Mr Spencer(17)

“I want you to leave. Immediately.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” I say, standing my ground.

“You heard the lady,” Wyatt growls from the front porch.

We both turn in surprise.

“Not now, fucker,” I snap.

“Get out before I beat you to a living pulp.”

“What the hell?” I frown, and my eyes flicker to the beautiful girl in front of me. “Charlotte?”

“Please leave, Spencer,” she says as her eyes fill with tears.

My face falls knowing that I’ve hurt her feelings.

She turns and runs up the stairs, leaving me no choice. Wyatt pushes me towards the front door, and I rip my arm from his grip.

“Don’t fucking touch me!” I shout as I storm out onto the porch.

“Don’t come back.”

I turn to him. “I’ll be back whenever it fucking suits me, you prick. Stay the fuck out of my way.” I storm to my car, start it up, and rev the shit out of the engine.

I stare at her house for a moment, glaring at the fucking idiot guard dog standing on the front porch.

I don’t even have her fucking phone number.

I tear out of the driveway and out through the large stone gates.

“Well done, Spencer, you stupid prick.” I grip the steering wheel with white knuckle force.

That was one gigantic fuck up.





*



I sit at my kitchen table and type the words ‘Charlotte Prescott’ into Google.

It’s now Sunday night, and I’ve been in a world of pain since Thursday when I last saw her.

I have never regretted not doing something so much in my entire life.

I sip my scotch as I wait for the results to come up. I smile as a gallery of images of the beautiful woman flash across my screen. I click through the images one by one, taking in her perfect angelic face.

There are photos dating back to her when she was a child in a private school uniform, and then at Polo events, a few charity events, but surprisingly there are very few images of her recently.

That’s because she’s never out.

Charlotte Prescott is the only daughter of Harold Prescott, and younger sister of fellow billionaires Edward Prescott and William Prescott.





She became a multi-billionaire after her father split their family estate five years ago to invest in legalised gambling. Prescott holdings now has the largest casino portfolio in the world with an estimated worth of twenty-nine billion dollars.





Famously known for her low-profile, Charlotte was the driving force behind the extension and establishment of the new ￡160 million National Philanthropic Fund in 2016.





The fund, which she chairs, was established by her late mother over fifteen years ago.





She is also an arts patron who sits on the boards of the Art Gallery of London and the United Kingdom Theatre Company.





Charlotte Prescott’s estimated wealth currently sits at four billion pounds.





I raise my eyebrows, winded by what I’ve just read. Fuck me.

No wonder she’s so guarded.

I sip my scotch with a shaky hand, and I read the next article.

For almost twenty-five years, Harold Prescott’s only daughter Charlotte has been one of the great mystery women of the United Kingdom. From birth, the third born child of Harold and his wife Angelique was an enigma. Hidden away in private schools from an early age, Charlotte grew up shy and socially awkward until, as an adult, she became as fiercely private as her father—inaccessible. Charlotte is rarely seen in public and is stringently guarded as she is considered to be her family’s most valuable treasure.

Some say that for the past five years, since her mother’s death, Charlotte has actively chosen to live a reclusive life.

Rarely seen in public, only usually attending charity events, Charlotte resides in her family’s private country estate.





Fuck. I slam my computer shut in disgust with myself. I keep seeing her disappointed face when I hesitated accepting what she so bravely offered. She thinks I didn’t want her because she was a virgin. If only she knew how far from the truth that is.





*



I walk into the restaurant at 7:00 a.m. Masters and Sebastian are at our usual table and have already ordered for me. We do this every Monday. It’s hard to find time to see each other, so we grab it while we can.

“Hey,” I say as I slide into my seat.

They both frown as they look over at me. “What’s wrong with you?” Seb asks.

“Nothing.” I take a paper from the table and flick it open. “How was your weekend?” I ask.

“Better than yours, obviously.” Masters tuts. “What happened in Nottingham last week?”

“Nothing.” I sigh.

They both smile. “She wouldn’t see you?”

I blow into my cheeks. “She saw me.” I flick the pages of the paper angrily.

“Well, what happened? We want details.”

“No details.” I look up to my two friends. “You were right, though. She is well and truly out of my league.”

“How so?”