Being a lawyer isn’t just about making solid legal arguments. It’s more about how you hold yourself and how you can convince an audience of skeptics. I found that appearance worked just as well as logic when it came to a jury.
So I worked with appearances. I knew how to manipulate my appearance to suit any crowd, from working class bartenders on up to the richest of the rich.
I didn’t particularly like the people I was trying to charm, but that didn’t matter. The only thing I cared about was accumulating more power.
Power was everything. Power meant you could control your own destiny and were beholden to no man. My parents had no power, and they worked their whole lives for someone else, right up until they both died way too young. First my mother got cancer, and then my father died a year later of heart disease.
I was alone in the world, but that was okay. I had only one goal, anyway. Women, money, these things didn’t matter. Only power mattered.
“Wyatt.”
I looked up from my thoughts. An older gentleman, portly and graying, sidled up next to me.
“Jonathan,” I said. “How’s the shipping industry?”
“Shit,” he said. “As always. How’s being a rock star treating you?”
I laughed. “Attorney general of Illinois isn’t exactly rock star status.”
“Maybe not out there,” he said, gesturing at the walls. “But in here, you’re important. You control the fates of these people, you know.”
“Including yours,” I said, smiling.
“Somewhat.” He said, waving a hand. “Have the hyenas pounced yet?”
“Not yet, but I’m sure they will soon.”
“Don’t get suckered by the money, Wyatt.”
“I didn’t know you cared, Jonathan.”
“I don’t.” He shrugged and finished his drink. “I’m just bored.”
He turned and walked away. I scowled for a moment before righting my face again, calming myself. Jonathan West was one of the richest men in the room, a shipping magnate. He was an old school businessman, and ruthless as hell. He helped finance my campaign, though I never exactly understood why. He never asked for a favor and never even insinuated that he wanted one.
I glanced across the room, scanning for other men I knew, when I suddenly saw her. I nearly took a step backwards.
Long, dark hair. Full figure. Beautiful lips. Striking eyes. She looked back at me, a steady and intense gaze, with a small smile playing along her face.
She was absolutely gorgeous. Tan, creamy skin that I wanted to lick. She quickly looked away, returning to her conversation.
Which rich bastard scored that woman? She was far more attractive and younger than most of the women in the room. She had to be someone’s mistress, but she didn’t look like the mistress type. There was something about her, something interesting.
I’d been with plenty of women in my life, but I never stayed with one. That was unusual for someone in my position, because having a wife was often a political necessity, but I was never at a disadvantage there. I never needed a wife, and I found it was much more fun to have a new woman in my bed whenever I wanted one.
Maybe this girl could be another one of those.
I made my way across the room, eyes locked on her. For a moment, I envisioned holding her down against the table and sliding my thick cock between her legs. I’d love to see her gasp as I filled her. I wanted to make her body sweat, hear her beg my name.
Just as I approached, she moved away from the group of men she was speaking with. She smiled at me, cocking her head to one side.
“Hello,” I said. “I don’t think I know you.”
“No,” she confirmed. “You don’t.”
“Wyatt Carter.”
“I know.” She shook my head. “I’m a fan.”
I smirked at her. “You’re a fan? Strange thing to be a fan of.”
“You’re the youngest attorney general in history. It’s hard not to be a fan.”
“Youngest and handsomest,” I said, smiling. “What’s your name?”
“Louisa.”
“Who are you here with, Louisa?”
“Myself.”
“I take it you just want to help out...” I trailed off, looking around. I had forgotten what the cause was.
“Homeless children,” she said.
I grinned. “That’s right.”
“The children are our future.”
“Of course they are. And homeless ones, especially.”
“Can I get you a drink, Mr. Carter?”
“Call me Wyatt. And how about I get you one?”
“Actually,” she said. “I’d rather you do something else.” She stepped toward me and I raised an eyebrow.