The Strong Survive Love Against All Odds

The Strong Survive Love Against All Odds

Charmeleon

5.0
Comment(s)
3.9K
View
85
Chapters

Chase Ward had done with women. Now his father was meddling in his life, hiring an attractive young woman, Christine Morrison to replace Chase's male secretary. As a defense attorney he did not have time to babysit his father's protégé. He decides to dislike her from the start. But much to his chagrin she dislikes him equally. Soon he discovers his old rival, Mason Pritchard is interested in Christine and that he could not allow. He starts to obsess over her, following her to clubs whenever she went out and overall just being in her face for whatever reason. Christine herself was finding it more and more difficult not to ignore her handsome boss. But at the same time Mason Pritchard was not giving up without a fight. He wanted Christine for himself and he was prepared to do anything to get her. Mason also despised Chase and wanted to destroy him, by any means necessary.

Chapter 1 Unwanted Attention

"Dad, I don't need another secretary. I am perfectly happy with Johnson." Chase Ward glared into his father's steely grey eyes, slightly leaning towards him. Eyes that were so similar to his own, yet Chase was nothing like him. Nothing. The latter seemed unconcerned by his son's attitude.

Why was he meddling with my staff? Chase felt the muscle underneath his left eye twitch. It usually happened when he felt irritated.

"Sit down Chase. You're wearing out my carpet."

"I don't have time for this. I need to be in court in --" he checked his Rolex, "less than an hour."

"Johnson is ready for retirement, Chase. He has a heart condition too and he told me the stress was getting to him." Alexander Ward skimmed over the papers on his desk.

Chase sighed. He knew he's been working poor Mr. Johnson too hard, but never realized he had health issues. Johnson had never complained or mentioned anything to him.

"I think Ms. Morrison will be perfect for you. She is a very bright young lady. Give her a chance." He looked at his son over steepled fingers.

Chase narrowed his eyes at Alexander. He hated his 'I know best' attitude. But arguing with Alexander Ward was a futile exercise. He still tried. "Besides, it was never mentioned during the board meeting. I was of the opinion that we were going to have some cutbacks."

The older man shrugged. "I am doing a favor for a friend." Alexander sat back in his leather wingback chair. His expression dared opposition. He knew his son wouldn't be easy to convince.

Ah! There we go, the real reason, Chase thought. "Is she even competent? I don't have time to teach her." Chase stood, shrugging on his Armani jacket. Judge Kowalski was presiding, and he didn't take kindly to tardiness.

"Of course," Alexander handed him a folder. "Here's her resume. Word of warning, Son. Don't be too quick to judge on appearances. This is a big break for her. I am throwing her in deep water, but I have faith in her."

He only has faith in someone or something if he stands to gain from it, Chase scoffed. "Well, you're throwing her into my pool, Dad. For her own sake I hope she's an excellent swimmer."

He glanced over the contents of the folder. Studied Paralegal at Harvard but had not graduated yet. Then he saw her photo.

Gods, another Barbie doll. Of all the people his father would appoint. He sighed again and caught Alexander's smirk. He knows how Chase felt about it. The old Devil.

"Fine. But three months' probation."

"Of course," said Alexander. "I know you won't be disappointed." He went back to reading an article about modern day piracy off the West Coast of Africa in the Daily News. "The world is going to hell in a hand basket..." he mumbled.

***

Christine Morrison took a deep breath to calm her nerves. It felt like she has been waiting forever. Her palms were all sweaty. She wiped them on her navy skirt, glancing around to make sure no one saw that move. Show no weakness. The Xanax she had taken that morning doesn't seem to be very effective today. Her heart was beating like a bongo drum on steroids.

Will he like her? What kind of man was he? She couldn't find much information about Chase Ward on social media. It seems he liked his privacy.

The only information she could find was of his court appearances. Words like 'cutthroat' and 'formidable' were used to describe him. She could only hope that he would be a kind boss to work for. Someone who would value her as a person and not treat her like an object.

She looked up when she heard the ding of the elevator. Some people stepped out and then she saw him.

Her first thought was that he was the most attractive man she had ever come across. Classical features, high cheekbones, aquiline nose with a neat, short dark beard framing his mouth. Perfectly combed hair. His Armani suit fitted him well, from head to toe, the epitome of elegance.

Smiling sincerely, she walked towards him, noticing the little frown between his eyes. Grey as the sea on a stormy day, she thought to herself and just as cold. She wondered if her skirt had ridden up to warrant such a disdainful look. She smoothed her hand down her backside just to be sure. Suddenly Christine felt severely judged. Weighed, judged and found to be too light. She gulped.

***

The photo did little to do her justice, Chase thought a little irritated. She was breathtakingly beautiful. Ivory skin – just a touch of makeup. He hated it when women plastered themselves with beauty products. She sure didn't need it. He reminded himself quickly that poison also came in pretty bottles.

Although dressed demurely, it didn't take away from her shapely figure. She had legs like a dancer, he observed when she came walking towards him. She smiled which lit up her striking blue eyes. Her golden blonde hair was done up in a formal chignon and unwittingly he thought how it would look down.

"Mr. Ward, it's a pleasure to meet you."

He ignored her outstretched hand. A blush crept up from her neck to her cheeks. A twinge of satisfaction rushed through his blood.

"Follow me, Ms. Morrison. I don't have time for niceties. I am due in court in half an hour."

"Of course, Sir."

She had to almost run to keep up with his long strides. In the elevator a whiff of her perfume enveloped him. It smelled floral and light. He found it enjoyable, despite not wanting to.

Damn it, he would have a tough time keeping the men out of his office he thought grimly. She kept staring ahead of her, not even looking his way. Well, she got the message alright. Chase Ward won't be falling for her looks or charms. She had better be damn good at her job or suffer the consequences.

The elevator stopped at the twelfth floor of Ward and Associates, Attorneys at Law and he got out before the girl. Johnson came to meet them. Mr. Johnson had been with the firm for years and Chase trusted him with his life. The mere thought of having to replace him made him angrier towards his father and his aggravation towards Ms. Morrison grew.

"Johnson, this is Ms. Morrison. She is your unfortunate replacement. Please see to it that she gets settled." He glanced at his Rolex. "I've got to fly. I am running late already."

"The Trelawney file, Sir." The older man pushed the required documents into Chase's hands. "Don't worry about a thing Mr. Ward, sir, I will take good care of Ms. Morrison."

"I have no doubt, Johnson." He ignored the girl pointedly. "Reschedule my appointments for today."

"Already done, Sir."

"Good man." Chase rushed to the elevator before the door closed.

***

Christine turned to the elderly gentleman called Johnson. At least he had a kind face. Other than the unmannered asshole who was now her boss. What the heck was his problem anyway?

"Ms. Morrison, this way, if you please." Johnson led the way to the office.

It was a spacious setup; stylishly furnished. Above a two-seater russet leather couch hung a courtroom sketch of the man himself. Christine smiled. And they say women are vain.

Three wingback leather chairs of the same color and a glass and chrome coffee table completed the waiting area. Her desk faced the clients' area, and she would have the dubious pleasure to bask in his likeness all day.

Those grey eyes seemed to be watching her even now, judging her with displeasure. He was the spitting image of his father, just a younger version. But that was where the similarities ended. She found Mr. Ward Senior, a charming, sympathetic gentleman. He had promised to keep their arrangement confidential.

Christine vowed to do her best to prove herself worthy of his trust. Even if it meant tolerating his obnoxious son.

Johnson spent the best part of the morning explaining what he expected of Christine as well as Chase's daily routine.

"As long as you make sure your work is impeccable and you don't let mistakes slip through, Mr. Ward is not a difficult man to work with." Johnson said, "He likes things to be done a certain way and – "

"You mean, his way or the highway?" she smirked.

Johnson smiled only slightly. "Well, yes. He's been under a lot of pressure lately so he might come off as a bit disgruntled."

"I suppose that's one way of putting it. So, what you are in fact trying to say to me is: Don't poke the bear?"

The older man's brown eyes crinkled with mirth. "Exactly. I have a feeling you will be just what he needs."

Christine had serious doubts about it. But she plead the fifth.

The day went buy at an alarming pace. Christine's head spun with information overload. Fortunately, the client database was up to date as well as Mr. Ward's schedule.

Johnson took her on a tour of the office floor. There were four other attorneys on their floor and Johnson introduced her to their respective secretaries. She smiled until her face felt stiff. The looks the women gave her made her feel like the new kid at school. Technically she was, she thought.

"How long have you worked for our Mr. Ward?" She was curious to know if Mr. Johnson was as old as he looked, or if he aged due to work stress.

"I started with Mr. Ward's father when he was a young attorney. It's been now well over 30 years. I basically raised young Mr. Ward." He smiled, gazing into the distance. "He adored his father and came in here almost daily to spend time with him. That is until..." Mr. Johnson sighed. "Would you like me to order some lunch for you, my dear? I am sure we need a break, don't you?"

Surprised by his sudden switch in topics, but not wanting to pursue the matter, she welcomed the offer. She was ravenous. Being nervous about her first day, Christine didn't think to pack something and couldn't bring herself to have breakfast.

Just as Mr. Johnson left, a man entered the office. He was tall and fair, broad shouldered, not as broodingly handsome as Mr. Ward junior. She frowned. Broodingly handsome? Where did that thought come from?

"Good morning, how may I help you, sir?" She managed to give her best professional smile.

"So, it's true."

"I beg your pardon?" What the hell was he on about?

He smirked. "Oh, my dear, your presence has the office buzzing. I just had to come check for myself." He stretched out his hand and enveloped hers. "Mason Pritchard, at your service." He brought her hands up to his lips and touched the knuckles briefly. Christine quickly pulled them out of his grasp.

For a moment she was speechless.

This man spelled trouble. "Mr. Pritchard, pleased to meet you. Unfortunately, Mr. Ward is still in court and – "

"Oh, I know, Darlin'. I came to see you. I needed to see for myself what all the fuss was about. And let me tell you, I am not disappointed." His eyes wandered over her entire body. "It's about time Chase replaced good old Mr. Johnson. He's not much for the eye, if you know what I mean."

She knew exactly what he meant and didn't like it one bit. One of her pet peeves was how people - men in particular - treated her like some kind of sex object. He literally measured her cup size with his gaze.

"I will tell Mr. Ward that you stopped by." She offered, hoping he would get the message and leave. But no such luck. He plopped himself on her desk. She glared at him, frowning, her plump lips narrowed in a thin line. He reminded her of a fox, the way he watched her, his hazel eyes had a cunning glint.

"You are stunning. Don't look so offended." He raised his hands to show his innocent intent. "It's just a compliment, Miss... Morrison, was it?" He raised one eyebrow at her, leaning in closer.

Before she could reply her peripheral vision caught movement at the door. She breathed a sigh of relief. But the relief quickly turned to terror when she noticed the look on Mr. Ward's face.

"Pritchard!" his voice lashed through the office.

Mr. Pritchard's body jerked upright, almost overturning the computer screen. Christine grabbed it just in time.

"Has no one in this building work to do?" He threw a folder on the desk, those grey eyes boring into Christine's. His mouth curved downwards in contempt.

Christine's stomach made a weird flip-flop and she had to swallow hard. Her heart rate sped up, she felt faint.

Of all the times to get a panic attack! She needed to get herself under control. Christine concentrated on her breathing, keeping her eyes on the folder in front of her.

"I was just admiring your new acquisition, Chase. Kudos to you." Pritchard said, seemingly unfazed.

Mr. Ward sneered in reply. "I do not appreciate you bothering my secretary. This is not a dating service."

Pritchard lifted his hands up in surrender. "Okay, okay I'm leaving. See you later, Ms. Morrison." He blew her a kiss and left.

Mr. Ward turned to her. "Just a word of warning, Ms. Morrison, you can flirt all you want with the men in this building, but not on my time." He gestured to the file on the desk. "This needs to be filed and – "

"I was not flirting with Mr. Pritchard!" All the blood had rushed to her face, making her head throb with a dull ache. She grabbed the folder, glaring back at him.

He cocked his head to one side, studying her as if she were an insect under a microscope. "Good to know. Now be a good girl and fetch me a coffee and a muffin. I am starving." He turned abruptly and went into his office and closed the door.

"Son of a..." Throwing the folder down Christine stomped down the corridor, passing Johnson on her way out. With her lunch.

Continue Reading

You'll also like

The Scars Behind My Golden Dress

The Scars Behind My Golden Dress

Catherine
5.0

I spent four hours preparing a five-course meal for our fifth anniversary. When Jackson finally walked into the penthouse an hour late, he didn't even look at the table. He just dropped a thick Manila envelope in front of me and told me he was done. He said his stepsister, Davida, was getting worse and needed "stability." I wasn't his wife; I was a placeholder, a temporary fix he used until the woman he actually loved was ready to take my place. Jackson didn't just want a divorce; he wanted to erase me. He called me a "proprietary asset," claiming that every design I had created to save his empire belonged to him. He froze my bank accounts, cut off my phone, and told me I’d be nothing without his name. Davida even called me from her hospital bed to flaunt the family heirloom ring Jackson claimed was lost, mocking me for being "baggage" that was finally being cleared out. I stood in our empty home, realizing I had spent five years being a martyr for a man who saw me as a transaction. I couldn't understand how he could be so blind to the monster he was protecting, or how he could discard me so coldly after I had given him everything. I grabbed my hidden sketchbook, shredded our wedding portrait, and walked out into the rain. I dialed a number I hadn't touched in years—a dangerous man known as The Surgeon who dealt in debts and shadows. I told him I was ready to pay his price. Jackson and Davida wanted to steal my identity, but I was about to show the world the literal scars they had left behind.

Contract With The Devil: Love In Shackles

Contract With The Devil: Love In Shackles

Dorine Koestler
4.1

I watched my husband sign the papers that would end our marriage while he was busy texting the woman he actually loved. He didn't even glance at the header. He just scribbled the sharp, jagged signature that had signed death warrants for half of New York, tossed the file onto the passenger seat, and tapped his screen again. "Done," he said, his voice devoid of emotion. That was Dante Moretti. The Underboss. A man who could smell a lie from a mile away but couldn't see that his wife had just handed him an annulment decree disguised beneath a stack of mundane logistics reports. For three years, I scrubbed his blood out of his shirts. I saved his family's alliance when his ex, Sofia, ran off with a civilian. In return, he treated me like furniture. He left me in the rain to save Sofia from a broken nail. He left me alone on my birthday to drink champagne on a yacht with her. He even handed me a glass of whiskey—her favorite drink—forgetting that I despised the taste. I was merely a placeholder. A ghost in my own home. So, I stopped waiting. I burned our wedding portrait in the fireplace, left my platinum ring in the ashes, and boarded a one-way flight to San Francisco. I thought I was finally free. I thought I had escaped the cage. But I underestimated Dante. When he finally opened that file weeks later and realized he had signed away his wife without looking, the Reaper didn't accept defeat. He burned down the world to find me, obsessed with reclaiming the woman he had already thrown away.

The Billionaire's Medicine: His Silent Obsession

The Billionaire's Medicine: His Silent Obsession

Sutton Horsley
5.0

My stepmother sold me like a piece of inventory to a man known for breaking people just to plug the financial crater my father left behind. I was delivered to the Morton estate in the middle of a freezing storm, stripped of my phone, and told that if I didn't make myself useful, my senile grandfather would be evicted from his care facility by noon. The master of the house, Adonis Morton IV, was a monster living in a silent mausoleum, driven to the brink of madness by a sensory condition that turned every sound into a physical assault. When I was forced into his suite to serve him, he didn't see a human being; he saw a source of agony. In a fit of animalistic rage, he pinned me to the wall and nearly strangled me to death just for the sound of a shattering teacup. I only survived by using my grandfather’s secret herbal blends and pressure-point therapy to force his overactive nervous system into a drugged sleep. But saving him was my greatest mistake. Instead of letting me go, Adonis moved me into a guest suite connected to his own bedroom by a hidden door. He didn't just want me as a servant; he needed me as a human white-noise machine to drown out the demons in his head. The nightmare deepened when he took the promissory note that defined my freedom and tore it into confetti. By destroying the debt, he destroyed my exit strategy. He replaced my maid’s uniform with a silver silk dress that clung to my skin but did nothing to hide the dark, ugly bruises his fingers had left on my neck. He branded me as his "primary care associate," a title that was nothing more than a gilded cage. I felt a sickening sense of injustice as he forced me to sign a contract that banned me from contacting other men and required me to sleep wherever he slept. He looked at me with a possessive heat, calling me his "medication" rather than a woman. My family had sold my body, but Adonis Morton was intent on owning my very presence, using my grandfather’s medical bills as a leash to keep me within twenty feet of him at all times. Standing in a neglected greenhouse with mud staining my expensive silk, I realized I was no longer a victim waiting for rescue. If I was going to be his medication, I would learn how to be his cure—or his undoing. I began clearing the weeds with a cold, calculated frenzy, determined to turn this prison into my laboratory. He thinks he has trapped a helpless girl, but I am going to pry open the cracks in his stone walls until his entire world comes crashing down.

Chapters
Read Now
Download Book