“So, are we still good on the Madden case?”

The mention of Madden’s name transported me back to the meeting happening in my office. Wyatt Evans, the top dog in my team of lawyers and my good friend, sat in front of my desk, smoking my Cuban cigar. Wyatt had been talking for minutes now while my mind was wandering elsewhere. Elsewhere like a pair of pink, luscious lips, caramel-blond hair and hazel-green eyes that called to the wild beast in me.

Now Wyatt, one of the most vicious sharks on Wall Street was asking me a tricky question. Yeah, no one in my stable of highly paid lawyers was a vegetarian. They wanted fresh blood all the time. Just like me. Their boss.

How in hell did it suddenly become tricky after meeting Armand’s daughter? It irked me that she could affect me, even superficially. Everything had been set in stone and nothing could change the course of my present and future actions.

Madden was going down. My way.

“Give me the lowdown,” I said, tapping the top of my desk with my fingers.

“As of two days ago, we have a hundred and eighty complainants raring to testify in a class suit, plus you. You’re the biggest investor, and your testimony will impact the defense with the most damage. They want the old man’s ass in the slammer with the max sentence. Twenty to life. The DA agreed.”

“What’s on the table?”

“Madden is willing to relinquish 40% of his company to you as a new partner, if you drop the case.”

So, the little brat was telling the truth. She got this covered, I realized. Not all, but she did her homework pretty well. That didn’t sit well with me. I was always three steps ahead of my opponents in the corporate chess. She was a step ahead of me. A tiny step, but a step ahead, nonetheless.

“The other complainants would be pissed,” I stated the obvious.

“No doubt they would. Most of them just want the old man to burn in the can for life with Rutledge.”

A lot of the other complainants were small firms affiliated with Madden Securities. Their clients were mostly retirees who invested their entire life’s saving in the hopes of getting more out of it. Maybe they were misled by the silver-tongued agents of Wall Street. A lot of old folks had easily fallen for promises that were too good to be true. History was full of it.

They had nothing on my investments though. Armand and I had a different deal. I invested in his company because I did see its huge potential in the global markets. There were no rainbow promises made. It was a straightforward transaction between two seasoned businessmen. But Armand went behind my back and put my money into a fucking Ponzi scheme.

It gave me a colossal headache for a week. Then all fell into place in my head. In a battle, sometimes, a loss was simply a camouflaged opportunity.

Armand took my money. So, I would take his company. I had a golden opportunity sitting right on my lap. But while I wanted to recoup my losses and use Armand’s tattered reputation as a vehicle for a takeover, the other complainants wanted Armand’s blood. It was a matter of revenge to them. It was a matter of business to me. It always was.

“So, what do you think?” I wondered why I was asking my lawyer for advice when I already knew what I wanted to do even before Wyatt gave me the lowdown? I had this all figured out, plan in place, ready to be set in motion.

“I think we should offer him a plea bargain.”

Yeah, that was the plan, all right, though I hadn’t let Wyatt in on it fully yet. Why be content with only a part of the pie when you can have the whole pie?

“You don’t think he’s guilty?” I asked.

Now, I was having doubts. Bad seeds planted by that little siren in my well-manicured corporate garden.

“No, I’m a practical guy. We both know you don’t give a shit about the trial. You want Madden Securities. Right?”

My lawyer was a son of a bitch, like me, and he knew me pretty well. “Go on.”

“Your money can still be converted from those frozen assets. But the company needs to run again and generate cash. You just need to hold the wheel from now on.”

“But we can prove his guilt, right? We can provide the DA with enough ammo to fry his ass in the can for twenty-years minimum. Right?”

“We could, yeah…”

“You don’t sound so sure, Wy.”

“I’m sure we can, Josh. I’m just saying it would be less…shall we say…mercenary, to just takeover his company than send the man to jail for twenty to life for his stupidity.”

“Complicity.”

“Whatever.”

“You got something?”

“Those Arab billionaires still have confidence in Madden Securities now that they’ve sniffed you’re going to take over. They’re willing to infuse more capital to save the company from shutting down. Half of Madden’s assets are still intact, we know that. If you take over, it will all be unfrozen. Of course, they don’t want to deal with Madden anymore. They want to deal with you.”

“What’s stopping them from helping Madden?”

“They don’t want the Rutledge scandal to rub off on their good names, so they’re holding off until this all blows over. It won’t if we proceed with the case like a Lynch mob to an already hapless target. The media is on it twenty-four seven. It’s because of Madden’s daughter. She’s media-savvy and they’re on her like she’s some royalty or big Hollywood celeb hitting the pits. But she’s good, you know? She’s been doing interviews to defend her father and by the looks of it, she’s succeeding in painting him as one of Rutledge’s victims.”

That intrigued me. I was not a TV person. My channel stopped at Bloomberg. “Really? What had she actually contributed to society except for her big, spoiled ass?”

Wyatt snickered. “She does have a banging ass.”

“You met her?”

“I saw her bikini pics in Saint-Tropez while I was googling about her. Couldn’t help it. The girl’s a looker.”

I felt irritated. I could talk about Cressida’s ass but no one else was allowed to speak of it like they wanted to spank it or put their dicks between it.

Shit. Don’t go there, idiot.

“So, they want me to sanitize the company’s image first.”

“Yup. That’s their deal. Madden’s tainted. Those hypocritical motherfuckers want someone clean and you’re as pure as the driven snow, Landis.”

I gave my lawyer a sour look. Wyatt took a deep drag from his fat cigar, exhaled and gave me a shit-eating grin.

“But we’ll be playing Judas to the other complainants. That would be a PR disaster.”

“They can be pacified by a double return of their investments. Very doable in my opinion.”

“That’s if I can convince them to wait another three years more to get their ROI,” I countered.

“Right. Better three years than nada. Play Messiah. Tell them to forgive Madden and they shall have the kingdom of heaven in the form of cold hard cash in three years. They’re desperate and they’ll believe everything you’ll say. Your words are sacred in Wall Street, Josh.”

Wyatt was blowing smoke up my ass, but then again, it was a kind of lip service usually accorded to me by the slaves of this elaborate corporate machinery. I was not vain. Vanity was a weakness. I’d learned to curb that human frailty long ago, but even I had to acknowledge what I was, at some point.

I was a god in Wall Street.

“The DA is pushing for Madden’s trial to commence in two weeks. Unless…plea bargain. Up to you.”

Fourteen days. Two weeks to decide a man’s fate.

“So, what would it be, Josh?” Wyatt prodded.

Tricky, tricky question.

I needed more time to decide.

Fuck.

“The plan remains, Wy.”

“We’re still going for the max?”

“Nothing but the max. Let’s put this motherfucker away for a long time.”

Wyatt sighed, shaking his head. “Thy will be done, Boss,” he said with his usual sarcasm and left the room.

In the silence of my office, I heard her voice again. I beg you, Mr. Landis. My father means the world to me. He’s innocent. Please, help him so he won’t go to prison and I swear, I’ll do anything you want.”

She really believed in her father’s innocence that she was willing to barter her body for her father’s freedom.

What if Madden was indeed just a victim of Rutledge?

Whether he’s innocent or not, your money is still missing, idiot!

I slapped the top of my table. Why was I now having second thoughts? I certainly wasn’t feeling any compassion for that son of a bitch!

Yes. My three billion dollars were still missing. That was a glaring fact. Madden had to pay up.

I would take over Madden Securities. Armand was going to fry in the can for decades, a fitting punishment for the lives destroyed by his irresponsible actions.

It would be justice. Fair and square.

Joshua made me wait for three agonizing days before he called my number. Our phone conversation could be summed up in five sentences.

“You still want to change my mind?”

“Yes.”

“You’ll go home empty-handed.”

“Like I said, I’ll take my chances.”

“Very well. Wait for my secretary’s call.”

His secretary called me shortly after and told me to pack for a three-day out of town trip the following day. And now I was at the backseat of his luxurious limo. The plush interior was cool and smelled of new leather and a faint expensive cologne. His scent.

I didn’t know where the chauffeur was taking me, but I didn’t care. I only cared about seeing him again. Finally, it was happening.

I had to get used to his scent, I told myself. I would be doing more than smelling him in the next days.

Come morning, I would be a different person. More knowledgeable in the ways of power play, I hoped.

No, I would not treat this episode in my life as a relinquishment of my power, but an exploration. A carnal expedition of sorts. I needed this to defeat Joshua Landis and save my family. I must be a keen practitioner of this art. The art of seduction.

I smoothed the front of my floral sundress. Summer was blowing in and the weather had been perfect. I opted to dress casual for this meeting. I wanted to look relaxed and comfortable in his presence. However, inside, I was nothing but.

Joshua Landis didn’t inspire confidence in people. He sowed fear and instability. His alpha dominant presence would make people doubt their capabilities. He demanded deference and adherence with a single look.

I hoped I could play the submissive to his alpha. It wasn’t me, but desperate situations called for desperate measures. I used to scoff at this cliche, confident in my privileged existence, that no harm could possibly come to me and my charmed life. How a few months had changed that. From a sought-after heiress to a pauper bargaining her virginity for freedom, I’d become a walking irony.

The Manhattan skyline faded behind me, just like the life I used to live. All gone. Everything in ashes. I didn’t know if I could still pick up the pieces and rebuild what was left of us, but I had to try.

I closed my eyes and tried to zone into my inner sanctuary. That safe place where I could be me, unrestrained by the conventions that bound me from birth…

It was the most beautiful place.

In that place I was planting flowers and trees. I was nature’s caretaker. I had a rainforest of my own creation. I planted tirelessly. Every day. Even at night. I slept and woke up to my beloved flowers and trees. Plants were the most beautiful living things. They gave no sorrow, caused no pain and confusion, broke no dreams. They did nothing but bloom and bear fruit and give happiness.

In that place I was a flower too, fresh and wild and free.

In this place, there were no monsters, only angels and colorful birds and butterflies. There was no Joshua Landis.

Wait…there he was, picking my beautiful flowers, crushing the blooms in his cruel fists, his eyes burning with disdain. He hated beauty. He hated what I loved. He hated me, too. He was cold and dark and only wanted destruction. Mine the most.

I opened my eyes, breathing heavily, feeling disoriented. For a while, I didn’t know where I was, but it quickly came back.

I was in the limo. I probably fell asleep.

The limo had stopped moving, too.

The door to my side suddenly opened. I jumped in my seat.

“Miss Madden?”

The chauffeur’s voice was a gentle baritone, like my father’s. He sounded as if nothing could ruffle his disposition. His white gloved hand was extended toward me.

I put my hand in his and strangely felt comfort as he enveloped my hand gently in his.

“My name is Floyd.”

I smiled at the kind elderly man. “Hello, Floyd. Please, call me Cress.”

I let him assist me out of the limo. We were in some wide concrete clearing.

“Where are we?”

“You’ll be boarding the chopper now, Miss Cress.”

“A chopper?”

He gestured to his side. There was a black chopper standing nearby.

“Where am I going?”

“To Camelot, in Southhampton.”

I’d heard of the place. Who hadn’t? I even saw pictures of it taken from aerial views, but never a close-up view or any interior shots. Joshua was a very private person and it had been said that no one got too close to this property of his in Southhampton without his explicit permission. Camelot was like an urban legend among the Hampton residents, and in all of New York.

Floyd carried my luggage and guided me toward the chopper. The rotor started moving as we got closer.

Those stolen photos didn’t give Camelot justice, at all.

Flowers. All in bloom. Everywhere I looked.

I felt a sense of deja vu. Did I not just dream of this? It was my sanctuary come to life!

Camelot was a castle. It could only be described as such. A modern castle. It was the Hanging Gardens of Babylon having a hot date with Modernism. I knew my architecture. Those were the perks of having the luxury of time and money to explore the world anytime I wanted. I’d been all over Europe and the best parts of Asia.

The house was massive. Spectacular.

Juxtaposing glass and steel rose from the rough stones, as if the entire house was carved from the small hill it was standing on. The angular, sedate architecture was only softened by the beauty of nature wrapping all over it. The result was a perfect union of brute force and quiet strength.

The flowers, oh my Lord, I could get lost in all this and never want to be found again.

“Mr. Landis is still tied up in a board meeting in the city, but he’ll join you in a few hours. In the meantime, feel free to explore the villa,” the butler who introduced himself as Adolf, told me politely, as he guided me into the house.

“Thank you,” I said, barely hearing what Adolf said. My eyes were already busy scanning my surroundings.

The interior was equally jaw-dropping. Or was I even inside the house? I couldn’t really tell the interior from the exterior. Nature blended into the house— light, air, water. There was an extremely modern-looking waterfall on one side, making the subtlest sound, and a tree was soaring up to the ceiling!

It was both magical and yet masculinely contemporary. Indeed, the Camelot of the modern times.

I never expected this, that Joshua Landis lived in a place like this. It was beauty in its perfection.

The monster lived in paradise. And boy, did he love King Arthur, the noblest king in my fairy tale books! King Arthur was everything that Joshua was not.

The man was a walking contradiction.

Logic dictated against it. It was an unnecessary distraction. She was a red herring sent by Armand to make me take my eyes off the prize. I must not fall for it.

But I discovered I was vain, after all. I was a man who couldn’t resist proving something to a particular woman.

My battle with Armand was as good as won, but I wanted to win this mini-battle with Little Miss Madden.

I knew she wasn’t really begging. It was an act. A challenge thrown right in my face.

She thought she could get me to do what she wanted by dangling her cherry like the sweetest candy in front of me. Me who could have almost any woman I wanted?

Yes, that was the only reason why I asked my secretary to contact her, why I sent my chauffeur to get her. To teach her a lesson.

I told myself that over and over as the hours passed. I was in the middle of work, and my mind was flooded with the ways I would make her yield to me, submit to my every command.

“I’m still a virgin. Is that high enough, Mr. Landis?”

Her soft, girlish voice echoed in my mind like a song in a loop. I couldn’t shake it off. Knowing how these young socialites were nowadays, finding one still pure was like finding a treasure at the end of a rainbow. It was a fantasy. A unicorn.

But I’d know soon enough if she was bullshitting me with it. I wasn’t a man who would pass up a challenge like that. She didn’t come into this blind. She came to me and threw the gauntlet. She wrapped it prettily with her claim of chastity, thinking she could manipulate me with sex.

Sex with a virgin, to boot!

Ah, the daring and delusions of the young.

The little brat needed to be taught some lessons in humility. Not all you want, you get. There was only one person who could say the opposite of that around me and succeed.

Me.