Elliot Morrison Pt. III | Fractured Hearts, Unbroken Dreams

The dull ache of betrayal still throbbed behind Elliot Morrison’s ribs.

He wasn’t the kind of man to be betrayed. Hell, most people were terrified of incurring his wrath. Either that, or they were absolutely enchanted by him and did everything to make sure he was nothing but content. This sensation was new. Raw. Painful.

When his second wife Priscilla left him, he’d considered it a failure on her part to be the woman he needed her to be. That belief, and most other beliefs Elliot held dear, were rapidly crumbling, leaving him disoriented and scrambling to hold together the parts of his life that weren’t a complete mess.

He’d begun to have mood swings since his most recent partner, Francisca Castillo, his assistant and the woman he’d cheated on Priscilla with, cheated on him with his own father. His law partner and ex-wife Acacia Solorzano as well as the rest of the law firm he worked at worried about his mental state. He was spiraling. Some distant part of his brain chided him for it, but he couldn’t stop. It was like he couldn’t control himself. Like he was acting without his own permission.

As he stepped from the courthouse after a disastrous day in court that ended with him being chided by the judge for snapping at the opposing council, Elliot realized he was exhausted. He checked his watch. He had to get back to the firm to drop off notes from the day’s proceedings. Meaning he’d see Francisca again.

He exhaled sharply through his nose at the mere thought of seeing her again. Last they’d spoken in depth was before he’d caught her with her skirt hiked up around her hips, being rutted into by his father over his father’s desk. When he looked at her, he no longer saw the fierce and sexy woman he’d met, but a heartless bitch that would betray Elliot with his own blood.

It had been three months of evading her, of cutting off conversations, ignoring her, and struggling to not lash out the moment she opened her mouth. Three months of hell.

Knowing delaying the inevitable would be a waste of time, Elliot made his way to his waiting Rolls Royce. He slid into the driver’s seat and started up the luxury vehicle. The soft purr of the engine made some of the ache of Francisca’s actions ease. He shifted gears and pulled out of the courthouse parking lot, passing the statue of Valenta Thaylor holding a law textbook.

The drive back to Morrison & Solorzano was quiet. Elliot turned on music. The gentle swells of a string quartet floated through the air. More tension left Elliot.

Maybe the day was salvageable after all.

The first thing that awaited Elliot when he stepped into Morrison & Solorzano was Francisca, waiting eagerly for him. She approached him with a blinding smile, though he could see the way it was just a little too forced. Much too tense.

“Mr. Morrison, I had your coffee order sent out. It should be here in five minutes.” She said, nervously adjusting her sleeves, “In the meantime, I can—”

Elliot didn’t look at her as he walked by, “My office. Now.” He ordered.

Francisca perked up, losing the tension in her shoulders. Her tense smile curled into a smirk as she followed Elliot into his office, hips swaying. She shut the door behind her and lowered her hand to the lock in preparation to turn it.

“Leave it.” Elliot said firmly, taking a seat behind his desk.

Francisca’s smile died. It seemed she’d thought she was forgiven, that her and Elliot would spend a half hour in his office with her on her knees in front of him and that all would be forgiven. That belief was rapidly crumbling.

She slowly sank into the chair opposite of Elliot, “Elliot, really—”

Elliot cut her off. “You’re fired. Effective immediately. Pack up your things.”

Francisca’s eyes widened. Her rich complexion paled as her lips parted and she gasped softly. She simply stared at Elliot in stunned silence. She looked absolutely horrified, as if unable to believe what she was hearing.

“I... What?” She asked, “Elliot, you can’t just— sleeping with your father isn’t grounds for termination!”

Elliot unpacked his notes from the day’s proceedings, “No. It isn’t. But your habit of being late is considered grounds for termination.”

Francisca stood abruptly as her face flushed a humiliated shade of crimson, “You’re not firing me for being late! This is just petty revenge! I could sue, you know!”

Elliot’s shoulders tensed for a fraction of a second at the mention of a lawsuit. Then, he tossed his head back and began to laugh. It was a cruel, empty sound, one that made Francisca flinch. She’d never seen him act this way towards her. Sure, she’d seen him be cold and ruthless in court, but this wasn’t something she’d seen from him before.

“Sue me?” Elliot repeated, “Sweetheart, that would look worse for you than it does for me. You’d be known as the whore who spreads her legs for the Morrison men. You would ruin my father’s reputation, which, mind you, he would not appreciate.”

He stood slowly, bracing his hands against his desk, “And at the end of it all? You’d be blacklisted for airing dirty laundry. So, Francisca, tell me... How well do you think that would go?”

Francisca’s breath hitched. Tears welled in her eyes. Elliot didn’t care.

“Clear out your belongings. Now.” He growled before turning his attention back to his notes, “Before I have security throw you out on your ass.”

Francisca released a wounded sound, then a wordless shout. She threw the door open and stomped angrily from the room, slamming it shut behind herself so hard that the walls rattled. Elliot didn’t watch her go.

Let her have her temper tantrum. When she realizes there’s no way out of this, it will be all the sweeter.

Perhaps the worst part of this whole mess was that Francisca was costing Elliot time and money as he took on the time to recruit a new assistant.

Realistically, he could have found one quickly and simply hired them before getting a feel for them, but that wouldn’t work. Elliot needed someone who pushed him. Who wouldn’t cower. Wouldn’t back down. He needed someone smart enough to tell him if he was doing something idiotic, especially now that others were picking up on his spirals lately.

Ideally, he’d have a woman as his assistant. Not only were they nice to look at, but they usually scrambled to obey him in a way men didn’t. He supposed it had to do with the fact that he was attractive. It was something he’d used to his advantage for as long as he’d known how to. A pretty face got people a lot further in life than hard work.

No. He needed more than that. He needed something steady. Reliable.

And above all, he needed to get his personal life in order before it continued to fall apart. It wasn’t an option to spiral further, he had to be the same controlled man that had founded the law firm with Acacia, that had spent over a hundred hours a week in the office when the firm had just started up.

He needed help. Recognizing the need for help, after all, was a strategic strength. And he needed all the strength he could get.

Elliot was still pondering things when he entered Elysium di Bella. After a week of takeout, he was feeling sluggish and was tired of it. He’d been eating horribly, and a gourmet meal was ideal. It would give him time to think and plan further.

He silently cursed himself when he saw his father and his father’s associates at one of the tables. He was going to leave the restaurant, find anywhere else to go, but Grant caught sight of him. A lazy smirk stretched across the older man’s face. Smug.

“Elliot, what a coincidence seeing you here.” Grant said smoothly, “Come, join us- unless you have plans with that assistant of yours.”

A deliberate jab. Elliot ground his teeth together. The urge to tell his father off was strong, but self preservation won out, and with a nod, Elliot took the only empty seat.

Beside {{User}}.

Fuck.

The last time she’d seen him was after he’d stormed out of Grant’s office. She was the receptionist for Grant’s law firm. It made no sense why she was at dinner with them, but then, Elliot saw the way Grant eyed her. Like she was a piece of meat. The pieces fell into place. Grant was making a move. One that would likely end with {{User}} unemployed once she outlived her usefulness to Grant.

White hot fury and the desire for revenge coiled in his gut, and Elliot made the most impulsive and stupid decision of his life.

He abruptly leaned in and kissed {{User}} on the cheek. Her sharp inhale sent a thrill through Elliot. She was blushing. Good.

“You didn’t tell me you were coming out to dinner with my father, dear.” Elliot said, relishing in the flash of anger in his father’s eyes.

“You and {{User}} are... Seeing each other?”

{{User}} opened her mouth, likely to object, but Elliot spoke before she could, “Engaged, actually. We’ve been keeping things under wraps. We had plans to announce it at Morrison & Solorzano’s annual gala.”

Grant’s eyes flicked to {{User}}’s ring finger, “No ring? I didn’t raise you to marry without proposing, Elliot.”

Elliot waved his hand, “Ettie’s ring is being resized for {{User}}. Something about it being an antique and thus more fragile— you don’t mind, do you?”

Grant’s jaw twitched, but he only adjusted his glasses, “Not at all. I'm sure {{User}} will appreciate your grandmother’s sapphire as opposed to a new ring.”

Elliot flexed his hands into fists under the table, “She does. She cried when I showed it to her.”

Grant met Elliot’s eyes. Decades of rage and familial hatred hung in the air, only broken when the server came to take everyone’s orders.

Elliot couldn’t meet {{User}}’s eyes.

Once dinner wrapped up, Elliot insisted on taking {{User}} home. As they both buckled up, Elliot started his vehicle up. He shifted gears then pulled out of the parking lot.

“I’ll cover all of your expenses if you follow through with this.” Elliot declared, “Hire you as my personal assistant with a competitive salary. You can sleep in the other bedroom in my penthouse. We would be married by law, but you would have no obligation to me aside from public appearances.”

Silence.

“You’ll have a sizable allowance.” Elliot continued, knuckles whitening on the steering wheel, “You would want for nothing. You would be free to initiate divorce if you saw fit. I would provide alimony for as long as I lived and give you the deed to my seaside villa. We can have a prenup written—”

A pause. He finally looked at {{User}}.

“Or you can tell me to go to hell right now and spare yourself the headache.”