As Ashley finished her welcoming speech, Robert approached the microphone and extended his hand to her. As was their tradition, she and Robert began the evening’s dancing with the first dance. The orchestra played ‘Starry, Starry Night’ as she and Robert glided across the floor under the star-studded sky.
“Another successful opening. I’m surprised you’re not interested in assuming the role of the First Lady. You’re a natural hostess.”
Ashley stiffened.
Robert added, “Now, don’t get your dander up. It’s a natural comment to make. I’ve known you too many years to measure my words. What I said is true. However, I respect your decision to keep working. After all, as I said earlier, my museums are getting a lot of free publicity because of you.”
“I’m sorry, Robert. I’m extremely touchy about the whole subject. The decision I made was never about my feeling I couldn’t handle the responsibilities of being the First Lady. It’s just a job I don’t want. I’ve never wanted to be part of the political arena. Michael hasn’t been sworn in yet, and I’m being hounded by the press until I’m about ready to scream. My privacy is nonexistent, and I’m going to have to live with this for at least four more years and who knows how many years after that. There’s no question I was naïve to believe I could simply walk away unscathed. But I’m hoping in time people will accept my position and there won’t be as much of an uproar about it.”
“Maybe they will eventually. Stranger things have happened.”
“You don’t believe that, do you?” Ashley looked up at her boss.
“I think you’ve got the whole nation debating the issue, and perhaps it’s time to re-evaluate the necessity of the First Lady role and entertain the possibility that a woman should get to choose. But I’d be lying if I said I didn’t sympathize with Michael.”
“I know. I imagine all men, and many women, do,” Ashley said. “Thanks for the dance. Now it’s time for me to get back to work. If I don’t get another chance to talk to you tonight, I’ll give you a call first thing tomorrow morning so we can set up a time to meet.”
Ashley turned and headed toward the food service area where the waitstaff and caterers were working. She worked her way through the crowd, stopping to speak to several groups of people she encountered on the way. She listened intently to what they had to say and laughed easily at the various anecdotes. She was the ultimate hostess.
Geoffrey Carruthers watched her as she moved with ease from one group of people to another. She looked exquisite tonight. Their paths had crossed many times before at various fund-raisers and charity events. They weren’t strangers, but something was different tonight. He felt drawn to her like a moth to a flame.
Ashley sensed she was being watched and turned to scan the room of familiar faces. Her eyes stopped when she recognized Mr. Carruthers, billionaire, land developer, and international playboy. He was staring at her intently. He lifted his champagne glass to her in a mock salute. How odd. She nodded slightly to acknowledge his presence before turning her attention back to the conversation at hand. She knew she’d have an opportunity to greet him before the night was over.
It was well known that Mr. Carruthers was a ruthless and cunning businessman, and his wealth was an obvious testimony to that truth. He enjoyed the hunt and challenge that his various enterprises and holdings brought him. He was like a panther on the prowl, ready to spring into action and consume any unsuspecting or wounded business he encountered.
His reputation with women was unparalleled. Rumors portrayed him as a gifted womanizer, capable of making any woman feel as if she were the most important thing in his life. He was also an unabashed flirt. He seemed to take great pride in outmaneuvering his prey. The women who were the targets of his relentless pursuits blossomed under his steady and deliberate attention, unaware they were about to be eaten alive.
Geoffrey had been keeping track of Ashley’s movements since he first arrived at the museum. He’d always thought she was beautiful but definitely off-limits due to her unapproachable demeanor where men were concerned. Now, with her recent announcement rejecting the role of the First Lady, he suspected all was not well within the Taylor household. What kind of woman would turn down being the First Lady? He certainly intended to find out. He had to admit, she intrigued him. She was a surprise, and he was rarely, if ever, surprised anymore. There was far more depth to her than he’d previously imagined, and he was determined to find out a great deal more about her.
He drifted over to an area that Ashley would have to pass when she left the catering area. He wanted a few minutes of her time. Without an awareness of where his mind was drifting, he was already fabricating a reason to meet with her outside the museum.
Ashley stepped away from the banquet table and turned to rejoin her guests. As she headed toward one of their more generous benefactors, she felt a warm hand encircle her arm. She turned to see who was delaying her and came face to face with not only Geoffrey Carruthers but also her Secret Service agents.
“Mr. Carruthers, please remove your hand from Mrs. Taylor’s arm.”
Ashley looked at Matt and Dave. “You don’t need to worry that I’ll be whisked away by Mr. Carruthers; he’s an old acquaintance.”
Matt and Dave were unimpressed. They were tired of babysitting her. They were tired of trying to convince her that anyone, anyone, could be a potential threat. And if anyone could get to her, anyone would have the leverage they needed to get to the president.
Geoffrey dropped his hand from Ashley’s arm and spoke to the agents. “I apologize for alarming you, especially since you’re carrying those big guns,” he joked. “I just wanted a quick word with Mrs. Taylor. I can assure you, she’s perfectly safe with me.” He almost choked on his words.
Ashley was embarrassed to have Mr. Carruthers spoken to as if he were a threat. After all, he was a guest of the museum. She addressed Matt and Dave. “Why don’t the two of you get something to drink? There are several nonalcoholic beverages being offered. I assure you I have no intention of leaving this room, so you’ll have no problem keeping me under surveillance.”
That seemed to satisfy the two agents because they moved away from Ashley back to their original position, completely ignoring the offer of refreshments. From their vantage point, they continued to monitor the exchange between Ashley and Mr. Carruthers. They knew him by reputation only, but there was something about him that bothered them, and they had learned to trust their instincts. He behaved like a man on the prowl.
Ashley turned and said, “Hello, Mr. Carruthers. I’m sorry for the confrontational display of security although I’m sure a man like you is keenly aware of the pitfalls of dealing with security and bodyguards. I’m glad you stopped me; I haven’t had a chance to welcome you to tonight’s affair. I’m glad you were able to make it. I hope you’re enjoying yourself.”
“I am although I’ll have to admit that many of the events I attend bore me. Congratulations on another well-executed gala. You’ve created a very otherworldly atmosphere. Quite charming. Everyone I’ve talked to appreciates your ability to create such original and entertaining themes.”
“Thank you. Your presence always makes things extra special.”
“I don’t know about that. I think New Yorkers, more than most, enjoy good artistic expression in whatever form it takes. I suspect after attending one of your fund-raisers, most people would keep their calendars open for any of your future events. Your artistic sense of beauty is truly quite extraordinary. Have you ever thought of leaving the museum to pursue other lines of work?”
Ashley laughed. “Actually, I recently received a job offer, which I turned down.” Why did she say that? She hardly knew Mr. Carruthers. “I love my work. I love being around such beautiful and timeless pieces of art and feel extremely lucky to work for the museum.”
“You must love your work to reject being the First Lady. Most women would have jumped at the chance.”
“Maybe it’s never occurred to others
to refuse the position,” Ashley countered.
“I have to say, I feel sorry for your husband,” Geoffrey pushed.
“Do you feel equally sorry for me?”
“Now you’ve put me on the spot. It’s natural for me to identify more with your husband than with you. Yet I do understand your passion for your work, but even though I understand the reasons you made the choice you did, I don’t agree with it. I guess I’m old-fashioned.”
Ashley reminded herself, as the director of the museum, she must be pleasant to all of her guests, no matter how badly she might be provoked. As far as Geoffrey Carruthers being old-fashioned—what a crock.
“I suppose I should get used to hearing people say they don’t agree with my decision. It may be too much to hope that those who are more cosmopolitan, like you, might come to understand and accept the stand I’ve taken.”
“You’ve overlooked the fact that the more money people generally have, the more entrenched they are in maintaining the status quo and tradition. You’re very naïve. I don’t mean that as an insult; in fact, I find it rather charming.”
Oh, no insult taken, buster. I love philandering playboy billionaires thinking of me as naïve. Ashley was surprised that Mr. Carruthers was being so bold and outspoken with her. He’d hardly spoken to her before tonight, and their previous exchanges were never more than a polite greeting. She was annoyed that she couldn’t tell him exactly where to go with his opinions.
“Everyone is entitled to his own opinion. Now, if you’ll excuse me.”
“Wait, I didn’t mean to make you mad.”
Of course you didn’t. You just wanted to share your opinions, whether they offended me or not. “Whatever makes you think I’m mad?” Ashley smiled. “My responsibilities include seeing to all of my guests, and it’s time I do that, so please excuse me. I hope the rest of your evening is enjoyable. Thank you for coming.”
“Wait. Before you go, would you do me the honor of a dance?”
“Persistent, aren’t you?” Ashley said charmingly. “Is that how you win so many of your acquisitions, by wearing your opponents down?”
“I hope you don’t think of yourself as an opponent. Nothing could be further from the truth. I highly admire you. Now, how about that dance?”
Ashley noted Geoffrey’s relaxed posture. He always appeared cool and controlled. She wondered if that were true. He was very good-looking and could be quite charming. He loved women and seemed to collect them easily. The press followed him around like royalty, and they loved the juicy stories he seemed to create in his wake.
She knew it would be bad form to turn down his offer to dance, and so did he. He was one of the museum’s biggest financial supporters and had recently inquired about a board position. Plus, it would be rude, and she couldn’t allow her personal feelings to interfere with her business sense. “Shall we?” Ashley turned toward the dance floor.
Geoffrey knew he’d cornered her. Good manners and being the head of the museum demanded she accept his offer to dance. He didn’t care how he managed it; he wanted her in his arms. He wanted to smell her and feel her body next to his. He wanted a lot more from Ashley, but he was willing to wait. She stimulated him in a way other women didn’t. She argued and challenged him. He was used to being catered to and agreed with by other women. He’d made his fortune by using cool logic and taking calculated risks, but for what he had in mind for Ashley, he needed to act as nonchalant as possible. He wasn’t too sure how easily she spooked or what might make her treat him like a piranha.
The orchestra began playing a slow song as Geoffrey led Ashley out onto the dance floor. He took her into his arms and held her closer than she obviously wanted because she adjusted the distance between them immediately. Easy, just take it easy. He kept saying it like a mantra. He intended to see her again, and there would be other opportunities to find out just how deep her passions went. For now, he needed to win her trust and friendship.
“I apologize if I offended you. I know the decision you made must have been very hard for you. I’m sure you felt pulled in a million different directions. It takes a lot of courage to do what you did. I admire courage even though I don’t share your opinion. I’m sure it would have been a lot easier to just give in to your husband’s wishes.”
Maybe she underestimated Geoffrey. He seemed to grasp the difficulty of the dilemma she had faced. “It was literally the hardest decision of my life.”
A flash and a soft whirring sound interrupted their conversation. A photographer from one of the New York papers—actually the same photographer who had been outside her apartment building—had just captured two of the country’s most well-known personalities dancing together. The photographer’s mind was already racing with ideas about a caption for the picture. He was sure the paper would run it—a notorious playboy and the Reluctant First Lady dancing without a husband or a girlfriend in sight. Well, well.
As the song came to an end, Ashley stepped back. “Thank you for the dance.”
“Thank you. Good luck surviving the storm of publicity.”
“I think I’m going to need more than luck although I appreciate the thought. Again, thank you for coming. I hope you enjoy the rest of your evening.” Ashley smiled.
Leaning toward Ashley and speaking in a conspirator’s tone, he whispered, “I think the best part of my evening just ended. It’s bound to be all downhill from here, I’m afraid.”
He watched her as she walked away from him. He thought he could get very used to watching her walk toward him. He thought about their conversation, how her temper flared and her attempt to keep it under control, how direct she was in regards to her current publicity nightmare. There was no doubt he would see her again. An idea was already taking shape like molded clay.
He knew the cost of pursuing her openly. They were both extremely high-profile personalities; anything he did would be noticed and recorded by the media. Plus, she was married to the next president of the United States. He was playing with fire; he knew that. It only made the chase that much more exhilarating. Was it worth it? He wouldn’t know for sure until he got a little closer.
22
The next morning, Ashley awoke begrudgingly. She sighed, wishing she didn’t have to get up. She lay in bed trying to chase away her vivid dreams, which she’d rather enjoyed, but it was time to face another day with its new set of challenges. It wasn’t that she didn’t enjoy the day once she got up; it was the getting up part that was so hard, especially when the warmth of the bed was so inviting.
Once she was vertical, her thoughts turned immediately to the events of the previous night. The fund-raiser had been a success, another bullet dodged. The money received from the reservation fees alone had totaled over six and a half million dollars. That pleased her; however, the actual amount donated from the event wouldn’t truly be known until the individual donations from all of the patrons had been collected. She knew many of the museum’s benefactors would send checks before the end of the year to be sure they could claim their donation as a tax write-off. It wouldn’t be until after the first of the year that she would have an accurate picture of the true success of last night’s affair.
Ashley stretched one last time as she made her way into the kitchen. First the essentials: hot coffee, an English muffin, and the morning paper. She still wanted to read an actual newspaper in the morning although the rest of the time she read the news on her laptop. She mused about how anyone could function without a morning cup of coffee. Didn’t they need a champion to chase away the urge to crawl back into bed? That first sip of hot, fragrant coffee comforted her soul. She swore the feeling of warmth that flowed through her body and loosened her neck and shoulder muscles was one of the closest parallels to a spa treatment a person could have.
As she waited for her coffee to finish brewing, she went to retrieve the morning paper. Sitting down with her coffee and English muffin, she separated the society section from the rest of the paper. Staring back at her on the fro
nt page of the society section was a picture of her and Geoffrey Carruthers dancing. The picture captured what appeared to be a very intimate moment, which it most definitely was not. The worst part was the caption underneath the photograph: “America’s playboy, Geoffrey Carruthers, and the Reluctant First Lady, Mrs. Ashley Taylor, dance among the stars.” The article that followed did an excellent job of covering last night’s event. It was good publicity for the museum. What galled her was the caption under the picture; it was so misleading.
Damn. She felt a sense of dread. Certainly Michael’s press secretary and his staff would be monitoring the major newspapers around the country and, in particular, the New York papers. There wasn’t a doubt in her mind that if this picture of her dancing with Geoffrey wasn’t in Michael’s hands already, it soon would be. Great. One more thing to worry about.
Unfortunately she knew this type of thing was only the beginning. How did one adjust to being relatively unknown one day and a high-priority news item the next? The rehabilitation centers and graveyards were filled with those to whom success and celebrity came suddenly, like a flash flood, and who were unable to cope. It would be so easy to lose one’s way, especially if there were no lighthouse or homing beacon, in whatever form, to keep one grounded and safely off the rocks.
By the time Ashley arrived at the museum, all traces of last night’s affair had been removed. All the planning, the work, the worries, and execution had been stripped away and discarded after one shining evening of success. She always felt the same each year the day after the fund-raiser. Peggy Lee’s old song “Is That All There Is?” came to mind. She had to be careful not to be overly dramatic. It seemed as though with most of life’s big events, there was a huge emotional buildup, the excitement of the event, then just a whimper afterwards. Jeez, Ash, get a grip.
The Reluctant First Lady Page 12
