by Aria Ford
And now I found him here, sold out to big business?
“Ainsley? What's wrong?”
I looked up to find those big brown eyes watching me soulfully.
I sighed. “Nothing.”
I didn't know quite what to say. If he didn't even know why I was shocked, how could I begin to explain? I turned away.
“Ainsley?”
“I should get back to the party,” I said in a tight voice.
He said nothing. I walked back toward the entrance, feeling as if I was walking away from the edge of a cliff.
I was glad to walk away. All the same, when he didn't call me back, I felt quite angry. Maybe he really never had any feelings for me. What else was I supposed to think? He'd walked out of my life eight years ago and even now he didn't seem too interested in getting to know me.
Well, maybe I'm not interested in getting to know him. Looks like I didn't know him very well last time.
I had known someone completely different. A principled, caring man. Not a heartless, money-seeking one.
I looked around the lobby. Guests were coming in more slowly now. Most people had already gone through to the main hall. I looked for Lacey and found her in a chair by the entrance. She looked a little better.
“Lacey?”
“Yes?”
“You feeling okay?” I asked gently.
“I think so,” she said slowly. “I'm just about ready to go in now.”
“Okay.” I stood and waited while she got to her feet. We walked to the hall together.
Inside, the murmurs of conversation filled the air. I could hear people talking and laughing and the clink of glasses. The air smelled like expensive perfume and the thinnest trace of alcohol. Black-clad waiters moved in between the stylish guests with trays of champagne-flutes and somewhere a violin played.
I breathed in, suddenly feeling a bit of my excitement returning. This was a special night. I was in a special dress. I wasn't going to let some ghost from the past spoil it for me.
Especially not a suited, suave ghost who'd been sold out to big paychecks.
“Let's go find some champagne,” I said decisively to Lacey. She smiled.
“Let's.”
We slid through the crowded room, finding a man in a suit with a tray.
“Champagne, madam?”
“Yes, thanks.”
We each accepted a glass gratefully and saluted each other with them, then drank. Sparkling and refreshing, the champagne quenched my thirst but also fizzled in my brain, making it hard to think clearly. I giggled.
“Oh, look,” Lacey said, scanning the room from next to me. “There's Uncle Mark. I should thank him.”
I nodded. “I should too,” I said.
We wove our way through the crowd to join the party around a cheerful, bald-headed fellow with a big grin. Lacey's Uncle Mark and our benefactor. As we slipped into the circle, which included people of all ages – especially a dark-haired and handsome younger man who looked our way as we joined – I thought of Drake.
Where are you? I wondered, glancing briefly around the room with a surprising pain in my heart. It was a good question. Where had the Drake I loved – the outstanding, empathetic Drake – gone to?
Stop it, Ainsley, I thought crossly. It didn't matter where he'd gone. I didn't matter to him, so why should I care?
“You're a colleague of Lacey's?” the handsome guy asked me.
“Yeah,” I nodded. I stuck my hand out confidently. “Ainsley Johnson.”
“Hi,” he grinned. “Warren Lark.”
“Good to meet you, Warren.” I smiled coyly. I was flirting, just a little, just to see what Drake would do. I swiveled round to see if I could spot him, but he was nowhere to be seen.
I blinked. Warren had said something and I hadn't heard him. “Um, sorry, Warren,” I said softly. “What was that?”
“What kind of work do you do?”
“I'm a translator,” I explained. “It's my job to rewrite books by French authors in English.”
“Wow.” he raised a brow. “That sounds pretty challenging.”
I felt a small warm flame of pride. “It is sometimes,” I said. “Depends a lot on the author and how worked up they are about keeping the spirit of the work alive...” I felt myself warm to my theme. I am passionate about what I do. It was nice to be talking to someone who seemed to be interested.
The conversation carried on for a while and then we headed over to the tables to take seats for the dinner.
Where is Drake?
I felt impatient with myself for caring, but I couldn't help it. I looked around and then I spotted him, talking with a solid, imposing looking man. From the way the others were deferring to him and his proximity to the cameras, I guessed he was the company boss.
Drake, I thought sadly, what are you doing?
There was nothing of the old Drake left. There was especially no love for me left.
CHAPTER THREE
Drake
I stared across the room at the woman over by the table. I couldn't believe it. Was that sexy bombshell really Ainsley Johnson, the sister of my best friend Chett? With that soft blonde hair and big eyes and the figure of my wildest imaginings?
I stared after her, watching her giggling and smiling with a group of high-fliers, every inch the poised young woman. I felt my mouth go dry as she tipped her head back, exposing that long elegant neck and showing off the low-cut neckline to best advantage.
The last time I saw Ainsley she had been a fresh graduate, with her long blonde hair around her shoulders, wearing jeans and a blue sweater. A sweet, innocent and dreamy girl with big brown eyes and a fresh smile. I loved her then.
Watching her, those sweet red lips drawn back over white teeth in a toothy grin, I grow embarrassingly aware of my hardening cock. I struggled not to think about the body I knew was below that dress. I had been in another relationship between now and then, but I'd not forgotten her.
That was a long time ago, I reminded myself. eight years ago. I thought back to the time we first met. My buddy Chett was just starting his MBA – we'd met in our last year of undergrad at FSU – he had taken me home for the holidays.
I had accepted and we'd headed to his parents' sprawling home on the outskirts of Miami. I remembered getting out of the car, feeling stiff after a morning spent in the gym.
“Nice house,” I'd commented.
“Thanks.”
“Do you think we could...” I didn't get any further, for a middling-height, blond, heat-seeking projectile threw itself at Chett with an excited laugh.
“Chett! It's you! Hi!”
Chett laughed, then protested. “A! It's great to see you. You're squashing me...”
She'd stepped back, laughing. I stared.
With a long oval face, high cheekbones and big dreamy eyes, she was at once immensely innocent and smoking hot. She was wearing a tight pink sweater that cleaved to her full breasts and jeans. I had let my eyes travel down her curvy figure briefly and then returned to her soft, radiant face. My loins were aching and my throat worked as I tried to swallow.
She was beautiful. I'd felt a little intimidated and cleared my throat. “Um, Chett?”
“Yeah? Oh! Sorry, guys. Ainsley, this is Drake. I told Mom I was bringing him along. Drake, meet Ainsley, my little sister.”
“Hi.” I'd managed to get the word out, though in retrospect it was probably more of a croak.
“Hi,” she replied. Those big eyes widened, lips parting slightly, and my body almost stopped working altogether as my blood got diverted to my loins.
She took my hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. It felt odd, having her hand in mine. Soft and warm, the contact had thrilled through me and made my blood pulse.
“Nice to meet you,” I said.
“Nice to meet you.”
I'd turned to look for my friend, but he was bent over the trunk, pulling out suitcases and coats, getting ready to take them inside. I was feeling desperately awkw
ard and wished he would come over and help me out.
“Yeah? What?” His blunt, cheerful face grinned out at me from over the back.
“Need help back there?” I asked.
He shook his head. “All done. You take your stuff, I'll take mine.”
“What can I take?” Ainsley asked sweetly.
“Here.” Her brother passed her a coat and she pulled a tongue at him. The innocent gesture made me clench in desperate relief. She was so sweet, so pretty – childlike in a way, though very much womanly at the same time.
“You had a good drive down?” she asked me caringly.
“Uh. Yeah,” I managed to say. Hell! What was wrong with me? I'd done speeches in front of auditoriums, taken oral exams at college...none of those things had the impact on this beautiful, soft-spoken girl was having on me.
“I guess you're hungry, hey?” She asked with a grin.
I nodded. “Yes.”
She giggled. “You're as bad as Chett. He's always hungry.”
“I am not,” Chett protested hotly from her right-hand side.
We'd gone inside and had lunch. I met Chett's folks and we went to sit down. I ended up across the table from Ainsley. I watched her over the table-top, feeling really awkward. She smiled at me. I looked at my hands, feeling embarrassed.
Hell, Drake! It's not like you have zero experience. Stop acting like a middle-school kid on your first date!
“Drake?” Chett said in my ear from the place next to me.
“What?” I frowned, looking up abruptly from contemplating my fingernails.
“Mom just asked if you'd like whole-wheat or white bread with the stew?”
“Oh!” I flushed with embarrassment. Ainsley sipped her water, then put it aside, her pink, moist lips grinning up at me now in a delicious smile. I tore my eyes away to answer Chett's question. “Um, yes.”
Ainsley giggled. “Yes, what?”
“Yes – uh...yes, wholewheat,” I'd managed.
They'd both laughed.
“Don't worry,” Ainsley had said when Chett had gone off to the kitchen with that information. “I always say ‘yes’ if someone asks if I want tea or coffee.”
“Thanks,” I said. “That makes me feel better.”
She beamed at me, a soft blush in her cheeks. My eyes met hers. I felt a peculiar sensation, as if I was falling into the depths of them; like I might drown there. I couldn't look away.
“What?” she asked gently.
“Uh...” I shook myself. Then I giggled, not sure what else to say. “Um, nothing.”
She beamed. It made her look so lovely that I had felt my throat tighten with the beginnings of longing.
“What?” I said.
She started laughing too. “I don't know.”
Then Chett had come back with the whole-wheat bread, his mother and father along with him, and the spell had been broken. But the connection had just been made.
Other memories my mind was feeding me were even more torturous – my first time with Ainsley in my room, naked on the bed. Ainsley lying beneath me, that sweet body receiving mine. Ainsley with her eyes closed, asleep beside me, her sweet, soft body pressed to mine...
“Drake? Drake!”
“Yeah?” I felt a subtle touch on my wrist and turned to find Henry Waterman standing there, our financial officer. His white-bearded, cheerful face was such a contrast to my last imagining that I took a moment to remember where I was.
“Sorry, Henry. What was that?”
“The boss was asking for you.”
“Oh.” I scanned the room to locate my boss – the CEO of Steelcore Inc. It was a bad time for him to talk to me – I wasn't very focused and I had a sudden fear I might give something away.
I really don't need to give the game away now.
That needs some explaining. I wasn't working for Steelcore. I was working against Steelcore.
My time with Amnesty International had taught me one very important thing: if companies are exploiting people, they don't generally want you to find out about it. Which meant that, if you wanted to find out, you had to find out covertly.
So here I was, on a one-man mission to investigate a big company long-suspected of shady mining practices. And I was doing it on the solid Trojan Horse principle. Getting right into the system and bring it down from inside. That also meant that everyone had to trust me, from the boss to the ground-staff. If I was anything other than completely poised and perfectly able to hide my contempt for the man, that might not happen.
“Was it urgent?” I asked with a frown.
Henry made an expansive shrug. “I dunno. Best if you take it as urgent, eh?”
“I guess.” I sighed and went to find a seat close to the boss. “Mr. Rowell?” I asked, standing beside his dinner place.
“Yes?”
“Mr. Waterman said you were looking for me?”
“Yeah. I need you to talk to Lawrence over there,” he said with an airy wave at the top end of the table. “He's the one brokering this deal with Sanderson Enterprises...he had some legal point to clear up. Thought I'd set you onto him,” he added with a grin.
“Sure,” I nodded. “Whatever you need.”
He gave a big belly-laugh. “That's what I like to hear from a lawyer.”
I kept the grin in place, though I'm pretty sure my eyes frosted over at a comment like that. I'm sure he liked dutiful lawyers. Then I headed off to find Lawrence.
“Hi,” I said. “I'm Drake Leblanc?”
“Ah! The legal eagle. Yes. I was just talking to my friend Damon there,” he indicated Mr. Rowell. “He said if I wanted to discuss his terms, I should clear it up with you.”
“Okay,” I said with a raised brow.
“Well, I happen to have the document here,” he said, fishing out his phone and scrolling through it. “Just a moment...”
While he scrolled through his document for the bit he was looking for, I found myself scanning the room, looking for Ainsley. Ever since I'd seen her, it felt as if my skin had become thinner, my nerves tuned to sights and sounds of her. It was weird.
She always was like that. Like water: you take it for granted until you don't have it anymore. Then you realize it's the most precious thing for life. And it's too late to change it.
I felt like an ass. My mouth was dry with longing and I wished more than anything that I had treated her better all those years before this. She was still the only girl I had ever fallen for like this.
I spotted her at a table. She was with her friend in the blue dress, sitting next to a smooth-looking guy with black hair and a stylish suit. I felt a stab of jealousy.
“Drake?” Lawrence Richard, CEO of Sanderson said.
“Yes?” I blinked. “Sorry. Distracted.”
“Not a problem,” he replied smoothly. “It's a social event. I shouldn't be talking business, but, you know how it is, right?” He shrugged and gave a thin smile.
“I know,” I agreed. “What was it you wanted to ask me?”
“You see, it's like this,” he began. I watched him as he laid out the problem. Still blurred, a vision of Ainsley cut across my thoughts. Naked, in bed with me, those warm, soft breasts pointing at the ceiling.
“I wish this could last forever,” she'd said dreamily.
I'd swallowed hard. It was the last week of my pre-bar-exam preparations and my mind was already playing through my future plans.
“We can't tell what's coming up,” I'd said carefully.
“You know what?” she'd said, rolling onto her tummy and looking into my eyes seriously.
“Mm?” I'd reached up and stroked her fluffy blond hair, loving the sweet-smelling shampoo of it. The way it felt under my fingers. Smooth and soft and slippery.
“You're too cynical sometimes. You should let go more. Enjoy life,” she said.
I'd sighed. “I'll try...”
“Good,” she'd giggled. She'd kissed my cheek and snuggled up to me and I'd felt like I was in heaven.
I guess I never did really try to be less cynical.
My life had taken me along different paths.
I brought my attention back to the present, where Lawrence Richard was still talking to me about the legal consequences of a merger.
“And so the question, Drake, is: would you advise a merger, or a partnership? I think I understand the advantages and disadvantages of each.”
I frowned. “Well, you see,” I said after a moment's thinking, “the tax laws between partnerships and mergers are completely different things. For a start, you need to be clear on whether you are making a merger that is also a tax merger...”
I frowned as I tried to remember back to corporate taxes...an area of specification that was a tad rusty for me. I managed to recall enough to satisfy Lawrence. He grinned at me after a minute.
“You know what? My head's gonna explode if we carry on. Let's meet on Monday and go over it.”
“Great.” I nodded. “I'll be ready to talk then.”
“Me too,” he nodded. “Looks like they're going to bring dinner out now.” He inclined his head to the end of the table where a black-clad man had appeared with a tray. I felt my mouth water and realized it was quite late already and I'd forgotten all about dinner.
