Authors: Adams,Claire
“My father grew up in an entirely different manner
than my grandfather. He only knew the comforts of a wealthy
lifestyle
and didn't have to work for anything.
My
grandmother,
so happy that she finally
had a child, lavished him with attention and gifts. From what I understand, my
father grew up lazy and arrogant and, in his teenage years, began to develop a
violent streak.
“My grandmother was diagnosed with cancer and died
suddenly when my father was a young man. According to my father, he took it
hard and turned to alcohol to ease the pain—and quickly became addicted. My
grandfather was stricken with
grief
and
became even more distant from my father. He told me once he wished he had it to
do over again, but life doesn’t give you that option.
You have to make the most of it and do the right thing the first chance
you’re given.
“The only times my father and
grandfather spoke, they quarreled.
My father left home with all the money he had inherited from my grandmother and
essentially became estranged from my grandfather. He met my mother and married
her after only a few months. Shortly after that, they had me. I never knew my
mother,
though—she died shortly after I was
born.”
“Oh, Asher,” I breathed. “I'm so sorry to hear that.”
His face had taken on a dark, intensely pained
expression.
“I appreciate that,
Lilah
.
But, that's not the end of the story,” he said softly. “I didn't tell you how
my mother died.”
I reached over and placed my hand over his
instinctively. The agony in his eyes made me want nothing more than to comfort
him, to shoulder the burden of the pain I saw there just so that he wouldn’t
have to carry it any longer.
“He killed her.” The words drifted out in nearly a
whisper,
and his gaze
fell
to the cup in his hand. “In a fit of drunken rage, my father
murdered my mother.”
“Oh
my
God,” I
nearly gasped. I knew that Asher’s mother had died when he was young, but I
hadn’t done that much research into his background. I was shocked and horrified
for the hurting man sitting across from me.
“I was too young to remember, thankfully. But he
robbed me of having a mother. The only times I've talked to my father
have been
the few times I've visited him in
prison. I still can’t seem to bring myself to fully forgive him. He's going to
be there for the rest of his life.”
“I don’t know what to say. I'm so sorry.” I squeezed
his
hand,
and his gaze turned up to meet
mine.
“It's a sad story, I know. But-”
a slight smile pressed over his lips. “Thank you. For
listening. I
feel better talking about it, as dark as it is. I’ve never
told anyone about it. It does feel as if a weight has been lifted
off
my chest.”
I offered a faint smile in return, still not sure what
to say. “So what about your mom’s family?”
“She was an only child. Her parents had her later in
life and passed away before she graduated college. So, the only relative I had
after my mother died and my father went to prison was my grandfather. He raised
me—he made me the man I am today. And, of course, now that you know the story,
you can see why he refused to give anything of his company to his son. That's
why he bypassed him entirely and left it all to me.”
“That's just tragic, Asher,” I said. I could feel
tears starting to burn the corners of my eyes.
“It had a happy
ending,
though,” he said. His lips were smiling, but I could see there was a deep
aching bubbling in his eyes. “I do miss my grandfather
terribly
. Not a day goes by that I don't think about him.”
“I can understand. I feel the same way about my
mom. And, I don’t even know much about
her. I
imagine it’s stronger
when you have so many
memories.”
Something passed between us when he looked at me.
Something powerful. Something I couldn’t explain if my life depended on it. But
whatever it was, it was intense. I looked
away
and Asher stood and stretched.
“Thank you, Lilah. For dinner, for listening, and
hanging out,” he said, his tone different—more business-like. “I enjoyed it,
but it's getting late, and I need to have a productive day tomorrow. I think
it's about time to call it a night. Keep those ideas about the French campaign
rolling around your head, all right? I'll see you in the office on Monday.”
“I enjoyed it, too,” I said as I stood to walk him
out. “Thanks for the company.”
“It was my pleasure,” he said with one more smile. He
leaned in and kissed me on the cheek.
And then, he was gone.
CHAPTER 13
Asher
I drove home in silence. Unusual for me, as I always
liked having tunes playing in the background when I
drove
unless I was in one of my more vocal cars, like the
Lamborghini, in which I preferred to listen to the sound of the motor. Tonight,
however, I was lost in thought, in contemplation.
How had I come to open up so readily and completely to
Lilah? I'd just spilled the beans about deep family secrets, about my father
and mother and grandfather, and told her things that, well, I don't think I'd
told
anybody
before–and there hadn't even been alcohol involved.
Part of me regretted it: regretted saying such
personal things and exposing myself like that as soon as I'd started talking.
However, another part of me was completely at ease about it. It had been
liberating; there was no other word for it, really. I suddenly had gotten the
burden of carrying those secrets off of my chest.
She'd seemed surprised, shocked even, when she'd
learned the truth about my family, but then again, who wouldn't?
I'd wanted to tell her more–and there was much, much
more, even beyond the shocking details I'd revealed to her–but I'd felt my
walls creeping back up again, fortifying the protective barriers once more after
temporarily letting them down.
I pulled over to the side of the road, a little
overwhelmed with it all. I'd always been strong, immensely strong, and stoic in
the face of the quiet adversities I'd faced behind closed doors—but everyone
needed to open up once in a while, to be vulnerable. Only, I had never allowed
myself to do that. Until tonight.
And with someone I couldn't get off my mind.
What the hell was happening?
I couldn't just go home. I needed to come down from
this ledge and unwind about this situation with someone—with a friend.
I opened the folder on my Maserati's media center
labeled
contacts
and started
scrolling through it. I soon saw a name that jumped out at me–someone I thought
would be able to help, to give it to me straight without pulling any punches
and offer some decent advice: Bryce, my personal trainer.
I tapped on his name and waited as the dial tone rang
through the car speakers.
“Sinclair! What can I do ya for? I hope you're not
going to tell me that tomorrow morning's training session is off!”
His raspy bark was as harsh as it always was.
“No, not at all, Bryce. I was just wondering if you'd
like to grab a beer with me?”
“Beer, huh? You know you'll have to work extra hard
tomorrow to scrub them extra calories off, right?”
“I realize this, yes.”
“Fine. As long as you're willing to pay your dues, we
can bend the rules a bit. But we have a beer where I like to have beers, got
it?”
I couldn't help but chuckle: ever the drill sergeant.
“Sure, Bryce. Where would that be, the usual spot?”
“Billy's. That's right, soldier. See you there in
twenty minutes. Don't waste my time!”
“Twenty minutes it is, Bryce.”
“Over and out.”
I cut the call off, turned the car around, and headed
in the direction of the western outskirts of the city. Nineteen minutes later,
I pulled up to the parking lot of Billy's: a biker bar. It certainly wasn't the
kind of place I'd usually frequent, but when Bryce and I did things together,
they were always on his terms, so there I was.
I parked the car in an empty spot near the door and
stepped out, still wearing the semi-formal attire I'd had on at the office
earlier. I always believed in dressing impeccably (I got that from my
grandfather), so even though I hadn't gone the full business suit route today,
as it was a Saturday, I'd still worn a smart button up shirt and a sports coat.
I shed the coat and tossed it on the passenger seat. I was going to get enough
odd looks as it was. In an effort to look as casual as possible, I rolled up
the sleeves of my dress shirt. Not that it made much difference; I still
prompted a few stares and chuckles from the leather-and-denim-clad bikers
gathered around their Harleys in the parking lot.
I strolled in and was hit with an aural assault of
heavy rock blasting from the bar's speakers. I weaved my way through a couple
of pool tables and saw Bryce sitting near the back in a corner at a small
table, two mugs of beer already situated on it.
“Evening, Bryce,” I said as I pulled up a seat.
“Sinclair, you're two minutes late,” he said, his
expression cold and severe.
“Traffic man, traffic.”
He stared at me in silence for a few seconds, and then
his frown abruptly broke into a warm smile.
“I'm just messing with ya. Lighten up, it's Saturday
night! But, ya are two minutes late,” he added with a grin.
He picked up his beer and I picked up mine, and we
clinked our glasses together.
“So, what's happening in the world of Asher Sinclair?”
he asked. “When you called, your tone of voice gave me the impression that
you’ve got a lot on your mind. What’ve you been up to today, dressed like
that?”
“Yeah, you’re right. I guess I do.”
“Tell me about it.”
“Well, there's this girl-” I began.
“Ah!” he exclaimed after raising a knowing eyebrow.
“That shouldn’t surprise me. You can have all the discipline, ferocity, and
strength in the world and all it takes is one of
them
, and you're a man
down.”
I nodded. “Yeah, you got that right.”
“But not with
you,
Sinclair—not usually,
anyway. I actually am a little surprised. I mean, hell, you've had girls that
most of us regular Joes just fantasize about! Models, actresses, dancers, pop
stars—and none of them ever seem to get your panties in a twist. So why now?
How come one of 'em is getting to ya?”
I sipped on my beer before answering. Mainly because I
didn’t know myself. “I wish I could tell ya, Bryce. But she's not like the rest
of them. Not like any of them…at all.”
“What about her is so different?”
“She's just… Well, she's beautiful for one thing,
although not in a way that you'd call conventional.”
“I’m not sure how to interpret that, based on what
I've observed in your taste in women.”
“Well, she's also highly intelligent, madly driven,
ambitious, fiercely independent, and crazy creative. She's got an absolutely
fantastic mind; she pretty much single-handedly turned around a failing
campaign we were working on, and made it a raging success in less than two
weeks.”
“I thought only
you
were capable of such
things.”
“I thought so, too–but she seems to have a spark of
genius in her.”
“Now step back a second there. You said, '
We
were
working on.’ You working with this girl?”
“She's one of my personal staff members, yes.”
Bryce sipped slowly on his beer and shook his head.
“Hmm, well, now. Listen soldier, you ever heard the saying about not shitting
where you eat?”
I sighed. “I know, I know. But there’s just something
about her. She's
different,
Bryce. I can't pinpoint the specifics about
it beyond what I've already told you. I've just come back from her place and—”
“Oh really, cowboy?” he interrupted with a wink and a
smile.
“No, no, it wasn't like that. Hell, nothing at all
happened–except, that
everything
happened.”
He swigged on his beer before responding. “Okay, now
you’re just not making sense.”
“I spilled my guts, man. I told her all of my family
stuff, stuff that I haven't told anyone before. I spilled the beans like a
cheerleader in the locker room.”
“I see.” He nodded slowly, and his face took on a more
serious expression. “Well, maybe there's something there worth pursuing, then.
But, here's the kicker, kid: does she feel the same way about
you?”
I picked up a straw from the table and stirred it
absentmindedly in my beer. “That's the thing that's has me confused as hell,
Bryce. I don't know.”
“And that's particularly tough for you, isn't it? I
mean, I've known you all these years, kid, and you're always the one who's in
charge, who's in control. You’ve always been the one who had the women under
your thumb. You’re used to being the one to take charge, go after what you want
and get it. Everything has always been on your terms for as long as I've known
you. Hell, you've even got me under your thumb–even though we go with the
illusion that
I'm
in charge, for the sake of your training. I know where
my paychecks come from.” Bryce grinned.
“I know you're right. But you do know I don't just
consider you an employee–I consider you a friend above all else.”
He smiled and clinked his beer against mine. “Thanks,
kiddo.”
“And to prove that, here I am talking to you about, of
all things,
feelings
on a Saturday night. Bet you didn't see this
coming!”
He laughed out loud. “I certainly didn't! But hell,
every guy goes through this at some stage of his life. I sure as hell did.”
“And, what came out of it?”
“Twenty-three years and counting of marriage to the
best damn woman I've ever met.”
I nodded. “When did you know? That she was the one,
that is?”
“First damn second I laid eyes on her. I dunno how I
knew, I just did. Like a soldier I fought with in Desert Storm once told me: 'I
know I ain't coming back alive from this mission. I can feel it in my bones.'
And, sure enough, he didn't come back. Sometimes, you just know things in your
bones.”
I sipped slowly on my beer, not saying a word.
“So that, ultimately, is the question you gotta ask
yourself, Sinclair. Do you know it in your bones? Your feelings for this
girl–do you merely imagine them–or do you
know
them?”
I drank another sip and then responded.
“To be honest, Bryce, the answer to
that
is
what scares me.”
***
I waited at the head of the boardroom table, tapping
my fingers impatiently on the desk as I waited for people to file in. I'd been
in an unexplainable mood since Saturday night, and no amount of work or
exercise had been effective at shaking it. So, there I stood, knowing it had
carried over into Monday.
Eventually, everyone was at their seats, so I looked
out across the sea of faces and started to speak. “Good morning, everyone.
Welcome to another busy and hopefully productive week. This morning, we're
going to be discussing, among a few other things, a new French perfume
campaign.
“But, before we do that, there's one last thing the
executives at Harry Winston want us to wrap up for them. They want one of the
ads reworked to add in some new information they have for us. Unfortunately,
this means someone is going to have to schedule some evening hours to work on
this with me, as we just don't have enough time to get it done with all the
prep we have to put in for the already scheduled upcoming campaigns.
“I guess what I’m asking is: who's willing to be here
the next few nights after hours to help me wrap up this Harry Winston
situation? I realize I'm asking a lot, but I did pick most of you because of
your hunger for success, your perfectionism, and your dedication to work.”
I looked out over the table and was disappointed that
I didn't immediately see a sea of hands. It was a Monday morning, and we were
already loaded with work, so I understood.
“Look, guys, I can handle this on my own, yes, but it
will take less time if I have someone to share the load. I would really
appreciate an extra hand to assist in this.”
A hand went up to my left, and a strange thrill rushed
through my body as I saw whose hand it was.
“Ah, it appears we have a volunteer. And, I can't say
I'm too surprised.”
“I feel like the Harry Winston campaign is kind of my
baby,” Lilah said with a smile. “And as such, I'm prepared to take care of it
as best I can. I'll come in after hours and help you wrap it up.”
“Excellent,” I said. “I suspected you'd be the one to
volunteer just for that reason. Thank you, Lilah. We'll talk about times and
strategies after the meeting. So, now that we have that all cleared up,
everyone please open your folders. Let’s talk about perfume.”