  “So, do something about it.”

  “I can’t fuck her!” I snap. “You don’t just fuck a girl like Charlotte.”

  “No, you don’t.” Seb shakes his head. “You fuck her, you marry her. Hands down, one-hundred percent.”

  I begin to perspire. “See?” I point my knife at them. “I can’t get married.”

  “Why not?” Masters frowns.

  “Because, I’ve seen the hell you two have been through and I’m not wired to be with just one woman.”

  “I didn’t think I was either,” Masters says.

  “What made you change?” I ask.

  He shrugs. “I didn’t want anyone else touching me but her.”

  I stare at him.

  “And I didn’t want to touch anybody else. It stopped being just about the sex and more about when I got to spend time alone with her.”

  I shake my head in disgust and look at Seb. “See, this is what I’m talking about. Nothing good can come of this.” I bite my food off my fork with force. “You’re pathetic, by the way, Masters.”

  He nods. “I get it, Spence. Run. Run the fuck away now.”

  “I did.”

  “Then why is it pissing you off?” Masters ask.

  “Because she’s so fucking perfect I can’t even deal with it. I’ve jerked off so many times that my dick is chaffed, and I can’t get any satisfaction from that. I didn’t go out all weekend because I didn’t want to sleep with anybody else.”

  Masters shakes his head. “Yeah, that sounds about right. Hate to tell you, but you’re pretty much fucked already, man.”

  I close my eyes and pinch the bridge of my nose. “Sheridan is in town this week. She’ll snap me out of it.”

  “God, you’ve been on and off with her for a long time.”

  “About ten years, I think.”

  “Why don’t you just make a go of it
with her?” Masters frowns.

  I screw up my face in disgust. “It’s not like that between us.”

  “So, let me get this straight: you’ve been fucking this chick from New York for ten years and you don’t even think about her once when you’re not with her?”

  “God, no, never,” I answer with certainty. “I’m not being a stepfather to her three bratty kids, and I definitely don’t want to move to the states. Nor do I want her moving here. We just have fun.” I scowl and look up at the ceiling. “I think she’s even got a boyfriend now.”

  “But she’ll call you the minute she gets into town and you’ll go to her hotel.”

  “Oh, yeah, I’ll fuck her ‘til she can’t walk.” I bite the food from my fork. “When she’s in London, she’s mine.”

  “How often does she come here?”

  “Four times a year.”

  “How long does she stay each visit?”

  I shrug. “Ten days or so.”

  “Like I said,“ Seb mutters. “Why doesn’t this fucking shit ever happen to me?”

  We continue to eat our breakfast, and the boys talk and chatter cheerfully, but my mind is in Nottingham… with Charlotte.

  I hate that she thinks that this is about her. This isn’t about her, it’s about me and what I can’t be.

  If I go there, eventually I’ll fuck it up. I know I will, and I can’t stand the thought of that.

  It’s best to just leave it as it stands. I can’t see her again.

  I exhale heavily at the depressing thought, and I stare out of the window, feeling like shit.

  “Fuck’s sake, snap out of it.” Masters groans.

  “Whatever.” I sigh, tucking into my breakfast again.

  It’s going to be a long day.

  Charlotte

  Lara falls into the seat opposite me. “Good Lord, I need a strong drink. Can you buy it by the bottle here?” She sighs.

  I smile and sip my wine. “What happened?”

  She throws her hands up in the air. “Ugh, where do I start?” She holds her finger up. “Oh, I know, let’s start with the fact that there was a pubic hair on my desk this morning when I got to work.”

  “What?” I gasp.

  “That stupid wench from accounts is fucking somebody, and she’s doing it on my desk.”

  I put my hand over my mouth and stifle a laugh. “Are you sure?”

  “Yes.” She frowns, horrified. “I called the other girls into my office and we all agreed that the hair was definitely pubic. We had a two-hour discussion over it.”

  My eyes widen. “What did you do?”

  “Disinfected the hell out of everything, and then put a complaint into management.”

  “I have no words.”

  She shakes her head in disgust. “I do. Get a fucking room.” She pours herself a glass of wine, but she’s so distracted that it sloshes over the side. “It’s disgusting. Now everywhere I look in the office, I imagine her huge hairy vagina has been on it, getting pummelled.” She sticks her fingers down her throat to fake vomit. “Oh, and don’t even get me started on the kitchen. I’m never eating my lunch on that table again.”

  I tip my head back and laugh. God, Lara is really riled up about this.

  “Anyway.” She shakes her head. “How was your weekend?”

  “Good.” I shrug, and I feel a little sadness creep back in. I’ve been bummed all weekend over Spencer not wanting me. I’m embarrassed and I wish the whole nightmare hadn’t happened.

  She sips her wine and watches me. “What is that look?”

  “I saw Spencer last week.”

  She frowns. “What? Where?”

  “He came to my work.”

  “Spencer Jones? The Spencer from the other night? The one you kissed at the wedding?”

  I nod with a sad smile.

  Her mouth falls open and she leans against the table. “What did he want?”

  “We went out for dinner.”

  “What? Like, on a date?”

  I nod and try to hide my smile. “He had the day off, and he waited outside work for me to finish.”

  She sits back in her seat. “Holy shit.”

  I shrug. “So, yeah, that happened.”

  She frowns. “What exactly happened?”

  “Nothing.”

  Her eyes widen. “Charlotte... I am all for you finally going on a date and all, but with him? We both Googled him last week when you kissed him, remember?”

  I twist my lips.

  “He’s a total womaniser.” She tuts.

  “I know that. I won’t see him again, don’t worry. It was just nice to do something out of the ordinary, you know?” I am not telling Lara the rest of the story. She just wouldn’t understand.

  “You’re just bored.” She sighs. “And I want you to break free, I really do.”

  I smirk.

  “To be honest, it’s time you broke out of Edward’s reign,” she continues.

  Lara hates the way that Edward tries to control me, to the point they have had many an argument. I think they secretly like each other but would never admit it.

  “Edward is…” I shake my head as I try to articulate my thoughts. “He’s at the height of his controlling phase.”

  “Ha, what’s new?”

  “William came home this week and Edward called Penelope a whore. They had a huge fight, and William took off back to Switzerland.”

  “Penelope is a whore.” She screws up her face. “I wish she’d gone back to Denmark with that German she was fucking,” she adds. “If she just left William back then, he would be over her by now. Maybe he’d finally be with someone deserving.”

  “I know, she makes me sick.” I sigh.

  A comfortable silence falls over us, until Lara smiles at me, something clearly on her mind.

  “What?”

  “Why don’t you move to London?”

  “Lars.” I sigh. “When are you going to give up on this?” She’s been trying to talk me into moving for about eighteen months now.

  “Never.” She takes my hands across the table. “It’s not like you can’t afford it. Your trust fund is bigger than the English reserve bank. Look, just move there for six months, date gorgeous men, have fun, meet new people. Elizabeth is in London, and you can go out and meet new people.”

  I stare at her.

  “You are going to go crazy in that stuffy castle of a prison, Charlotte. You are wasting the best years of your life.”

  “It’s not a prison,” I retort. “I live there because of my father, and it’s my home.”

  “Bullshit. Edward will control you while you continue to live there, and you know it.”

  I stare at her.

  “He knows who you date, when you get home, what you are eating for dinner.”

  I sip my wine. “It’s true, he does.”

  “All I’m saying is that it’s great that you’re ready to start dating, but do it in London, away from your brother.”

  “I love my brother, Lars. I know he’s just trying to protect us all after mum died.”

  “I know he is, too, and he’s a good man. Just misunderstood.” She smiles as she watches me. “He goes away tomorrow for six weeks, doesn’t he?”

  “Yeah.” I frown. “How do you know that?”

  Her face falters. “You mentioned it the other week.”

  I stare at her for a moment. I didn’t even find this out until two days ago, and I haven’t spoken to Lara in that time.

  “What are you doing in town, Lars?” I ask casually.

  Is she fucking my brother?

  No. Don’t be stupid.

  “Oh, it’s Mum’s birthday tomorrow. I got the day off work, so I came home to see her. Do I need an excuse to see my best friend, too?”

  “No.” I smile.

  “Will you think about London?” she pleads.

  “I have my job and I love it. I can’t imagine doing anything else.” I shrug. “If I’m meant to move to London, the universe will g
ive me a sign.”

  “I know it will.” She smiles knowingly. “Now, we need to talk about Spencer.” She widens her eyes. “Tell me everything. Let’s stalk him from afar.”

  I giggle.

  “What does he do for work?” She frowns.

  “Steel or something.”

  She takes her phone out and begins to search him.

  “Don’t tell me anything about the women you find on that thing,” I snap. God, it’s bad enough that he didn’t want me, I don’t need the women he did want rubbed in my face.

  “Oh.” She frowns as she reads. “So, he’s an architect who designs skyscrapers and he owns a steel company that supplies to most countries for the said skyscrapers.” She purses her lips. “His company has four hundred staff. Wow, he’s no slouch.”

  “I never said he was. You did.”

  “Just don’t tell Edward that he came to your work. He will go nuclear. Or your father, for that matter.”

  “I’m not that stupid.”

  Lara’s eyes hold mine. “Promise me.”

  “Promise you what?’

  “Promise me you won’t fall for this guy’s cheap pickup lines. He’s a player—the player of all players.”

  “I know, I’m not stupid. Give me some credit, please.” I sigh.

  “Good.” She smiles broadly.

  I sip my wine and stare across the restaurant. If only she knew that I offered myself to him on a silver platter and he turned me down.

  I close my eyes in disgust. What the hell was I thinking?

  * * *

  It’s 10:00 p.m. and all is quiet on the estate. I pull the curtains back and stare out into the darkness. My mind keeps going over the fact that Lara knew Edward was going away tomorrow.

  How did she know that? Had I told her and forgotten?

  No. I hadn’t even known it myself.

  I see the two security guards walking down the road performing their last sweep of the grounds for the night, and I walk out onto my front porch. “Hello,” I call out as they approach my property.