Agreeable Disagreement

Breathing life into Candace Jones and Marc Wilson has been my largest challenge on this platform to date. I partnered with another talented author to create these characters and in doing so was forced to be vulnerable and raw with not only my writing but with the erotic pathways of my imagination, and I couldn't be more proud with the results.

Fair warning that this story is a slow burn. Don't worry, the heat comes but a bit later. For more, how shall I say, "quicker release" content, check out my other works. For a slow build, seductive, and dare I say, intriguing erotic dance of two polar opposites, keep reading.

Without further ado, I invite you into the world of Candace Jones and Marc Wilson...

"I understand the intent behind your proposal, Mr. Wilson. It's an admirable request. However, the disruption your wind farm would cause would outweigh the benefits it would bring. Farming land is a commodity that we are losing daily much in part from quick builds from rich tycoons that are flocking to Tennessee. Not to mention damage to soil, asthetics, and noise complaints leading to decreased productivity. Request denied."

Judge Candace Jones picked up her gavel to end the case and end the discussion which she was thrilled about. Over the past three weeks, she had ate, breathed, and slept this legal battle and was utterly exhausted. After a grueling trial, she thought it was over until she saw his name on the books for that afternoon. Appealing the decision was his right. She just wish he hadn't.

"Just so I understand, you are advising everyone that your husband's oil rig isn't a nuisance, isn't a threat to agriculture operations, and is not a hazard? Shall I pull up the latest article regarding the high pressure system failure that sent two oil mechanics to the hospital last month?"

She raised a brow at his response and froze with the gavel. The audacity of this man! Over the past three weeks she had gotten more of a taste of him than she had ever wanted. Every response that left his lips was well articulated. He had an intellectual reasoning for everything. Not to mention that he was like a walking Encyclopedia spewing information which utterly unnerved her. She was used to being the smartest person in the room, and this stranger to the South was making her extremely uneasy.

She breathed in deeply.

"That was an unfortunate incident, and the families are being well taken of while those brave men are recovering. Let's not compare apples and oranges, Sir. My decision is final."

She lifted the gavel and struck it.

He scoffed and closed the folder on the podium in front of him. She could tell he was pissed. Good! She watched him storm from the courtroom. Sweep in with his British charm and smooth accent thinking he could...she shook her head to clear the thoughts that were percolating before standing. She wouldn't have to see him again.

She wasn't sure if he was as planning on staying or heading back across the ocean, but something he would learn very quickly is that things ran differently in the South. If he stayed he would need to get with the program sooner rather than later.

Candace walked back toward her chambers and shed out of her judicial robe before hanging it on the coat rack near the front entrance. She rested her back against the door and leaned to close it with her weight. A knock sounded a moment later. She regained her balance and opened the door to see the face of her bailiff.

"Hey, Judge Jones! The courtroom is secure and locked down."

"Perfect, Toby. I appreciate all you do, and haven't I told you to call me Candace especially when I'm out of my robe? Judge Jones is my father in law."

Toby relaxed and a grin formed. "Yes, you have, Ma'am."

"Am I going to see you at the fundraiser later for We Rise?" she asked him as she grabbed her purse off her desk.

"Unfortunately. I'm assisting with traffic control."

"Sounds so fun. I get to go be Peter's arm candy while he networks." She rolled her eyes making Toby laugh. "The life of being married to an oil tycoon."

Toby closed the door while Candace turned off her chamber lights. Toby escorted her out to back entrance to her car. He always hung around until she was ready to leave. Something he didn't need to do, but that she super appreciated.

She waved to him as he drove the police cruiser from the parking lot. She exhaled and checked her phone. She had a few hours until the fundraiser, and she was overdue for a pedicure. She absolutely needed that relaxation before having to interact with the local who's who later that evening. Her bucket of fucks for the day was officially empty, and the last thing she wanted to do was be around people. She slipped her sunglasses on and started toward the salon.

*********** "What is that color?!" Candace's husband Peter demanded.

Candace zipped the side of her corset and sat on the bed. She crossed her legs and straightened her right foot out. "Lime of My Life."

"Lime fucking green, Candace!"

"Here we go." Candace thought.

"You cannot wear lime green nail polish!" Peter buttoned the sleeves of his dress shirt.

"Honey, I am not wearing open toed heels. The green will be covered by those."Candace circled her foot toward her black stiletto heels which were underneath her black evening gown hanging on the back of the closet door.

Peter ran his palm down his face in frustration. "You do realize that everything needs to go well tonight, don't you? This is my first..."

"public event attended since the accident," she finished with him. "Right."

She understood that completely. He was on edge. Completely understandable. However, when Peter Jones was on edge he was not a fun person to be around. And lately, it seemed like he was on edge constantly.

Candace dipped her knuckles into her body cream and warmed the produced amount between her palms before running them down her thighs and knees before moving on to her lower legs. She wanted her legs to be glistening where her gown split up her thigh.

Peter exhaled deeply and started tying his bow tie.

"How did Englishman's appeal go today?" Peter asked as he made eye contact with her through the mirror.

Candace twisted the lid onto her body cream jar and stood.

"You already know the answer to that."

"Yes," he replied as he finished tying his bow tie. A sardonic grin formed across his lips. "But I like being reminded of the outcome."

She hated when he was like this. Actually all cards on the tables, she hated the man that had emerged when he had taken over for his father. There was a shift in him, and she saw a side that she never had. Gone were the days of sharing a life with her college sweetheart. Now she shared her life with a cold, calculated business tycoon.

Candace stepped into her gown.

"Would you zip me?" she asked Peter while holding the bodice against her breasts.

Peter moved behind her. "I'm almost tempted to tell you not to wear this," he stated while pulling the zipper up, "but you look so fucking good in it that I'll allow it."

Peter smoothed his palms over her back and cupped the curves of her ass. "Dad's got the limo coming in 15."

She nodded.

Peter squeezed her backside then smacked it lightly before peeling his tuxedo jacket from its hanger. Candace slipped her feet into her stilettos automatically feeling sexier. There was a reason shoes like this were called "fuck me shoes".

They both finished getting ready then rode with Peter's parents to the fundraiser engaging in polite chatter. There was never deep conversation with his parents. Or if there was, Candace was not privy to it. She had learned to not ask questions and keep her mouth shut.

Upon arrival at the venue, they moved with the crowd into the event hall. Candace noticed an older lady in a long silver evening gown sashaying in. All eyes turned toward her, and rightfully so. She looked phenomenal for her age. The only indicator that she was older was her glistening silver hair. Candace hoped she looked that good when she was older.

The event hall was alive with conversation. Excited faces shared stories and were sipping on champagne or stronger drinks.

"Shall we get a drink?" she asked.

Peter bent his head. "Don't drink too much tonight," he warned her in a harsh whisper.

Candace couldn't control the sigh that emerged from her. He had a point, but there was no way she was going to survive the night without some kind of alcohol.

She stepped up to the bar, but before Candace could order, Peter placed a flute of champagne in front of her. She took it from him wanting to growl. She needed something stronger than champagne. She smiled and waved the bartender away.

"We are at table five, everyone," Peter's father announced.

They made their way toward their assigned. table. Candace checked the list of individuals and felt her stomach drop. Mr. and Mrs. Marc Wilson. She turned toward Peter whose face was contorting in anger. Peter's parents looked at the listing.

"Isn't Marc Wilson..."

"The liberal, eco warrior Englishman?" Peter finished for his mother, sarcasm lacing his words. "Correct."

Peter slid his palms over the back of a chair and squeezed the padding.

"Now it's my turn to remind you of how important tonight is. Be nice, Peter," Candace warned him.

Candace glanced over seeing Marc Wilson and the attractive lady in silver walking toward them. She hated to admit it to herself, but she was not complaining about how dashing he looked in his tuxedo. It fit him like a glove.

She pasted a smile on her face. Better to grab the bull by the horns.

"Mr Wilson, I wasn't expecting to see you again so soon," she stated loud enough for him to hear. He tilted his head at her slightly, obviously trying to place her.

She turned back to Peter. "Nice. Be Nice," she whispered. She turned her attention toward Marc and who she assumed was his wife.

"Judge Jones," Marc replied curtly.

She extended her hand toward him attempting to ignore the disdain in his voice.

"I hope there are no hard feelings, and call me Candace. Judge Jones is my father in law." She gestured behind her toward Peter's dad.

Marc eyed her hand momentarily like it had the plague before reaching out to take it. Oh yeah, it was going to be a long night. Marc let her hand drop and gestured toward his companion.

"My wife, Sarah."

Sarah smiled a bit too sweetly as she reached out to shake Candace's hand. "I m have heard so much about you."

Oh she bet she had.

"I wish I could say the same. Your dress is spectacular, Sarah."

"As indeed is yours, Candace."

Sarah released her hand, and Candace turned her attention toward Marc. His baby blue eyes were sweeping over her body.

If she was to hazard a guess, he and Sarah were around 20 years older than she. His eyes met hers, a moment of surprise evident as he realized she had caught them wandering over her body. Then the stone cold gaze returned. What kind of gaze would he give her if he knew what she was wearing underneath? She balked at that thought.

Everyone began taking their places. Candace was a bit disappointed that she was assigned next to Marc. In how many more ways was she going to be reminded that tonight was going to be a long night?

When the appetizers arrived, Marc's arm brushed against hers as he reached for his napkin.

"Excuse me," he muttered.

Candace breathed in deeply and leaned slightly towards him. "Mr. Wilson, we are outside the courtroom now. Can we not speak like civilized individuals?" she asked softly.

He glanced around the dinner table before meeting her gaze. "What happened today was utter bullshit. A total stitch-up and you know it."

Candace felt her eyes widen and her mouth open slightly.

"You are all so desperate to stay in your President's good books that you are prepared to sacrifice every shred of integrity you might once have had."

Candace knew that surprise had to have been evident across her face. She wasn't expecting such a brazen response; however, she was was prepared to fight fire with fire.

"Mr. Wilson, may I call you Marc?"

He locked his jaw and nodded, anger still bubbling beneath the surface of his demeanor.

"Marc, I know you haven't been in the US for that long but Tennessee is very different to let's say Massachusetts. Regardless of the merits, or otherwise, of your plans, you need to spend time socializing your proposals, spend time with the local community to understand them, how they think, and why they think the way they do. Just coming here and expecting the business and legal environment to do your work for you whilst you arrogantly sneer at what you perceive to be ignorant, "backward ways" isn't going to get you what you want."

He smirked slightly at her response. "You bring up valid points," he conceded. "However, did you notice that Trump just paid a whopping total of your tax dollars to not build a wind farm? If that happens in the east, do you think a bit of schmoozing of local dignitaries here in Republican global headquarters is going to make any difference?"

"Criticizing the President here in 'Republican global headquarters' is absolutely the last place to start endearing yourself, Marc."

She leaned back in her chair. "Why don't you try the smoked salmon crostini?" she suggested. "It's to die for."

She lifted her flute of champagne taking a sip and feeling a bit victorious in her responses to Marc, elated that she had caused a face crack in his polished armor.

"Don't mind if I do," he replied as he took a sample of the appetizer.

*********** Candace braced her palms on the restroom sink and glanced at herself. Makeup was good. She rolled her neck from side to side and stretched the muscles of her face. They were sore from all the fake smiling she had been doing all night. Her energy was even more depleted, if that was even possible.

Table Five was interacting with each other enough to be polite, but everyone was on edge, and the tension could be cut with a knife. She exhaled deeply. And they were barely at the halfway point.

Candace turned from the sink and pulled the door of the Women's restroom open catching a glimpse of Marc Wilson entering the Men's restroom. She had to admit that she was slightly enjoying the banter with him. It was freeing being able to discuss deeper topics with someone and not have a guard up.

Never in a million years would she admit to him that she thought that the wind farm was a phenomenal idea. At the end of the day, her feelings didn't matter. Her hands were tied. Politics. She fucking hated politics, but in the position that she was in, her career and marriage depending on her turning those feelings off.

Marc Wilson would never understand that. He would never understand local politics and the fact that she had to make decisions that she didn't always want to make. That fact warred with her constantly. This foreigner would never ever be able to...

"Must you walk so slowly?" Marc's voice skated over her nerve endings surprising her, halting her train of thought, and causing her to stumble.

His strong hand gripped the crook of her left elbow providing some stability. She felt an electric charge where his palm was gripping her skin. She shouldn't be feeling anything from his touch. He released her when she straightened.

She turned back toward him.

"If you're going to wear shoes like that you really ought to learn how to walk in them." His gaze traveled down to her feet. "I would hazard a guess they cost an absolute fortune."

Candace scoffed at his response. The utter audacity.

"And let me guess, that dress you've got on right now is couture, isn't it? Probably cost about two grand, tailored specifically for you because it fits you like a second skin. Couldn't risk tripping on it, could you?"

His piecing blue eyes roamed over her entire body making her feel exposed and naked beneath his gaze.

"You seem rather at a loss for words," he stated as a smirk formed across his lips.

"Excuse me, Marc. I must be getting back."

Oh, the bastard. She ground her teeth together and breathed in deeply. He had just said so much without uttering the words. He obviously looked down on her for her choice in attire. Judging her for how she spent her money.

She arrived back at the table slightly before Marc did. Everyone else was still up moseying around. She sat back in her chair and took a sip of champagne.

Marc rejoined her.

"Now that we can speak more freely, tell me something, Candace."

"Oh joy!" she thought.

"I suppose it's quite nice, is it? Affording luxury dresses like that off the back of the dirty money your husband pocketed."

The audacity of this man to assume that she was with her husband for money! Obviously not the case. Obviously he didn't know anything that he was talking about. But how dare he assume that? How dare he assume that where she had gotten in her life wasn't because of her own merit versus the wealth of her husband?

Yes, she was wealthy. Yes, she had money. Yes, she didn't have to worry about anything when it came to finances. However, she was still fiercely independent, and if she had to, she could make it on her own. That was something that her mother had drilled in her from an early age: never rely on a man. Always be your own backup.

"Marc," she started as she sat her champagne flute down, "my wealth or lack thereof is none of your concern. However, since you are so hot on the topic, this dress is indeed couture designed by my niece for her final project of the semester in fashion school. She passed with flying colors in case you were wondering."

Now Marc appeared to be at a loss for words. She stood.

"Marc, things aren't always what they appear to be. If you are going to stay in the South I highly recommend that you learn that."

Candace turned from the table to join Peter at the dessert bar. She was done with Marc Wilson. Did not feel like bantering with him any longer. She felt his eyes on her as she sashayed away. Of their own accord, her hips swayed a bit more exaggerated than normal. May as well give his judgmental eyes a show.

***********

It was times like this that Candace wished she could call her mother. She would know exactly what to say to make her feel better. She would suggest she come home for the weekend, have mother-daughter time, and fix everything wrong. She'd always described her mom as a large slice of chocolate cake. Comforting and classic. Her loss against the battle of breast cancer now made a call impossible.

Candace took a sip of her drink and fought back the urge to cry. She suspected that Peter had been cheating on her. Isn't that what all the big business men did? Had their cake and ate it too? She rested her hand underneath her chin and exhaled heavily. If she had stayed at work a little bit longer tonight she may have missed the sickening scene in the kitchen. What in the hell was she supposed to do with this knowledge now?

She glanced up at the mirror over the bar seeing none other than Marc Wilson exiting from the restaurant adjacent to the bar. She held back a groan of disgust. Just what she needed tonight. She straightened at the same moment that he noticed her seated at the bar.

"Don't walk over here. Don't walk over here," she repeated in her head.

Marc nodded, smiling and bidding valedictions to his comrades before walking her way.

"Fuck me!" she thought wanting to elicit a groan of disgust.

"Well, you're the last person I expected to see tonight," Marc stated as he approached her.

"Likewise," she stated as she slid off the barstool. She felt a bit swimmy headed from the alcohol. How many had she had? 3? 4? That wasn't a good sign.

"Shall I walk you out?"

"I'm perfectly capable of walking myself out," she told him as she signed the bar bill.