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His manly taste—oak and ocean—goes down my throat easily, and my eyes never leave Carter’s as I do it.
“Come here, baby girl,” he says, slowly going down to his knees. He grabs me by the hair and, without waiting for a reaction, he leans in and crushes his mouth against mine. Our tongues roll together in a blanket of cum, and I feel a few beads dripping down both our chins, the wickedness of what we’re doing making my head spin.
When he pulls back from me, Carter rolls to the side and lies down on the floor, his chest rising and falling as he tries to catch his breath. I lie down by his side, my hand looking for him, and lock my fingers on his.
“So good…” I whisper, staring blankly at the ceiling while a dreadful word dances over my tongue. “But –”
“I know,” he cuts me short, squeezing my hand softly. “It’s not the same.”
“No, it isn’t,” I find myself saying, my heart tightening inside my chest as I think of Derek. As perfect as it is with Carter … nothing can compare to what the three of us experienced. More than perfection, that was transcendence.
We’re three matching pieces and now, one of us is missing, and we’re incomplete.
Chapter Thirty
Carter
Fifteen.
That’s how many direct requests to pull out money from my funds are delivered to my office 24 hours after Derek’s little press conference. I swear that little asshole thinks he can absolve himself of everything by just throwing me under the bus and tossing in Eliza too and walk away, he’s got another thing coming. I don’t need my billions of dollars to use my fists.
Five.
That’s how many minutes after I get really pissed at Derek that it usually takes me to calm down. While I can’t understand what possessed him to do what he did, I do know that he probably felt that he had to. As much as I’m angry at Derek, I know deep down that somehow he tried his best and he didn’t want to harm us.
I know you’re probably even rolling your eyes at that one. I mean in what universe does going on national television with all major news networks recording and saying that two people pressured you to launder money outside of the United States not a premeditated attack on the credibility of the person you’re accusing? But somehow, and don’t ask me how, but somehow I know that Derek was trying to spare us from the worst of it. Somehow he said what he had to, but I know he’s trying to give himself room.
Sixteen.
That’s the number of interview or comment requests I’m getting every hour either at home or at work. Somehow, reporters have managed to track down my personal unlisted home phone number as well as my cell phone number. Thank God the jackals haven’t gotten to Eliza yet, but I know it’s only a matter of time.
Five.
That’s how many lawyers Eliza has brought on board. They’re joining three of my lawyers and together we’re ready to fight anything that comes out of this mess within 24 hours of Derek’s bombshell.
Ten.
That’s how many hours it takes Wanda to show us her hand. Turns out, either she planned this or this was exactly the opportunity she was waiting for because within ten hours we get a notice that Wanda is taking Eliza to Probate Court to contest the articles of the Seymour Family Estate’s will that places Eliza in charge. According to court filed documents, Wanda, as a trustee, no longer has confidence that Eliza is of sound mind and body and of the proper integrity and character to carry out her duties specified. Wanda Seymour is looking to have her stepdaughter removed as the custodian of the Seymour family fortune and step in as needed. Of course, the filings go on to say that Wanda will search for an appropriate custodian but it doesn’t say by when. It’s a good thing we were lawyered up.
Two.
That’s how many weeks we have before we face off against Wanda in court. With her court filings, we realize that we have two weeks to prepare not just in legal documents, but in the court of public opinion as well. If we don’t somehow get the gossip columns and tabloids, which have entered into this story with glee, on our sides, then something tells me that this case could bias itself against Eliza very quickly.
Sixty.
That’s how many minutes long of a press conference we’re planning on doing before the court appearance. It’s not really even my idea. Left to myself, I’d huddle with my lawyers and then go and hit something. It’s Eliza, in bed after a particularly athletic fuck, who comes out with the idea to hold a press conference.
“Not just to counter Derek,” she says, scrunching up her face as she thinks, “But to tell our side of the story as well.”
