“That’s not legal. You should sue.” Anger makes her voice tremble, and I sigh.
“I got another job offer.”
“What?” She laughs. “What are you talking about? Ash. Slow down.”
I snort. “I don’t even know where to start, Stella.”
“Come over. Nicole and I were going to do brunch and mimosas at my place to celebrate these renovations finally being finished, but she won’t be here for another couple hours. You can tell me what the heck happened last night and then we can all have mimosas together.”
“Yes, please,” I grin. “Be over in fifteen.”
Stella wraps me in a hug as soon as I walk in the door. She holds me at arm’s length and inspects me, frowning.
“You okay?”
“A bit hungover.”
“Ah,” she grins. “Coffee?”
“Please.” We walk to the kitchen together and I slump down into one of her creaky chairs. I glance around the room, not ready to talk about my own crazy couple days. “So how’s Mark?”
“He’s good,” Stella replies, rummaging through her cupboards for coffee filters. “He’s away hiking this weekend.”
“I thought the trails were still closed.”
“A few of them opened up a couple days ago. And you know him, he’ll do anything to be in the mountains.” She grins at me, shaking her head. “But don’t try to change the subject. Tell me.”
She presses a button to start the coffee brewing and comes to sit across from me. I can tell by her face that she won’t be satisfied with anything except every single detail from last night.
I take a deep breath. “I’m not really sure where to start.”
“Start with how the heck you got fired. I’m serious, Ash, that sounds illegal.”
“I know. It probably is, but I don’t know… I just don’t have the energy to fight it.”
“That’s how these companies get away with it!” She huffs, shaking her head. “It makes me so mad. So what happened, they just fired you for some noise complaints?”
“Apparently the Denver Philharmonic Orchestra complained.”
“Oh, dear.”
“I didn’t even know about it. It was Martha who—”
“Ugh, Martha.”
“Exactly!” I laugh and Stella rolls her eyes.
“She’s the worst. So what happened, he fired you and one of his competitors swooped in to grab you because you’re the best PR manager the construction industry has ever seen?”
I chew my lip. “Not exactly.”
Haltingly, I start telling her about Liam—I tell her about seeing him before he went on stage and crashing into him in the lobby. Finally, I tell her about the club, and the job offer. She gets up midway through to pour us two mugs of coffee, nodding and listening the whole time.
I wrap my fingers around the warm mug and shrug. “So yeah, I don’t really know what to make of it.”
“Wow. That’s… that’s something.”
I laugh. “I know.”
“What are you going to do?”
“I was hoping you’d tell me that.” I tuck a strand of hair behind my ear and look at my sister. She sighs, shaking her head.
“I can’t do that, Ash.”
I sigh.
Stella grins as she studies my face. “Do you want to take the job? With his brother running for mayor it might be a lot of pressure.”
I stare at the coffee in my cup for a few moments, and then drag my eyes back up to her. Sucking my lip between my teeth, I nod my chin down.
“Yeah,” I sigh. “I do want to take the job.”
Stella’s lips twitch into a smile. “So, there’s your answer.” She shakes her head as a proud gleam flashes in her eyes. “There’s the proud, stubborn girl that I grew up with. I knew you were in there somewhere.”
“It does feel like I’m turning a corner, like all the stuff with Randy is behind me.”
The doorbell rings and Stella’s eyebrows jump up. “That must be Nic! Finish that coffee because we are moving on to mimosas.”
I grin and head toward the front door with her. Stella’s friend opens the door before we get there and holds up a bag with champagne and orange juice.
“I brought supplies.” She smiles at the two of us and a weight lifts off my shoulders.
I don’t need Stella to tell me what to do—I already know what I want.
I want to take the job, and I want to see Liam again. It’ll either be the best or worst decision I’ve made in a long time.
8
Liam
After I offer Ashley a job, I force myself to walk away from her without looking back. I steal a glance her way just in time to see her leaving with the redhead.
I’m more relieved than I want to admit to myself that she’s not leaving with the goth-wannabe-pothead. I watch her walk out the door long enough for Aaron to nudge me.
“Dude.”
I glance at him, frowning. “What?”
He nods toward the sofas, where the two blondes are still waiting for me. I roll my eyes and sigh, shaking my head.
“Nah, man, I’m not into it.”
“Not into it?” He looks at me as if I’ve gone insane. Maybe I have. I avoid his stare and shrug away from him.
“I got to work in the morning, man.”
“First of all, since when do you work? Second of all, tomorrow is Sunday.”
“Non-profit life,” I grin. It’s a lie—I don’t need to work. I just need to get away from here, and I know that if I say that, Aaron will pester me with shots and drinks and girls and anything else he can throw at me to get me to stay.
Instead, I just dodge past him and give him a half-hearted wave. By the time I make it outside, I scan the street for Ashley, but all I see is the redhead. She walks up toward me, arching her eyebrow.
“Just missed her, douchebag.”
“Who’s a douchebag?”
She shakes her head. “What was all that about? Offering her a job and stuff? What are you trying to prove?”
“What do you care?”
She must be five foot two, maybe a hair taller. Her curly red hair is wild on top of her head, and it makes it just about to the middle of my chest. That doesn’t seem to faze her, though, because she stands in front of me in combat boots and ripped jeans, puffing her chest out at me defiantly.
“Look, I just need a new PR person. I have a good feeling about Ashley, so I offered her a job. Nothing more.” Not that I need to explain anything to you, kid.
“Had a good feeling about her, huh?” She rolls her eyes and walks past me. “Whatever, man.” She pauses on the step above me and turns around. “She seems like a good person. And you… don’t. Just think about that before you ruin her life.”
I watch her walk back into the club as an uneasy feeling settles into my stomach. I know she’s right, and I know that I only offered Ashley a job to get closer to her. My track record with women isn’t exactly pristine.
So why does it bother me?
It’s almost like—and I can’t believe I’m actually thinking this—but it’s almost like I actually want the redhead’s approval. Why the fuck would I care what some chick thinks of me? It’s not like I’m trying to fuck her.
Just her friend, that’s all.
The feeling nags at me until I snort and shake my head. I walk toward the taxi line and jump in the first one, leaning my head against the headrest and watching the world go by as I head home.
Waking up on my own on a Sunday morning is an unfamiliar feeling. It’s not unpleasant, exactly, just unusual. I roll over and see the empty space beside me before stretching my arms and legs out.
There’s no chick to have one last round of morning sex with, no one to kick out, no one to awkwardly exchange numbers with and pretend like I’m going to talk to her again.
I swing my legs over the side of the bed and stretch my neck from side to side. I’m not hungover, either, which is rare. By the time I’m in the shower, I
’ve realized that I actually like this feeling.
I’ve been spending all my time chasing pussy every weekend thinking it was the best thing to do when I could have just done nothing and felt even better.
I tip my head back and open my lips, letting the shower water fill my mouth before I spit it all out. I stand under the scalding stream for a few moments to clear my mind.
What’s the point of it all?
Ever since the doctors told me I’d never run again, my life has been just barely under control. All the pieces of me are being held together with cheap glue in the form of family expectations and public opinion. I haven’t cared about any of it…
Until now.
I’ve done the heart foundation stuff. I organized the run. I’ve become the philanthropic poster-boy that my brother needs for his dumb election, and in my own time, I’ve drank and smoked and fucked myself to oblivion.
What is the fucking point of it all?
The foundation doesn’t make me feel like a good person. The partying doesn’t make me feel anything. I don’t know why I’m doing any of it.
I close my eyes and run my fingers through my hair and then nudge the shower knob down slightly. Steam billows around me in thick, curling clouds and I inhale the heavy air.
I’ve been doing this Heart Start stuff with the intention of stopping as soon as my brother is mayor, but… then what?
At least if Ashley takes the job, I’ll have something to entertain me until the election.
She’d be crazy not to take it, with the salary I’ve offered her—but then again, working with me isn’t exactly a walk in the park. She might be crazier to accept.
Closing my eyes, I picture her how she was when I first saw her up close—pinned underneath me with her wavy hair splayed out around her head like a blonde halo. I could feel her pulse thundering in her chest, pressed against mine and my leg nestled between hers.
I’d given her my best smile—the one that makes women weak in the knees—and still, she’d walked away. She knew who I was, who my family was, she knew what I was offering her when I told her to come out with me.
And she walked away.
Anger had flared in my chest, but now, as the bright Sunday morning sunlight floods my bathroom, her refusal makes me grin. My cock starts to throb as blood rushes between my legs, and I let my mind drift over her body, her face, her lips.
I wonder what those lips would look like wrapped around my shaft.
When I grab my cock, it doesn’t take long for me to finish. I lean against the shower wall, panting.
The water turns cold and I turn it off, reaching for a towel as I wipe myself down. Standing in front of the mirror, I rub my head to dry my hair and let a smile drift over my lips.
Something has shifted inside me. I’m done with the girls, the parties, the drinking. Right now, I only know one thing for sure: I want Ashley, and I’ll do anything to make her mine.
9
Ashley
It’s weird not getting up for work on a Monday. I keep thinking this is some crazy dream that I’ll wake up from, but it’s not. My phone dings with an email from John, telling me that I’ll be able to pick up my things from the office between ten a.m. and two p.m.
How generous of him.
I treat myself to a nice breakfast and a coffee, and then I make my way to my former office. Just three days ago, I thought I’d have a job here for the foreseeable future. My palms are sweaty when I park the car and get out, and I take a deep breath before pushing the front door open.
“Hey, Vicki,” I say to the administrative assistant at the front desk. “Just here to grab some things.”
She nods, arching her eyebrows in sympathy. “I just heard… I’m so sorry. How are they allowed to do that?”
“I was on probation, apparently. The first six months of my contract allow termination without warning.”
“That shouldn’t be allowed.” She shakes her head, glancing down the hallway toward John’s office. “He’s gone power crazy ever since he got promoted.”
“Maybe I’m getting out at the right time.” I chuckle bitterly and then nod toward the cubicles. She smiles sadly and I walk toward my desk.
Heads pop up from cubicles like groundhogs out of their burrows. I keep my chin held high and my shoulders thrown back.
Don’t let them see any weakness, Stella told me yesterday. Easier said than done. After two mimosas and a lot of laughs, I felt like I could take on the world.
Now? Now, I’m not so sure. I shuffle to my desk and open the drawers one after another, stuffing all my personal effects into my oversized purse.
Then, a voice makes me pause.
“So sorry to hear what happened,” the nasally, high-pitched whine of my office nemesis says. I turn around to see Martha smirking at me, barely containing her glee.
“Are you?” I answer, unaffected.
Her smirk falters, and then she shrugs. “I thought you were one of the good ones.”
I stuff my favorite pen into my purse. At least I can say that I got something from this stupid office.
I smile at Martha. “I wish I could say the same about you. Excuse me.” Gliding past her, I almost make it out alive when I hear John’s voice behind me.
“Ashley! If you have a minute—”
Yeah, I’ve got a minute, I want to say. Let me tell you what I think of you, and this company, and that good-for-nothing, holier-than-thou bitch called Martha. I’ve got a minute, John.
Instead, I just nod and follow him to his office. The groundhogs watch me until the door closes and John motions to a seat.
Is this about the pen? Is he going to get mad at me for stealing office stationery?
He flops into his executive chair and tents his fingers over his bulging stomach. He reaches up and smoothes his hair down, and the rings he wears on every finger glint in the fluorescent office lights. I take a deep breath.
I can do this. In a few minutes, I can walk out of here and put it all behind me. Maybe it’s a blessing in disguise—a door closing and a window opening… or something.
John sighs and shakes his head. “It pains me to see you going this way, Ashley. We had big things planned for you.”
Well then maybe you shouldn’t have fired me for no reason, dickhead.
Deep breaths.
I nod.
“But there are some things that I can’t let slide. You were the face of this company, and unfortunately, it just didn’t work out. I want you to know that if you ever need a reference, I’ll still be happy to provide one for you.”
My eyebrows twitch together and I nod. A reference? Why would he provide me with a reference if he literally just fired me?
I clear my throat. “Alright. Okay. Well, I’m… I’m going to go.” I push myself off the chair and stand awkwardly for a second, and then finally stick my hand out.
“All the best, Ash. I’m sure you’ll land on your feet.”
He pumps my hand up and down once, and then I walk out of his office. I walk past Martha, past the cubicles, past Vicki at the reception desk, until I’m outside and I can take a deep breath.
My head is spinning. That was the most confusing experience of my life. It didn’t even feel like I got fired. It felt like he almost regretted it, but he’d gone too far and couldn’t take it back. He was acting like he’d been forced to fire me, which is the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever experienced.
I take a step toward my car and the ground isn’t where I thought it was. My foot slides off the curb and the ground lurches up toward me. I stumble forward, forward, forward, until I finally fall flat on my face as my purse crunches underneath me.
Groaning, I pick myself up and brush the gravel off my clothes.
Great.
My cheeks burn, even though no one was there to see it. I look at my hand and see a bright red scrape from the gravel. My skin is split open and I wince as I brush the dirt and gravel out of the cut. For the second time this week, I’ve ended
up flat on the ground.
I pick up my purse and head for my car, trying to stop tears from streaming down my face.
Life sucks.
I don’t care what anyone says. Things just… suck. I sniffle, wiping my cheeks with the back of my hand as I sit in the driver’s seat. I rummage in my purse for my keys and stick them in the ignition, and then take a deep breath. I need to give Liam my decision.
This day couldn’t get any worse, so I might as well get this phone call over with. I’ll call Liam and tell him that I’ll take the job.
With my luck, it’ll be terrible and I’ll be able to quit in a couple weeks. At least I’ll be able to say that I tried. It can’t be any worse than the job I just left.
I reach into my bag and feel for my phone. I pull it out, gasping. It’s covered in bright blue ink—and so are my fingers now, too. I glance into my purse and tears start streaming down my face.
My favorite Michael Kors purse is ruined. That stupid pen that I decided to take got smashed in the fall and now everything in there is ruined.
That’s when I start crying. It’s not pretty, it’s not feminine, or pity-inducing. It’s ugly. I hold my ink-stained fingers in front of me and cry and cry and cry until my face hurts. I glance up at the stupid building where I just got sort-of-fired-but-not-really and I sob some more.
Finally, I pull some tissues out of the glove compartment and wipe my fingers off as best I can. They’re still covered in blue ink, but at least they won’t stain everything I touch. Still sniffling, I wipe my phone and sigh when I see a crack in the corner of the screen.
At this point, I don’t even care. I’m all cried out. I’ll get a new phone with my great new paycheck that Liam freaking Maguire, the Patron Saint of Philanthropy and Philandering is going to offer me.
I snort and shake my head.
He was probably drunk, and with my luck, he won’t even remember offering me anything. I crumple the ink-stained tissues into a ball and stuff them into the cupholder in the center console. Then, I find Liam’s card in my purse and stare at it for a few minutes.
Love/Hate: The Complete Enemies to Lovers Series Page 23
