Ruthie's Desire - The Esquire Girls Series - Ruthie's Story (Books 1, 2, 3 & 4) - Box Set

by Cassie-Ann L. Miller

  God – I hate myself right now.

  I keep replaying it over and over in my head. That moment when I opened the press kit and saw the intimate photos of Michael and me in the elevator. My blood runs cold every time I see it in the theatre of my mind.

  He said he’d get rid of the tape. He said he’d get rid of that damn elevator footage. And he didn’t. And now, everything is fucked up.

  Puta!

  Who got their hands on the tape? How did those images end up in the press kit?

  “Ruth!”

  I spin around fast, startled to hear my name. The punching bag swings back and slams me in the back, causing me to hurtle forward…straight into Madison Moretti.

  “Whoa! Careful!” Domenic gasps as he lunges forward and holds the bag steady. “You alright, Ruth?”

  Madison pushes me off of her and glares a hole into me. I stare back at her, ashamed, not knowing what the hell to say. “I—I’m sorry,” I finally manage to mumble as I wipe sweat from my eyes.

  “You’re sorry? For almost giving me a concussion just now or for ruining my brother and the law firm my father spent his life building?” she throws the bitter words at me as she gets up in my face.

  “Slow down there, Maddie.” Domenic grabs his hysterical fiancée by the shoulders and holds her back.

  Making a scene here at the gym with Madison – this is the last thing I need right now.

  “You ruined everything!” she shrieks as she drops her water bottle to the floor and lunges at me.

  Domenic holds her back effortlessly, with an exasperated look on his face.

  “My father gave his life to that law firm. He had a stroke over that law firm. He nearly died over that law firm…and now, it’s all ruined by some slutty intern? Are you serious?”

  She’s flailing about, throwing her arms wildly. Thank god my pepper spray is in my locker right now or else I’d probably use it on this crazy bitch.

  By now, a small group of early birds have gathered by the door and are taking in the crazy spectacle. A few of them have their smartphones out and are recording. As if my situation isn’t humiliating enough as it is. Now, there’s new fodder for the vultures on social media.

  “Okay, let’s get you out of here,” Domenic says calmly as he ushers Madison towards the exit.

  She curses and snarls at the camera-wielding bystanders as she makes her way out the door.

  Now, all eyes turn to me.

  I wish I could just disappear. I grab my water bottle and towel from the exercise bench behind me. I cover my face with the towel as I scurry towards the exit. But it doesn’t drown out the loud whispers and snickers as I rush by.

  I keep my head down and make a beeline for the locker rooms. I slip into my winter boots and jacket, and grab my gym bag from my locker as quickly as I can. I need to get out of this building before the paparazzi find out that I’m here. I rush towards the door.

  And who do I see leaning against the doorframe?

  Sergei.

  Fuck. My. Life.

  “Angel!” The sound of his voice sends a chill down my spine. He looks weak. Beads of sweat roll down his face. His bodyguard stands off to the side, several feet away from him.

  “Leave me alone, Sergei. I’m warning you.” I hold my head high as I walk through the doorframe. For a moment, I wonder if Sergei had anything to do with the pictures that were leaked to the press. But then, I realize that Sergei has already gotten what he wants from me. I’ve signed his goddamn documents. So, deep down I know that he has no real motivation to ruin my reputation.

  He dismisses his bodyguard with a weak flick of the wrist. The tall burly man disappears onto the nearby elevator. “I need to talk to you,” he says, trying to keep up with my pace as I rush down the hall.

  “You need to leave me the fuck alone.” I pick up speed, walking as fast as I can without running.

  I feel him yank me by the arm. “I need to talk to you, Ruth,” he growls angrily.

  Instinctively, I reach for the pepper spray in the pocket of my winter jacket and unleash my fury on him, dousing him as if I was using a fire extinguisher on a smoldering flame. I hold my breath and I see him drop to his knees, crouching and fighting to catch his breath. I dash to the nearest emergency exit and don’t stop running till I’m nearly a block away.

  By the time I slow my pace, I’m out of breath, choking on the cold December air and holding onto the side of a building for support.

  And all of a sudden, I feel tired.

  Not just from running away from Sergei, but from running away from my life.

  I’ve been doing it for years.

  But now, I’m tired. Sick and tired.

  And I’m not running anymore.

  Chapter 3

  For better or worse, I don’t have any classes today. So, I decide to go in to the office on this cold, dreary Monday morning.

  I walk into work with my head held high which is no easy feat given that everybody is looking at me, whispering and staring.

  Or at least that’s how it feels.

  I plug my earphones in and let my favorite music drown out the murmurs. I train my attention on the screen of my computer. And I work.

  The first hour or so crawls by as I struggle to block out the world and focus on finishing the list of tasks Johnny Trahn had sent me last week. Then, I feel a light, tentative tap on my shoulder. I look up and see Michael’s administrative assistant, Jessica, peering down at me nervously.

  “Yes?” I ask as I spin my chair around to look at her, all while pulling my ear buds out of my ears.

  “Hi R-Ruth,” she says stammering. “Michael wants to see you in conference room three.” With that, she spins on her heel and disappears down the hall before I even have the chance to ask her what the hell her boss wants from me.

  I push a heavy sigh past my lips as I slowly push to my feet.

  I’m not running anymore, I remind myself as I grab a notepad and a pen. I’m going to face this situation like an adult. I’m not running anymore. I can feel Luke and Nadia staring at me as I take wobbly steps towards conference room three.

  Goddamit!

  Why’d I have to fuck my boss?

  And why’d I have to fall head over heels in love with him?

  Stupid, stupid girl, I scold myself.

  The walk to the end of the 7th floor has never seemed so long.

  When I finally get to the door, I brace myself. I haven’t spoken to Michael since the catastrophic events of last Friday and so, I have no idea what’s waiting for me on the other side of this door. I pull in a deep breath and remind myself that I’ve decided to face this mess head-on. No more running.

  I push through the door, ready for a fight…but the room is empty.

  I stick my head back into the hallway but see no sign of Michael. I also note that all the neighboring conference rooms are occupied, so I must be in the right place.

  I go over and take a seat at the table, my eyes peeled to the door as I drum my fingers nervously against the mahogany tabletop.

  After an eternity, I hear the door opening. Michael enters the room looking absolutely dashing. His dark hair is brushed back off of his face, his jaw is clean-shaven, his suit is new and custom-tailored. He wears a stern look on his face. It’s cold and aloof. As if he’s never seen me naked, at my most vulnerable. As if he’s never made love to me and held as I slept against his chest.

  He’s different now.

  He clears his throat. “Good morning, Ruth.”

  “Hi,” I say in a small voice.

  That’s when I notice the stern-faced brunette trailing behind him in a navy blue, perfectly-fitted designer shift dress balancing her smartphone between her shoulder and her cheek.

  “Campbell?” Her name spills out of my mouth before I can do anything to conceal the surprise in my tone.

  Of course Campbell Cross is here. Of course Michael would involve his ‘fixer’ in this messy situation.

  Close on her heels is t
he quiet buzz-cut-wearing young man who was with her the first night we met. I guess he must be her assistant.

  She gives me a dismissive glance as she continues her telephone conversation. “Look Ted, a journalist is gonna contact you and ask you about your relationship with Cartwright Moretti Stevenson. All you have to say is that you’ve worked with the firm for years, they have your complete confidence and that the events of last Friday did not affect your trust in Michael in the slightest. The firm’s reputation is taking a beating. We just need some credible clients like you to assure the public that Cartwright Moretti Stevenson is still one of the finest firms in the country…Okay…Yes, okay. I really appreciate it Ted.” With that she ends the call.

  She lets out a deep sigh before she slips into the chair next to Michael who is seated opposite me.

  “Let’s get straight down to business. I’m meeting with another one of the firm’s clients on the Upper East Side at 10:30. I’ve got to get as many clients as I can all publicly reaffirming their faith in Cartwright Moretti Stevenson. Without that, the firm is a sinking ship,” she says curtly as she drops her heavy briefcase onto the table. Without a word, Buzz Cut sits beside her, handing her a manila folder which she opens in front of her.

  This is about to get ugly.

  “Michael, what’s going on?” I demand although I have a pretty good idea that I’m not going to like his answer.

  Campbell makes a rough sound with her throat. “Damage control.” She gestures to Buzz Cut who hands me a thick document titled ‘Personal and Professional Image Rehabilitation Strategy’. “You and Michael managed to make a great, big PR mess with your display of…affection…in the elevator. That sex tape set our campaign back by months. And we have to act quickly to clean it up. It’s bad enough that you were m.i.a. all weekend, Ruth. But then, that little scuffle you had with Madison at the gym? Well, that was just another blow to Michael’s image.”

  I glance over at Michael. He looks tense. His shoulders are hunched and his lips are pulled into a tight line as he sits wordlessly, cracking his knuckles.

  Campbell continues to speak as she shuffles through the papers in front of her. “We’ve done the research. We’ve looked at the polls. The public forgives politicians who get tied up with escorts or prostitutes or –“

  “I’m not a prostitute,” I interject defensively.

  She looks up at me and crinkles her brows. “I didn’t call you a prostitute…All I’m saying is that there’s still hope in this situation. We just have to act fast. Regain control of the narrative. Ruth, we have to rehab your image in order to save Michael’s. Do you understand?”

  She’s waiting for me to answer, but I just sit there staring at her impassively. “I’m not a prostitute.”

  “Okay – you’re not a prostitute,” Campbell says condescendingly.

  Michael slams his fist into the table. “Campbell, stop it! Get to the point already!”

  Both Campbell and Buzz Cut seem startled by Michael’s sudden outburst. I know I am.

  Campbell looks shaken now. She runs a hand over her dark hair smoothing back her already-smooth chignon. “Turn to page four of the document, please.” She addresses me without looking at me. “A quick scan through the table of contents will give you an idea of the plan that Michael and I have devised to get his reputation back on track before he announces his plan to run for office in the spring.”

  My eyes race over the items listed in the table of contents.

  Public reconciliation between Ruth and Madison…

  Social outings and public appearances by Michael and Ruth…

  Highlight Ruth’s academic achievements in law school…

  And right at the bottom of the table of contents on the very last line…

  Engagement and marriage of Michael and Ruth…

  “Engagement and marriage?” I whisper half to myself.

  “Oh, yes – I almost forgot,” Campbell says reaching into the outer pocket of her briefcase. She pulls a small white envelope out of her briefcase and four glimmering diamond rings tumble onto the table. “Pick one and wear it on your left ring finger. I’ll have the others returned to the jeweler,” she says disinterestedly as she attends to her beeping smartphone. She glances at the watch on her wrist. “And, oh by the way, Michael, I’ll get someone from your matrimonial law department to start working on your pre-nuptial agreement. It has to be iron-clad. Okay – I’ve gotta get going.”

  Stunned, I watch as Campbell pushes away from the table and heads to the door, Buzz Cut following close behind her.

  Michael is the last out the door. He turns and glances at me just before he steps out. There’s barely a trace of emotion in his beautiful blue eyes as tears blur my vision.

  Chapter 4

  “Wow – so you and Michael are getting married?” Amber almost looks excited about this prospect as she leans forward and grabs a small slice of fluffy white cake with a fruity center from among the dozen or so options sitting on the table.

  “You say it as though it’s a good thing,” I retort rolling my eyes at her.

  “Ruth, I understand that the way he asked you wasn’t ideal, but you love him. Don’t you? That’s gotta count for something.” She scowls at the cake as she sets the empty plate back on the table and reaches for a sample of something different.

  “You’re kidding me, right? He didn’t ask me to marry him. I wasn’t asked anything. His ‘fixer’ simply informed me that marriage was part of the ‘strategy’ for cleaning up Michael’s image and getting him elected to office. Nobody asked me anything!” I pout as I lean back in the all-white chair and dig the toe of my boot into the all-white carpet. I stare up at the all-white ceiling.

  I’m here at some swanky, Upper East Side ‘bridal pastry boutique’ with Amber as she tries to pick out a cake. Her wedding is less than two weeks away. I see the joy and excitement on her face as she plans every little detail of her ceremony. She wants to marry Spencer Harrison. She wants to be his wife. And he wants it all as much as she does.

  That’s not the way I feel when I think about marrying Michael.

  I do love him. But that’s not the reason that he wants to marry me. He’s doing it to save face. For the sake of the political career that he’s been planning for half his life. It has nothing to do with how he feels for me.

  I can’t say ‘yes’ to something like that.

  Amber is crazy for thinking that I should agree to it.

  Gosh. Planning a wedding has turned this woman’s brain to mush. She lives in some fantasyland now where rational thinking and logic have been replaced by rainbows and butterflies. There’s no getting through to her.

  “Ruthie – I know that the way things happened with Michael is not exactly a fairytale but you both care deeply about each other. He and Campbell came up with this plan together. If he didn’t love you, he would have never gone along with it.” She’s trying yet another sample of cake. “Mmm. This is so good.” She shoves a forkful of icing in my direction. I begrudgingly take a bite. After all, I did come here to help her make a choice.

  “Amber – we’re talking about marriage here! If the man wants me to be his wife, I shouldn’t be trying to rationalize whether he loves me or not. I shouldn’t have to guess and figure it out. I should know. For sure. Love should be the reason why we’re getting married. Not just some secondary consideration on the side.”

  “Honey, I get that you’re hesitant. But I’ve seen the way he looks at you. The man is in love. Even if he’s never said it. And now, he wants to marry you. Despite the reason, he would have never agreed to it if he didn’t know that you’re the one for him.” She rings the tiny bell on the table, calling for the attendant’s attention.

  An older woman wearing a pristine white apron appears in an instant. “What can I do for you, Ms. Roberts?” she asks offering Amber a wide smile.

  “This cake that I’m eating – what exactly is it?” Amber leans back and rubs her hand indiscreetly across her belly in
slow circles. I’m not sure if she’s simply caressing her growing baby or massaging her cake-stuffed stomach.

  “This is our lemon poppy seed cake layered with panels of white chocolate and covered in ivory French buttercream.” The woman explains.

  “It’s very good. Can I try another piece, please?” Amber asks sweetly.

  The woman beams. “Of course, Ms. Roberts.”

  As the woman scurries away, Amber turns her attention back to me. “There are a million other routes that Michael could have taken to repair his reputation. He could have denied that it was him in the video. He could have chosen to distance himself from you altogether. He could have issued an apology and called it a moment of weakness. Instead, he chose to make you his wife. He’d already made up his mind that he wants you in his life forever.” She squeezes my hand as she looks directly in my eyes.