You're Still the One

by Sasha Clinton

  She wondered for the hundredth time why Washington hadn’t passed a bill against double-parking yet.

  Throwing her head back against the seat, she let out a cry of frustration.

  Today was not her day. It was so not her day.

  The hair dryer had almost electrocuted her this morning before giving up the ghost, leaving her with dripping hair. Then her mobile phone had not charged, though she’d left it plugged into the socket all night. And if a dead phone and dripping hair had not been enough, now she was circling around the parking lot without a space to park.

  What other good news awaited her?

  Her belly groaned. Grabbing the apple from the bag, she bit into it. Lunch at her desk wasn’t going to happen, so she might as well eat now. As she munched on the Red Delicious, and her car moved forward without direction, the most serendipitous thing happened.

  A white Elantra pulled out, leaving an empty spot. A shiny vacant space perfect for her Cruze to fit into. Tossing the apple to the backseat, Ashley rushed forward to seize the heaven-sent opportunity.

  When the seatbelt finally slid over her on its way back to the doorframe, she looked at the time and gasped.

  Nine forty-five.

  ***

  “Sorry I’m late.”

  Ashley etched the guiltiest expression she could manage without having to take professional acting lessons as she closed the door to the meeting room behind her.

  Her boss, Mary, shrugged, unimpressed, and dipped her square chin sideways—a signal for Ashley to have a seat. Green tea—the only beverage Mary drank since she’d quit drinking coffee last year—sat in a clear plastic cup to her right.

  Ashley counted. From the left, the order was Aoi, Dana, Marcia, Gabriella and Mary. Aoi, Gabriella and she were editors at Doubleside Publishing—the non-fiction imprint of Moonlight Publishing—while Marcia and Dana were senior editors and Mary was editor-in-chief.

  Okay, so everyone was here. She always took a mental attendance before meetings. It was a habit.

  “We were discussing the new book Anette acquired,” Aoi said. “The shoe guide by the Malaysian shoe designer. We were brainstorming titles for it.”

  Ashley nodded and set the papers she was carrying on the long glass table. “So what have you come up with so far?”

  “I think we’re going to go with First Foot Forward,” Dana said.

  “Sounds good.” Mary gave her stamp of approval and then looked to her iPad for the next item on the agenda. “What’s the update on The Nature Diet? The release date is only five months away.”

  “I sent it to production last week,” Marcia said.

  “Okay, so that’s done. And moving on to the other titles on the fall list, how is Perfect Chemistry coming along?” Mary asked, her eagle nose aimed at Ashley.

  Ashley swallowed. There was a sticky situation there. “I think Randall is going to be late handing in the revisions. It’s been a month since I sent him the editorial letter. I’m spamming his and his agent’s inbox every day and calling them every other day. They say he’s working on it, but he refuses to give me a timeframe. And he’s not responded to my emails for the last two days. I am worried about the book release date.”

  Perfect Chemistry was one of the lead titles on the fall list. The marketing department was promoting it heavily due to the perennially popular subject matter of the book—relationships—and its promise to ‘decode’ the science behind attraction once and for all. The marketing department had even arranged for Randall to go on air on the Today show.

  “Oh, great!” Mary said, slamming her petite fingers on the stack of papers. “An author pulling the disappearing act.”

  “I’ll try to meet with his agent sometime this week and I’ll keep sending him emails.” What else could she do, anyway?

  “Okay, do that. And keep me in the loop about what happens with it.”

  “In all probability, the release date will have to be shifted.”

  “Not my favorite thing to do,” Mary said, looking irritated.

  The meeting stretched on until eleven, when, at last, they managed to get through everything they had to cover for the week. Ashley lifted up her bag, eager to get back to her computer where there were mountains of emails waiting to be cleared. At two, she had another meeting with the art director to look at some cover concepts he’d come up with.

  “Oh, right, I totally forgot about this one.” Mary’s navy trousers got to the gap between the door and the frame, then pulled away. “Ashley, can I have a word with you?”

  Ashley eyed the other women in the room nervously. “Sure.”

  “See you around,” Aoi said and vacated the room along with the other editors, leaving Ashley alone with Mary.

  Mary closed the door. The tense expression on the older woman’s face made Ashley’s heart turn like a merry-go-round.

  “Ashley, can I ask you for a favor?” Mary’s voice lacked its usual confidence.

  “Sure,” Ashley said, dreading what would come next.

  Mary dabbed her temples with her lithe, manicured fingers. “Sorry to drop this on you so suddenly, but I’m getting a divorce.”

  “Oh.”

  Ashley didn’t know whether to congratulate her or look sorry. Her own divorce had aroused a mixed bag of emotions in her.

  “Good luck.” It was not the most sensitive thing to say. “Divorces can be tough.”

  She should know that. Hers had been an uphill climb emotionally and mentally. The procedure itself had been laughably simple—a few signatures on sheets of paper. But the real pain had started after the two-minute legal procedure. Like a heart surgery, once the anesthesia of the operating room had worn off, the real ache had set in.

  And there had been no painkillers to numb the agony.

  She half-expected Mary’s next question.

  “You sound like you’re speaking from experience. Did anyone in your family go through a divorce?”

  “I did.”

  She had not planned to talk about her divorce with her boss. She hated talking about it with anyone, but Mary’s haggard face had made the words spill out.

  “I didn’t know you were divorced.” Mary was surprised.

  She wriggled her toes inside her red platform-heeled shoes. “It was a long time ago.”

  “You must’ve been very young.”

  And stupid. Stupid enough to fall for a pretty face with no heart.

  “I was. But I think it would be difficult at any age.” she said.

  “You look like you’ve weathered it well.” It was a compliment. “It gives me hope.”

  Ashley squeezed her feet together. She didn’t deserve that compliment.

  “It becomes easier with time. You forget a lot of things. And you become good at ignoring whatever you remember.”

  “Nicholas and I have been together for ten years.” The grimace was a precursor to what Ashley suspected would be the reason for divorce. “I never thought he would cheat on me with my son’s tutor. She’s five years older than me! Five. And he wants custody of Mark. How am I supposed to let my son live with a cheating bastard and that woman?”

  The hurt pride and self-esteem… Ashley recognized that. The nagging sense of inadequacy, the fear of facing an uncertain future… those, too.

  “Don’t worry about custody. I’m not a lawyer, but I think if you’re economically independent, you can easily get custody.”

  “My lawyer says the same thing. But all this is really stressful. Was it like that for you too?”

  Ashley understood Mary’s need to compare and seek validation. And she wanted to provide the validation that no one had given her.

  “Mine was a mutual consent divorce, but it was still rough. You’ll start to feel better once the unpleasantness is over.”

  “His actions don’t make any sense. Am I not pretty? Am I not smart? Wasn’t I faithful?” She was talking more to herself than to Ashley. Divorce had a way of making emotional outbursts appear out of nowhere.
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  “Don’t beat yourself up over it,” Ashley consoled. “You’ll find a much better man who recognizes who you are.”

  Well, she hadn’t found that man yet, but she could give others hope, couldn’t she?

  “You’re right. I will.” Mary’s shaky confidence settled. But Ashley knew that it was only a temporary equilibrium. Permanent confidence took years to build.

  Confidence was really the most delicate object in the world—it shattered like glass at the slightest provocation. It deserted you when you needed it the most.

  In that sense, it was a lot like Andrew.

  Mary’s knuckles took away the traces of her tears. Inhaling, she returned to her earlier calmness. Her marsh-green eyes slanted to Ashley.

  “Oh, by the way, the reason I’m telling you all this is because I signed a new writer. He’s a well-known entrepreneur, working on an autobiography. He sent me the completed first draft yesterday. I was looking forward to editing it personally but due to my divorce, I’ve fallen behind on the other books on my list so I don’t think I can complete this project. I was wondering if you could take it on.”

  With the deadline to turn in manuscripts for the fall 2016 list barely two months away, this was a busy time all-around. Ashley had the lightest editing load amongst the five editors at present, so she knew why Mary was asking her. After sending out the most recent manuscript for proofreading, she had only three more books on her list, which by an editor’s standard was almost a mini-vacation.

  “I think you would enjoy this one. It’s in the vein of what you edit.”

  Ashley edited non-fiction books on popular psychology and business, not autobiographies. But since saying no to your distressed boss was never an option, she nodded. She’d have to inform Bella that she couldn’t make it to the Thursday night alumni meet. She had to stay in and work on the book.

  “Sure, no problem.” She flashed a big, fake smile at the editor-in-chief.

  “Good. We’ll need to come up with a title for the book next week.”

  “Who’s the writer?” Ashley was warming up to the idea of missing meeting her friends on Thursday.

  “Andrew Smith. You must have heard of him. He’s very famous.”

  “Andrew Smith? As in the founder of Dracosys, tech icon and multi-millionaire?” And my ex-husband?

  Mary nodded.

  Ashley’s heart delved into the bottom of the ocean.

  “Oh, and one more thing,” Mary added, with her fingers curled around the door handle. “I was supposed to have lunch with Andrew and his agent at one tomorrow, but I think you should go instead, since you’re going to be working on his book. It’d be a good chance to have a chat, get to know him and his agent.”

  “Sure, no problem.” Ashley managed her best impersonation of a million-watt smile.

  And the Oscar for the best supporting actress goes to… Ashley Brown.

  “Thank you. Thank you so much.” The relief on her boss’ face was obvious. “I owe you one for this.”

  Ashley was too lost to reply.

  The clean, burgundy-carpeted office floor sank into her vision as she drifted back to her desk. Backs stuck out from the row of cubicles decorated with Post-Its, books and assorted personal baubles. She turned on her computer screen.

  Her mind was still unsettled.

  Her instincts rebelled against editing Andrew’s book and seeing him again. It was too soon. It had been seven years, but in her mind, time had stopped the day he had handed her the divorce papers at the hospital.

  “Sign them when you’re feeling better.” He had uttered those words without an iota of mercy.

  She’d been unable to frame a reply, having just regained her consciousness in the hospital. Not that he had waited for her response. He’d walked away. Andrew’s lawyer had collected the papers from her and the divorce had been granted a few weeks later.

  Her wounds from that time were still raw, still waiting for some miracle to heal them. Thinking of them made her tear up.

  Ashley mindlessly opened her drawer to find the bar of chocolate she had stashed away there. Bite after bite, she tried to numb the discomfort in her heart with sugar.

  The chocolate didn’t work, though, because her throat still stung and now she had phlegm to deal with on top of pain. Tears rolled down one by one, until the taste of salt on her lips robbed her of the sweetness of chocolate.

  You’ll be okay. You’ll be okay without him. She chanted the words like a mantra. Those words were what she had lived by for the last seven years. Every time her needy, lovesick side reared its head, she would quash it with her monologue.

  Bringing up her limbs onto the chair, she wrapped her arm around, shut her eyes and saw his face. She opened them again.

  Her fingers clicked open her inbox on autopilot. But when she saw the number of new emails, she snapped awake.

  Three hundred unread emails. Time to start working.

  ***

  There were some people you never wanted to see again.

  For Ashley, Andrew Smith was one of them.

  At thirty-one, she had her life sorted out. She was an editor at one of New York’s top publishing firms. She had what every woman in her twenties dreamt of—a shapely body, a dream job, an apartment and smashing shoes. Hell, she even had a nice car.

  So why was Andrew trying to mess up her life again?

  She checked her phone for the zillionth time, hoping he’d have left her a message saying he couldn’t make it to the restaurant—he was a millionaire, he could have his pick of excuses.

  Instead, she found a message from his agent Derek saying he couldn’t make it because his daughter had fractured her arm in school, but that she should still meet with Andrew.

  And so, lunch with Andrew and his agent had turned into a lunch with her ex-husband only. She tried to not let that get to her, but it did.

  Knowing she wasn’t going to get through this without a shot of something strong, Ashley flipped the drinks menu. Nah, wine wasn’t strong enough. Jack Daniels sounded promising, though. Something with forty percent alcohol by volume had to pack a punch.

  So she ordered a glass of that.

  While waiting for it and the ‘author,’ who was ten minutes late, she stared at the fish tank.

  No one could miss the fish tank inside the Pink Fish. It was humongous and it was in the centre of the restaurant, so that every patron could snap up a view of the magical underwater world from their table.

  Glowing purple jellyfish and bright orange starfish levitated like angels. There were many other colorful fishes crowding the cerulean waters. Spellbound, she watched them float in the miniature ocean. It was breathtaking.

  The rest of the restaurant had a more traditional Japanese vibe, with bamboo paneled floors and low tables and mats arranged in concentric circles around the water tank. The partitions between tables created a secluded atmosphere of privacy, which was ideal for business conversations.

  She had never been to the Pink Fish before. It was the kind of posh place that was out of her reach. But since the company was paying for this lunch, she could enjoy herself without having to worry about her wallet.

  Editing was a wonderful job, but in terms of annual income, five figures was as good as it was going to get for her.

  “Your drink, ma’am,” the Japanese-American waitress, wearing a beautifully draped pink kimono, said. As she trotted away, Ashley looked at the reflection of fishes swimming in the amber liquid inside the tall glass. Pretty.

  But before she could take a sip, movement at the entrance distracted her.

  It didn’t take her even a millisecond to pin that jawline. Andrew. As he walked towards her, he was in equal parts dangerous and graceful—like a leopard crawling towards its prey. The fever he brought on her senses robbed them of their ability to recognize anything except him.

  She hadn’t been prepared to see Andrew again, she realized that now. The stunning six feet of memories, the flesh-and-bone version of the de
mons in her heart—she wasn’t ready to face him.

  In his tailored navy business suit, Andrew looked cold, controlled and cautious. That made her feel all the more at disadvantage.

  The cut of his face had honed itself to sharpness in the gap of time. He’d always had a perfect face. If only he’d had a perfect conscience, they could have stayed together.

  He squatted down opposite her and folded his legs. The pen sticking out his pocket reflected her alarm-stricken face. She shifted to the left. Proximity to him did strange things to her.

  “Good afternoon.” His voice had changed. Become deeper. Sexier. Huskier. It stroked her folds and slicked them with aching heat. How could he still do this to her body?

  “Good afternoon, Mr. Smith.” The words were softer than a whisper. All the air had left her lungs, so how was she supposed to talk?

  “Call me Andrew. Mr. Smith makes it sound like you’re addressing my father.”

  He didn’t miss the whiskey sitting on the hip-level surface of the kotatsu. Its alcoholic smell mingled with the woody perfume on his white shirt—the same Calvin Klein perfume he had worn all those years ago. It was masculine, seductive and utterly him. She hated this fragrance.

  “How are you doing? I appreciate you taking out the time to come here. I’m sorry Derek had to cancel at the last minute.” Pretending to be friendly was hard work when she didn’t feel even remotely amicable towards him. No wonder actors earned millions.

  “I’m good. How about you, Ashley?” He spoke her name without emotion, but it still made her heart flutter. Why ask her now? He should have asked this question when she had been in hospital.

  Dropping her gaze to his legs, she avoided direct eye contact. His navy trousers clung to his hard, muscled legs. He crossed them, making it impossible for her not to steal a few glances. He’d been good-looking when they’d married, but his arms and legs had definition now. He must have started working out. Discipline was his forte, after all.

  “Better than I’ve ever been in my life.” She ground her teeth as she pushed out the words. She couldn’t show weakness.