Chapter 4

She was greeted at the door by Alfred, who invited her in with a knowing smile. "How nice to see you again, Ms. Kenner."

"Thank you, Alfred. Is he busy?"

"Not that I know of, Ms. Kenner." He took her coat and gestured at the sofa nearby. "He's in the study, but I'll be sure to let him know that you're here. Please, have a seat."

As he walked away, Gwyneth sauntered around the barely decorated living room. The place felt significantly less alien now that she'd been here more frequently and become more familiar with the layout of the vast space. One thing that never failed to amaze her was how spacious his place was. The high ceilings and wall-sized windows, added to the sparse furniture made the penthouse look as bigger than it actually was. The white walls were tastefully adorned with art, mostly postmodern - she particularly loved the Jackson Pollock piece on the wall adjacent to the massive flat-screen TV and the Al Held near the dining table. The dining table, oh, how her eyes almost fell out of their sockets when she first saw it. Philippe Starck, 2010 collection, a modern marvel of lucite and steel.

She couldn't help but feel a pang of envy, knowing that she could never afford any of these things, not even in her wildest dreams. Can't imagine how it would suck to be filthy rich, she thought. For all its antiseptic properties, the place had Aidan written all over it, and it was beginning to grow on her.

From the Eames lounge chair to the Bang and Olufsen audio system, it was obvious this wasn't the work of some cushy interior designer. No, this was him - clear cut, no fuss, unsettlingly simple and spartan. Clues were lying all over the place if you looked hard enough. The art, the music, and more importantly, how the place was perfectly spotless, with nary an book or cushion out of place. With any other man, she would've attributed it to a professional cleaning service, but she thought of how neurotic Aidan could be and her lips curved into a smile.

This was the home of a perfectionist. Maybe she was overthinking it, reading too much into empty details like she always did, overanalyzing the most basic facts and contorting them into a great hullaballoo ... but maybe it really was so obvious. Perhaps his home was a metaphorical representation of something bigger, an avatar...

"It's never a good sign when she's more interested in the decor than she is in the sex." Aidan's dry voice interrupted her inner monologue. She turned around to see him standing there, hand in one pocket, looking like he'd been watching her for a while.

He still hadn't changed out of his work clothes, though his tie was off and his sleeves were rolled up. Rumpled appearance aside - which was just about as un-Aidan as it got - the biggest surprise came in the form of the metal-rimmed glasses perched on his nose bridge, a pair of smart rectangular frames she'd never seen on him before. It was almost absurd, how glasses made him look more attractive, but for some reason it made him a million times hotter.

She wondered if he could keep it on later, even when they were in bed ... but quickly shook her head free of all such thoughts. Damn it, she thought, two seconds after seeing him in glasses and all she could think of is sex. As he walked towards her, Gwyneth took the opportunity to feast her eyes at the sight of his strong, exposed forearms and the tousled geek-chic look he was currently sporting. She bit her lip and hid a blush while he leaned in for a quick kiss, folding her into his arms and gently pressing his lips to hers in one smooth gesture.

"Well," she started, struggling to regain her composure, "well maybe if sex looked this good, I'd be much more enthusiastic about it." She gestured around her. "This place is gorgeous, Aidan. And I know it's a little late to mention this, but the view, oh my God, I've never seen anything quite like this." She walked towards one of the huge windows and looked out at the New York skyline, watching the lights of the huge city glimmer like opalescent beads on a sea of ink.

At this hour, the traffic looked like glittering snakes of gold and red, pulsing and fading like blood flowing through an artery. For a moment she was lost in its beauty, transfixed by the sight she beheld. "It's amazing ... it's almost like the city is alive." she breathed, her voice a faint whisper. She'd always been fascinated with the night, loving its quiescent energy, living her whole life as a nocturnal creature. It was only after the sun set that she felt awake, starting her day as the rest of the world went to bed. The lyric spilled out of her before she could help it. "It's getting dark and the sky looks sticky, more like black treacle than tar."

"Somebody told the stars you're not coming out tonight, so they found a place to hide." Aidan caught the reference and finished after her. Only then did she realize that he was still holding her, her back pressed to his chest and his chin resting on her head. Being in his arms always felt so nice, and in the comfort of their privacy it felt all the more profound. But wait - profound. The more she thought about it, the more uncomfortable she felt and unease began to gnaw at her, sending chills up her neck as she realized that the affection of the moment had been a little more intimate than she'd bargained for.

True, the arrangement between them was somewhat ... delicate. They'd agreed on the usual sex with no strings attached, and so the generic rules that prohibited commitments were applied - but then again, a simple fuck and goodbye was too crude to be feasible. She liked to believe that there was a tacit understanding between them that whole romance act thus far was just another part of foreplay, a charade designed to propagate the greater game. After all, what would sex be without the flirting and frisson that led up to it?

This is all part of it, she reminded herself. This is what a true casual relationship was like. Pretending to care, but never really being there to weather the worst. It bugged her that this wasn't the first time she had to catch herself because moments like this always felt like they were overstepping an invisible boundary, breaking rules that no one dared speak about. But as long as she kept herself in check, always distancing the most vital part of her feelings - the truth - she knew that she would be safe, harnessed firmly to the reality of matters, never drifting too close to the sun.

She'd been so caught up in her thoughts that she didn't realize how much time had passed. They must have been standing there for quite some time, for now he broke away from her and walked towards the bar. "Do you really like the place, then?" he asked, pouring out two glasses of wine as he did so, "The general complaint from everyone is that it's a little too spartan to be comfortable."

"It's perfect, if you ask me. You've taken a very purist approach to the minimalist concept, which explains why so few appreciate it. I mean, I could never be this streamlined," she pointed at the kitchen, which had not a single pot or pan in sight, "In fact, I don't think I've ever met anyone who could manage being so ... minimal. But it suits you, and that's saying something - it's your personal space. It's home."

He raised his eyebrows in amusement and took a sip of wine. "Never heard that one before, but thanks. It's nice to find someone who understands the principle behind it. You know, once, I've even had someone ask if I wasn't done moving in yet. She couldn't believe this was all there was going to be in the apartment."

"Well you can whittle down the whole place even more if you want, and if you're looking to get rid of that dining table, you're in luck. That," she swallowed a mouthful of wine and waved her wineglass in the direction of the futuristic table, "that would look amazing in my house." She paused for a moment. "Assuming it'd even fit. I think my house is the size of your bathroom."

He laughed out loud, eyes crinkling up in mirth. "Funny you should mention the table. It was designed by -"

"-Philippe Starck, I know," she cut him off smoothly, a playful twitch tugging at her lips. Aidan looked caught out for a second, but he just shook his head and smiled.

"Bloody hell, you're good. Has anyone ever told you that you have a great eye? I mean it," he leaned forward to look her in the eye. "You're such an astute observer, and you have impeccable taste."

Gwyneth tried to laugh off the compliment. "Yeah, well, I'm the girl with great taste who has resorted to openly begging for a designer table," she joked.

"Oh no, I wouldn't call that openly begging." He moved towards her and took her face in his hands. "Trouble is, you can have anything you want from me, anything at all, without having to ask for it, and that is very, very dangerous. I'll have to be more careful."

She giggled in response and pressed a kiss onto his lips. "Well I promise to not to run of with all of your money," her eyes were dancing with mischief. "I'll settle for half."

The sound of her giggle made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. He loved it when she laughed like that - adored how it was so feminine and coquettish, equal parts innocent girl and womanly vixen - and now she was smoothing her palms over his broad torso, slowly paving her way down south, warming his skin through his shirt.

Her eyes swept around the room confirmed that Alfred had made himself scarce without having to be told, like the true professional that he was. Assured of their privacy, she hooked her fingers into his slacks and tugged at them hard, pulling his hips towards hers, showing him know how much she wanted him right here, right now.

"I've missed you," she mumbled into his collar, breathing in deeply. "Been thinking of you all day."

Taking his cue, his hands slid over the curve of her bottom and he gave them a firm squeeze as he nuzzled the nape of her neck, pressing his nose into the shallow bracket of her collarbone. "I've missed you too." From there, he began to kiss a light trail towards the bone just below her ear - light, feathery kisses, with just the faintest brushes of his lips. "My mind keeps wandering off to you, no matter how hard I try to stop myself."

She murmured, allowing the pleasure to gradually unwind and warm her from within. His hands were busy pulling out the tucked edges of her shirt, slipping underneath it to meet the bare skin of her back. Aidan could feel her body responding now, the tell-tale tremors on her skin that he'd come to be familiar with of late.

Gwyneth purred when she felt him undoing the buttons of her shirt, lightly nipping at her earlobe with his teeth. She could feel the prickle of his five o-clock shadow brushing on her skin, making her spine tingle in anticipation. She shook off her shirt and stood in front of him in a satin black bra, swaying her hips gently and lifting her hands above her head, as if she was dancing to imaginary music. Eyes closed, her hips rolled invitingly, moving in small circles as she spun around until her back faced him, grinding her rounded ass against the bulge in his pants. His eyes darkened at the contact and he suppressed a groan, letting her tease him with her gyrations without protest. Aidan's hands moved around her waist to work on her pants, while she reached out behind her and looped her arms around his neck, pulling him closer to her.

She never stopped dancing, just indulged herself and moved to the beat in her head, losing all sense of inhibition in front of him. She didn't have to see him to know how aroused he was, she didn't need to look into his eyes to recognize his smoldering gaze, burning hot with lust and desire for her. She just knew. Lost in her own private world, she felt sexy, empowered, beguiling. Beautiful. Reckless. He continued to undress her, gently biting into her neck when he undid her bra, drawing a line down her inner thigh with his tongue while he pulled down her panties.

Her eyes flew open when he suddenly swept her up in his arms, picking her up and carrying her as if she weighed nothing - then he dropped her onto the sofa before rolling on top of her. Pinned underneath him, she was helpless and completely at his mercy - a soft, sinewy goddess for him to own and please, her lips slightly parted in obscene lust, legs spread open in invitation. It was his turn to have fun now.

His mouth closed over her nipple, making her gasp in response while he sucked on the taut bud, teasing the sensitive peak with his tongue. Aidan's fingers found the moist opening between her legs already soaked in her own fluids and he stroked her labia gently, dragging his fingers over her glistening folds to watch her mouth fall open in a lewd gasp, her eyelids almost crashing shut from the combined sensations. He could hear his own heartbeat loud and clear in his own ears, feel his breath ragged and distorted with want.

Without warning he thrust two fingers inside her tight channel and she squealed at the sudden intrusion, an answer that both delighted and turned him on. As he pumped his fingers roughly in and out of her, sending shockwaves of pleasure rippling through her, rushing towards the inevitable climax, she arched her back and thrashed around, wanting to take more of him inside her.

Watching her pump her hips to meet his thrusts was nothing short of gratifying, his rock hard erection a painful reminder of his acute arousal. He was so hard now, so desperate to plunge into her repeatedly and make her scream his name over and over again. Sensing that she was near, he pulled out his hand and held them under her nose, letting her see how she'd coated his hand in her juices, the glistening fluid trickling down his palm.

"Show me," he instructed, "show me what you want to do to my cock with that pretty little mouth of yours."

Gwyneth didn't need to be told twice. She closed her lips over his outstretched fingers, giving them a strong, deep suck, flicking her tongue on the underside of his fingers, tasting her own nectar on his hands. From the noises he was making, Aidan was clearly enjoying the show she was exhibiting. She could see how much he wanted her, just how much she drove him crazy, and it only made her ache for him all the more.

She continued to work on his fingers, sucking on them with a pornographic hunger while his other hand strayed south, reaching to align his cock with her dripping entrance. The head of his cock rested against her pussy, almost inside but not quite, just barely entering her. She whimpered softly and raised her hips, her eyes pleading for him to fill her, to fuck her and make her come, never letting up on the oral service she was lavishing on his fingers. He'd never wanted a woman like he wanted her this very moment, so very much that it took every ounce of restraint to hold himself back and tease her a little longer.

"Do you want me to fuck you?" She nodded and thrust her hips at him again, silently begging to be filled. The time for games was over. He pulled his fingers out of her mouth and asked her again. "Mmm, you really need me inside you, don't you?" Her reply was a barely audible bleat.

"Tell me. Tell me what you want, Gwyneth, tell me what you want me to do to you."

"Fuck me, please." Her head was lolling about distractedly now, her mind so delirious with pleasure that she was hardly sober. "Please, Aidan, please, I can't take it any more."

He filled her completely in one smooth thrust, burying himself to the hilt in one stroke. She howled at the feeling of his entire length inside her, finally quenching the longing she'd felt all day. Aidan fucked her with deep, furious strokes, unrelenting in rhythm as the pleasure built up, dangerously nearing orgasm. He could her her encouraging moans, feel her nails digging deep into his ass as he pounded into her, feeling her tight, velvet walls clench around him, her juices flowing down to his balls.

He knew that she was enjoying it, oh yes she was, screaming out incoherent words of approval, thrusting up her hips as he drove it into her like a maniac. All he could feel was her, drowning himself in the act of simply fucking her - letting that animalistic need rip through as he rammed into her as deep as he could.

There it was again, that sweet, familiar build, rising in intensity until he felt her tighten around him, pushing him over the precipice, and then he was shouting her name while he emptied himself into her, and his mind went blank for what seemed like eternity. The bliss gradually subsided, relaxing into a deep, languorous repose of mumbled conversations in the dark while the heat of the night was dissipating away, leaving behind a warm blanket of comfort that ensconced them both.

"Let's see ... mmm ... star sign," she asked him in a sleepy voice. They were exchanging short snippets of random information about each other, taking turns to ask the oddest questions they could muster.

"Horoscope, Gwyneth, really? Just when you think you know someone..."

"Oh, shut up. Just an astronomy geek. I could tell you everything about each constellation of the zodiac."

"Huh, really." She could detect the slightest tone of challenge in his voice, his competitive streak never letting up, not even during pillow talk. "The twins of Gemini - shoot."

"Castor and Pollux," she fired back without missing a heartbeat. "Don't mess, Scodelario."

"Smartass," he retorted. "Okay ... childhood phobias."

"Hmm..." she shifted in bed to face him better, pulling the duvet over her shoulders. "Caterpillars."

As predicted, Aidan snorted in disbelief. "The fuck? Caterpillars? Were you worried they'd ... you know what, I don't know, I can't think of anything scary that a bloody caterpillar could possibly do to you."

She swatted at him halfheartedly. "Phobias are irrational, okay? Caterpillars are all ... green and bulgy and ... pokey."

"Pokey? Woman, you paint with words."

"Yeah, yeah," she rolled her eyes and burrowed deeper into her pillow. "What was yours then? Terrified of getting an A minus on a test?"

"I would've disemboweled myself with a butter knife if that ever happened," he replied, making her giggle. "I never did A minuses."

"And you call me the smartass." Her speech was slurring now as she fought a losing battle to stay awake. Aidan had to smile at the sight of his sleepy partner, eyelids half closed but still trying to put up with her end of the conversation.

"Go to bed," he soothed in a gentle voice. "Goodnight, my stargazing know-it-all."

"You still haven't told me yours."

Aidan went quiet for a few seconds. "Needles. I was afraid of needles."

He watched her for a reaction but she was fast asleep, looking all relaxed and peaceful, those beautiful features settling into a serene calm as she rested. Whenever she slept, there was the barest hint of a smile on her lips, as if she was always dreaming the most pleasant of dreams. This wasn't something he usually did with women, but he genuinely enjoyed watching her in her slumber, totally oblivious to the world around her. There was a remarkable fragility in her stance that he didn't see when she was up and running, a softer, more vulnerable Gwyneth that opposed the know-it-all she usually was.

"Wimp."

The monosyllabic grunt left her lips as a good-night bid, a light insult to end the day. His smile widened at the thought of it. Of course she had to - couldn't resist throwing in a jibe, could she? Aidan pressed a soft kiss to her forehead, wished her goodnight, and turned to face away from her, finally allowing himself to drift off, too.

"You can't be serious," Aidan glowered at his friend, his voice approaching a menacing pitch, "Julian, you had better not be fucking around."

Julian didn't look the least bit fazed. "It's happening, Aidan, and it's only a matter of how many people get involved right now. Believe it or not, a lot of things don't require your approval, and this is happening regardless of whether you agree or not."

Aidan exhaled sharply and raked a hand through his hair. He could hardly believe his ears right now and struggled to wrap his head around the absurdity of the whole scenario. "We could always increase the settlement value -"

"Fuck you, Aidan. We are not paying these people off." The rebuke came out harsh and unforgiving, matching the anger that was flashing in his eyes. "I came to you about this because I thought that of all the wankers in this fucking cesspool of a company, I figured that you'd have the decency to do the right thing." He scoffed at his own statement. "But I guess you've grown up true to the trust fund, throwing around money as a cheap way of saying you're sorry -"

"Don't you dare," Aidan bristled, his temper threatening to boil over. "Don't you fucking dare accuse me of being a fatcat when you're rambling like a lunatic about some glorified coup," he hissed the c-word with exceptional disdain "and fucking ignore the repercussions of it on LSA. You damn well know what's going to happen if you carry on with that Erin Brockovich fuckall you're trying to pull, and don't think, for a moment, that I'm not going to fucking stop you."

Julian had nothing to say in return. There was no arguing with the fact that publicly turning against Ceres Labs would be a PR and financial disaster. To be a global law firm that publicly dumped and shamed its client, who was currently locked in a high-profile civil standoff that skated thinly on the borderline of criminal, would spell the end of LSA. If, and after the dust cleared, even the Lehman Brothers would've been in better shape that they could ever be in. To be frank, Julian wouldn't have minded that in the least bit.

Having grown up with Aidan, at first it seemed like the two were meant to mature into lawyers, just like their fathers, promising to be the future of the legacy that their fathers perpetuated. After all, they shared so much in common - born into eminent families, strong-willed, idealistic - but at some point in life, Julian fell off the road to corporate law when the conflict between profit and pollution proved too deep to bridge. Inexplicably, and almost overnight, he came to hate everything that LSA stood for - all the multinational conglomerates and formula-thick investment banks, the vast wealth that kept accumulating, the money that pooled around people like his family. To watch the firm go up in cinders was pittance to him.

The two men just stared at each other in defiant silence. As always, the problem was that the two were so alike - both hard-headed and unwilling to give in. Oddly enough, one party reached out in a peace offering.

"There's a way we can do this without compromising the integrity of the firm," Aidan explained, trying to keep his tone in check. "You, me, Marty, and the Feds." Julian opened his mouth to say something, but Aidan hushed him by simply raising his hand.

"No major news networks, which means that BBC and CNN are the last to fucking hear about it. If we're going to come out of this alive, we're going to play it political. FDA, FBI, USDA. Criminal charges - all we do is collect enough to warrant prosecution, and the leave the rest for the guys over at the DA to jerk off to. Everything has to be off-the-record and insidious - files are to be shared on ghost servers, calls made through encrypted lines. If you think you're going to be seal a prosecution for Ceres by yourself, be my guest, because this is fucking loony as it is, Julian, but I'm willing to do it with you - so that's my final offer. Either take it, or go fuck yourself."

Aidan studied Julian's face to try and gauge his reaction. So far all he could tell was that Julian was duly impressed at how quickly he came up with a mediating solution, but apart from that, his train of thought was hard to decipher. Naturally, one would expect him to be dubious - Aidan's plan was nothing more than an impromptu answer, hastily devised on the spot. But the more Julian examined the logic behind the scheme, the better it looked. Finally he broke the silence.

"Can we trust Marty?"

"Without a doubt. He's the one man in this whole agenda whom you should never have to question."

Julian seemed satisfied with the answer. "And that woman - Kenner, was it? What about her?"

"She stays out of this." Aidan insisted in a tone that would brook no argument. "She's only an associate. The rest of us are big enough to play with the big boys, so if shit hits the fan, we'll ride it out, just us three."

Aidan's refusal to include the girl piqued Julian's interest. "Shouldn't she be allowed to decide if she wants to be involved? At least give her the opportunity, talk her through it -"

"I said she stays out of this, and that is absolutely non-negotiable." Aidan's stentorian voice made damn sure that Julian got the message. The anger was returning to the surface, bubbling inside his chest like lava, leaving actual physical discomfort in its wake. He felt restless and fidgety, and a lot more anxious than he'd like to admit. He should be. From this second onwards, things were heading full speed ahead down a dangerous slope There would be a lot of chaos, disguised underneath a facade of calm waters - and if anyone so much as saw a ripple on the surface, alarm bells would ring, and there would be no telling how ugly things will get, or how quickly it would escalate.

But that was a problem for later. A cursory glance at his watch showed that he was already late for a meeting. It wasn't a particularly crucial one, in fact, it was one of those brain-numbing, redundant jigs, but Aidan needed an excuse to get out of there, to escape from the oppressive tension in the room.

He got out of his chair abruptly and headed towards the door of his office. "I'm supposed to be at a meeting, so you can let yourself out after I'm gone. We'll discuss this later." Just before he left, he turned back and offered some parting words to his friend.

"And just so you know, no one here can so much as fucking take a piss without my permission. Remember that the next time you try to muscle your way around here, Lynch." Aidan slammed the door behind him, leaving Julian alone in Aidan's office.

Even if they didn't expressly discuss it, Aidan and Julian were both aware that if they were caught building a case against their own client, there would be a lot of personal loss at risk. The thought of putting himself out there and exposing himself to danger meant nothing to either of them. Growing up with all that money imbued them with a sense of invincibility, even if it wasn't real - they felt untouchable, never registering any imminent harm, never fearing what others feared. While Julian strode out of the office building with unshakeable confidence in his steps, Aidan's heart sank with dread as he barged into a conference room full of nervous lawyers. If Gwyneth got involved, she would be thrown into the flames a lot sooner than the rest of them, who were otherwise comfortably nestled in the security of a plush bank account and formidable assets.

The mere thought of Gwyneth made his stomach churn. Everything had been going great so far - too great, almost too smooth to be real. How long had they been keeping at this for? Six weeks? Fuck, that was longer than any of his previous dalliances. Usually, he went through the entire cycle in a month, moving from initial contact to planned parting within four weeks. There was only so much effort he was willing to pour into women, especially considering how most of them bored him senseless.

Either they were pretentious little rebels, out there to tout their feigned confidence act to any man who would buy it, or they were naive romantics who never took the breakup well, women who foolishly believed that the romance was actually going somewhere. So many of them, each and every one easy to read, lacking any proper depth. He had their entire personalities translated by the time he was done introducing himself. But that was a different matter - at any rate, whatever that was going on between Gwyneth and him was bolstering on well past its predicted due date.

Why? How? He could hear angry voices arguing about something around him, but he paid no heed. As much as he hated to admit it, his attraction for Gwyneth was a lot stronger than he let on. Sure, the sex was great, and he had no qualms about whether or not a prolonged physical relationship would work. But what really shook him was how much he wanted to talk to her.

Her presence ... there was something distinctly relaxing about her presence that made him lower his guard to allow her in. Why did talking to her feel so good? Yeah, yeah, she was brilliant, a fucking encyclopedia with legs that belonged to a Brazilian supermodel. They could connect on an intellectual level, no doubt, and yes, she was always so good-natured, always so patient. Was that it, then? Was that all it took to get him hooked?

Most importantly, why was he still thinking about her? It dawned upon him that he was second guessing himself, questioning his own mind, the same mind which was usually assured and decidedly intransigent. There was that niggling question that kept popping up in his head, even though he made it a point to avoid thinking about it.

A lot of things were running through his mind now. There was the Ceres case, which was complicated enough as it is, and the situation with Gwyneth was no easier. He gathered his thoughts and forced himself to focus - the crux of it is that work is far more important. Right. But just as he tried to divert his attention, the all-important question popped up again, unable to stay buried in the shadows any longer.