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Wolves in Suits

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๐—›๐—ถ๐˜€ ๐—ณ๐—ผ๐—ฟ๐˜๐˜‚๐—ป๐—ฒ ๐—ต๐—ผ๐—น๐—ฑ๐˜€ ๐—ฎ ๐˜€๐—ฒ๐—ฐ๐—ฟ๐—ฒ๐˜. ๐—ฆ๐—ต๐—ฒ ๐˜„๐—ฎ๐—ป๐˜๐˜€ ๐˜๐—ผ ๐˜€๐—ฒ๐˜ ๐—ต๐—ถ๐—บ ๐—ณ๐—ฟ๐—ฒ๐—ฒ. After a chance encounter at a random bar, unemployed defense attorney Amberley Quinn lands a dream job working for Nathaniel Ashcroft: the mercurial, drop-dead gorgeous CEO of one of Chicagoโ€™s most successful business empires. When one of his employees actually drops dead, the FBI suspects Mr. Ashcroft is involved. Now, Amberley must prove her worth and Mr. Ashcroftโ€™s innocence. Mr. Ashcroftโ€™s secrecy doesnโ€™t make her job easy. But on a stormy night, she is the one Nate calls to rescue him, naked and injured, from a dark Chicago alleyโ€ฆand he tells her more than she ever wanted to know. Suddenly, the phrase the โ€œWolf of Wall Streetโ€ takes on a whole new meaning, and Amberley must win Nateโ€™s case to save his life. The wolves are at the doorโ€”and theyโ€™re wearing suits. (Please note this book updates VERY slowly and sporadically, but it will eventually be finished!)

Fantasy / Romance
C.E. Jeffery
โ˜… 4.9 18 reviews
Age Rating:

Mr. Ashcroft Will See You Now

โ€œYour newspaper, Mr. Ashcroft.โ€

โ€œThank you, Mrs. Bridges.โ€

The middle-aged, plump housekeeper nodded in acknowledgment and picked up the remnants of his breakfast from the dining table. โ€œYouโ€™re on page six.โ€

โ€œIs that right?โ€ His hazel eyes lit up with amusement. โ€œI wonder what they could possibly be writing about me now.โ€

โ€œSeems to be documenting your summer vacation, sir.โ€

He opened the paper.

โ€œ๐Œ๐ซ. ๐€๐ฌ๐ก๐œ๐ซ๐จ๐Ÿ๐ญ ๐–๐ข๐ฅ๐ฅ ๐’๐ž๐ž ๐˜๐จ๐ฎ ๐๐จ๐ฐโ€ the headline read, accompanied by a photo of him wading in the surf wearing only his board shorts and a pair of sunglasses.

โ€œ๐™ฒ๐š‘๐š’๐šŒ๐šŠ๐š๐š˜-๐™ฑ๐šŠ๐šœ๐šŽ๐š ๐™ฒ๐™ด๐™พ ๐š˜๐š ๐™ฐ๐šœ๐š‘๐šŒ๐š›๐š˜๐š๐š ๐™ธ๐š—๐š๐šž๐šœ๐š๐š›๐š’๐šŽ๐šœ ๐š‚๐š‘๐š˜๐š ๐šœ ๐™พ๐š๐š ๐™ฐ๐š‹๐šœ ๐šŠ๐š—๐š ๐™ธ๐š—๐š” ๐š†๐š‘๐š’๐š•๐šŽ ๐š…๐šŠ๐šŒ๐šŠ๐š๐š’๐š˜๐š—๐š’๐š—๐š ๐š’๐š— ๐™ฑ๐šŠ๐š›๐š‹๐šŠ๐š๐š˜๐šœโ€ read the caption.

โ€œWho comes up with this nonsense?โ€ he muttered, sipping his coffee and turning the page.

โ€œNot a bad picture, though,โ€ Mrs. Bridges said. โ€œNice to see you enjoying yourself.โ€

โ€œHm. Wish theyโ€™d feature the charity as much,โ€ Mr. Ashcroft replied, flipping to the business section.

โ€œI suspect theyโ€™re tired of covering your business deals,โ€ Mrs. Bridges said, amusement in her voice as she took the dishes out of the room.

He snorted, skimming the headlines.

โ€œ๐€๐ฌ๐ก๐œ๐ซ๐จ๐Ÿ๐ญ ๐ˆ๐ง๐๐ฎ๐ฌ๐ญ๐ซ๐ข๐ž๐ฌ ๐š ๐“๐จ๐ฉ ๐’&๐ ๐Ÿ“๐ŸŽ๐ŸŽ ๐‚๐จ๐ง๐ญ๐ž๐ง๐๐ž๐ซ ๐€๐Ÿ๐ญ๐ž๐ซ ๐‘๐ž๐œ๐จ๐ซ๐-๐๐ซ๐ž๐š๐ค๐ข๐ง๐  ๐‘๐ž๐š๐ฅ ๐„๐ฌ๐ญ๐š๐ญ๐ž ๐ƒ๐ž๐š๐ฅโ€

โ€œ๐’๐š๐ฒ โ€˜๐‡๐ž๐ฒ ๐’๐ข๐ซ๐ขโ€™ ๐ญ๐จ ๐ญ๐ก๐ž ๐‚๐จ๐ฆ๐ฉ๐š๐ง๐ฒ ๐๐ซ๐ž๐ฉ๐š๐ซ๐ข๐ง๐  ๐ญ๐จ ๐”๐ฉ๐ž๐ง๐ ๐ญ๐ก๐ž ๐€๐ˆ ๐ˆ๐ง๐๐ฎ๐ฌ๐ญ๐ซ๐ฒโ€

โ€œ๐‚๐š๐ซ๐ญ๐ž๐ซ & ๐…๐ซ๐š๐ง๐ค๐ฅ๐ข๐ง ๐„๐ฆ๐›๐ž๐ณ๐ณ๐ฅ๐ž๐ฆ๐ž๐ง๐ญ ๐’๐œ๐š๐ง๐๐š๐ฅ ๐”๐ง๐œ๐จ๐ฏ๐ž๐ซ๐ž๐ ๐€๐Ÿ๐ญ๐ž๐ซ ๐’๐ž๐ง๐ข๐จ๐ซ ๐๐š๐ซ๐ญ๐ง๐ž๐ซ ๐ƒ๐ข๐ž๐ฌ ๐Ÿ๐ซ๐จ๐ฆ ๐‡๐ž๐š๐ซ๐ญ ๐€๐ญ๐ญ๐š๐œ๐คโ€

โ€œ๐Œ๐จ๐ซ๐ญ๐ ๐š๐ ๐ž ๐‘๐š๐ญ๐ž๐ฌ ๐‹๐จ๐จ๐ค ๐ญ๐จ ๐‘๐ข๐ฌ๐ž ๐€๐ ๐š๐ข๐ง ๐€๐ฌ ๐„๐ฆ๐ฉ๐ฅ๐จ๐ฒ๐ฆ๐ž๐ง๐ญ ๐๐ฎ๐ฆ๐›๐ž๐ซ๐ฌ ๐‚๐จ๐ฆ๐ž ๐๐š๐œ๐ค ๐’๐ญ๐ซ๐จ๐ง๐ โ€

Mr. Ashcroft downed the rest of his coffee. His cell phone rang beside him and he picked it up. โ€œAshcroft.โ€

โ€œHey, Ashcroft! Those stock numbers, am I right?โ€

โ€œHey, Don. Yeah, it was a good start,โ€ Ashcroft replied, holding the phone with his shoulder as he fastened a Cartier watch around his wrist. โ€œHereโ€™s hoping it holds.โ€

โ€œWell, everythingโ€™s volatile right now. Chances are weโ€™ll drop before the end of the day. But I swear man, I have never known anybody who can turn a deal in his favor like you.โ€

Ashcroft snorted. โ€œTell that to Mr. Soboliev. He was pissed.โ€

โ€œYouโ€™re telling me. I thought he had us on that last phone call.โ€

โ€œI did, too.โ€

โ€œYeah. Well, congrats. Your empire just got a bit bigger.โ€

โ€œThanks, Don.โ€

โ€œI gotta go. Iโ€™m meeting up with the city planner on that new industrial complex.โ€

โ€œItโ€™s what I pay you for,โ€ he said wryly.

โ€œYeah, so tell HR I need a raise,โ€ the other man said, laughing.

โ€œGoodbye, Don.โ€

Mr. Ashcroft hung up the call and shrugged into his suit jacket. By all accounts, it was going to be an interesting day at the office. As he left his penthouse apartment, a dark figure fell in behind him as he waited at the elevator.

โ€œMorning, Hughes,โ€ he said without turning.

โ€œMr. Ashcroft,โ€ his head of security replied. โ€œWhich car would you like to take, sir?โ€

โ€œThe Hypersport, I think. Good day for it.โ€

โ€œSir, if I may, I donโ€™t know that thereโ€™s ever a good day for driving in Chicago,โ€ Hughes said, sending off a text.

The young CEO snorted as the elevator dinged and the doors opened. The tall, dark-eyed man followed him inside. โ€œMaybe youโ€™re right. But I donโ€™t know, Hughes. Something about today. Itโ€™s a good day.โ€ He hit the garage floor button and adjusted his tie.

โ€œI heard about the stock, congrats.โ€

โ€œI assume you did well?โ€

โ€œYes, Mr. Ashcroft, thank you.โ€

โ€œSeems like the press caught wind of my Barbados trip,โ€ Mr. Ashcroft added.

โ€œYes sir, Mrs. Bridges informed me this morning.โ€

โ€œParasites,โ€ he muttered. โ€œThat picture will be all over the internet today.โ€

โ€œIt will die off in a few days.โ€

โ€œWere you able to put together that dossier I asked for?โ€ Ashcroft asked him as the elevator doors opened to the garage. Hughes had already sent for the car to be brought around.

โ€œShould be on your desk when you get in.โ€

โ€œWonderful. Thank you.โ€

The valet drove up in the Hypersport. Hughes held the door open for him and he slid into the driverโ€™s seat.

โ€œHave a pleasant day, sir.โ€

โ€œThank you, Hughes.โ€

The engine purred under his hands and he pulled out of the underground garage and into traffic. Hughes was right, of course. No such thing as a pleasant drive in Chicago.

The Ashcroft Industries building was impressive, even for the Chicago skyline. The morning sun shone brightly against the tempered glass of the modern building, scattering the rays and drawing attention to its fifty-two-story size. Not nearly the tallest building, but definitely the most striking. An architectโ€™s wet dream, someone told him once.

โ€œGood morning, Mr. Ashcroft,โ€ the front desk assistant chirped at him as he headed for the elevator.

โ€œMorning,โ€ he replied absentmindedly, responding to an email on his phone.

โ€œMr. Ashcroft,โ€ a businessman greeted him in passing as he walked by.

โ€œMr. Dawson,โ€ he responded, still typing.

The doors opened on cue and Ashcroft stepped inside, hitting the button for the top floor.

Email finished, he checked his calendar on the way up. Nothing on his afternoon. Good. The last two weeks of back-to-back meetings, some going late into the evening, had worn his patience thin.

โ€œGood morning, Mr. Ashcroft,โ€ his chipper assistant greeted him as the elevator doors opened.

โ€œMiss Lane,โ€ he acknowledged her, motioning for her to follow him as he walked through the office. โ€œMessages?โ€

โ€œI forwarded them all to you, but mostly itโ€™s just people calling about the stock prices.โ€

โ€œMostly?โ€ he turned to face her.

โ€œWell, thereโ€™s always press, you know.โ€

He did know. He settled into his wingback office chair.

โ€œWould you like coffee?โ€ she asked him.

โ€œI had some already, thank you,โ€ he replied. โ€œBut if you want to send a runner down to Starbucks, Iโ€™ll pay for drinks for the office.โ€

Her face lit up. โ€œOh, thatโ€™s so nice, thank you!โ€

โ€œWhen I win, we all win,โ€ he replied. โ€œMight as well celebrate. Iโ€™ll ping accounting and let them know youโ€™ll need the corporate card.โ€

Miss Lane bobbed once. โ€œGreat. Anything else you need?โ€

Mr. Ashcroft shook his head. โ€œNo, Iโ€™ll buzz you if thereโ€™s anything else. Thank you, Miss Lane.โ€

Miss Lane, easily still in her early twenties, bobbed again and shut the door behind her.

Blessed silence.

Thank god.

A morning of people chattering at him wore the CEO down. And he was antsier than usual. He absentmindedly massaged the area over his heart and leaned his head back against his chair, closing his eyes. Keeping a cool demeanor, especially for pointless phone calls like Donโ€™s, was getting harder. He needed to find some time to unwind.

Ashcroft opened his eyes again, searching for the folder Hughes had told him would be there. Sure enough, the seemingly innocuous manilla folder was stacked on top of his regular paperwork and contracts to review. Ignoring those, he crossed one leg over the other and fished the manilla folder off the desk. After sending off a quick message to accounting as promised, he flipped open the folder in his lap and began to read over the summary.

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