by Karen Booth
“I don’t need to tell you the gravity of the situation.” Marcus’s father’s voice was unusually cold. It was the tinny overseas connection on speakerphone, Marcus hoped. He couldn’t stand the thought of his normally cheerful dad being so gravely unhappy. “If we can’t get this endeavor of yours off the ground, the ramifications will be great. It’s not just the loss of expected growth. It’s the money we’ve put into it, as well. It has to work.”
Yes, it does. Marcus looked across the conference table at his sister, Joanna, the head of marketing for Chambers Gin. The worry was so plain on her face it broke his heart. “We’ll turn a corner,” Marcus said. “By the time we host the media night at the new distillery, we’ll be on our way.”
“I don’t want you to think I don’t trust you or your vision, Marcus. I absolutely do,” his father continued. “It’s just that the entire family’s livelihood is on the line. I don’t want to get in so far over our heads that we’re all left with nothing. That’s not the legacy I hoped to leave behind, and it’s definitely not the future I want for my children or my grandchild.”
“I’ll make it work, Dad. I don’t want you to worry about it.” Leave the worrying to me.
A pregnant pause filled the room. “Okay, son. I trust you. I’ve got some calls to return, but I’ll speak with you and JoJo on Friday, right?”
“Yes. Friday. Speak to you then.”
“Bye, Dad.” Joanna pressed the end button on the phone in the center of the conference table. “He’s so stressed. I don’t think I’ve ever heard him so stressed.”
Marcus tapped his pen on the all-too-thin stack of orders for the US gin, Chambers No. 9. “It’s not like we can blame him. We aren’t even close on our projections.” Marcus ran his hand through his hair and turned to stare out the office window overlooking the New York City skyline. And to think he’d been so sure they could capture the imagination of US consumers. They’d come nowhere close. He had the expertise to revive the family business, and he’d dip into his personal financial accounts if needed, but his resources did have their limits. That meant the clock was ticking. Chambers No. 9 needed a big boost, as quickly as possible.
When his father had swallowed his pride and admitted he needed help saving Chambers Gin, Marcus had let his adoration for his father and his deep devotion for his family lead the way. Leaving a highly successful and lucrative job as a European securities trader behind, he’d accepted this new challenge, no questions asked. He’d insisted only that his father trust him on this one point—they had to expand into the massive US market, and that meant launching a new artisan gin. Chambers No. 9. Cocktail culture had become big business, and there was a niche to be filled with carefully crafted spirits. Bold expansion was the only way. Go big or go home, as the Americans loved to say.
“We’re just off to a slow start,” he said, steeling himself. They would get out of this, and he would lead the way. He wouldn’t let anyone down. “Distribution is getting better every day, and we’re making inroads. It’s just going to take longer than we’d hoped. People don’t change their drinking habits overnight.”
“They do if there’s a reason to. Like a big piece of media attention or a celebrity endorsement. Something that could go viral.”
“The media plan is solid and very aggressive. We just got confirmation that International Spirits wants to interview me and put it on the cover. That’s big.”
Joanna closed her eyes, rested her head on her shoulder and unleashed a snore. “I’m sorry. Did you say something? I was so bored by the thought of International Spirits magazine that I fell asleep.”
“Hey, that’s a big coup, and it’s an important player in our industry. Oscar Pruitt is a very influential journalist. Dad’s been courting him for years.”
“It’s not going to set the world on fire. We need to find something for people to get excited about. Really excited. Something unexpected. Something sexy.”
Marcus sat back in his chair. Viral videos, memes and celebrities were not at all what he’d envisioned for Chambers No. 9, but he could be onboard with sexy and unexpected. “You’re right. Tell you what. We’ll do some brainstorming with the rest of the marketing team tomorrow. Perhaps we just need to get a bit more creative.”
Marcus’s phone lit up with a text. The message was from Ashley, their first interaction since the night before, when she’d grabbed his arm and managed to annoy him with her nonsense about hiding.
Busy? I need to ask you a question.
He tapped out a reply. What is it? The last thing he wanted was Ashley springing a surprise on him, like asking if her contractor could start running saws at five a.m. tomorrow.
An invitation. May I call? Ashley replied.
“Who are you texting?” Joanna asked nonchalantly. At twenty-eight, she might’ve been three years younger than him, but she could be a mother hen. She’d certainly kept close tabs on him since things went south with his marriage.
“My neighbor. Ms. George. Something about an invitation.”
“An invitation? From Ashley George? Have you two patched things up? Whatever it is, you should say yes.” Joanna sounded entirely too optimistic for his taste. And pushy. Joanna hadn’t even tried to disguise her hope that Marcus would jump into the dating pool with both feet, starting with Ashley. She was, after all, the toast of the entire city, drop-dead gorgeous and, conveniently enough, right across the hall.
Ashley also wasn’t a real option. He’d learned that on their date. Their conversation sent up red flag after red flag, culminating with the story of how she and her last boyfriend had broken up because she wasn’t ready to have children. That had prompted him to ask for the check and give her nothing more than a handshake at the end of the night. It wasn’t like he’d been on the verge of proposing marriage, but he had no business spending time with a woman who didn’t share his vision for a relationship. He and Lila were a package deal. No getting around that.
And there was great urgency to his situation. Lila would soon be old enough to remember growing up without a mum. His mother was one of the most important people in his life. He wasn’t about to let Lila go without. Watching that would be even worse than seeing Chambers Gin go belly-up. “No patching anything up for me and Ms. George. We’re doing our best to tolerate each other.” He looked down at his phone again. How he despised texting. Dialing Ashley’s number, he shooed Joanna away, but she shook her head, making it clear she was staying.
“Is there a problem, Ms. George?” he asked when she answered.
“No. And please, call me Ashley.”
He sat back in his seat, avoiding eye contact with his sister. “What can I do for you?”
Joanna pulled out a pad of paper and wrote furiously. She shoved it across the table and thumped it with her finger. Be nice!
“I’m calling with a business proposition.”
He’d been bracing for bad news about her apartment project. Business was indeed the last thing he’d expected to be brought up. “Go on.”
“Before I say anything, you have to promise me that you won’t breathe a word of this to anyone.”
Now she really had his curiosity piqued. A secret? “I don’t like making promises I’m not certain I can keep.”
She huffed on the other end of the line. “You relish any opportunity to be a pain in my side, don’t you? Look, I understand you’re expanding Chambers Gin in the States. The network is throwing a big party for the premiere of my new season. They’d like to offer you a sponsorship spot that night, at no cost to your company aside from providing your new gin for the guests. Your logo will be everywhere. The guest list is chock-full of celebrities, and they’ll all be drinking your gin. The network publicists can work their magic for you.”
“Why would you do that for me? And why would I need to keep that a secret?”
She grumbled, “I’m getting to
that part. I need you to come to the party. With me. As my date.”
For a moment, Marcus wasn’t entirely sure of what she’d just said. “I only date women I’m serious about. Because of Lila.”
“Then it’s perfect, because I don’t date at all right now. And I’m not talking about anything more than you taking me to the party and pretending you like me. The network wants me on the arm of a handsome man, I’m not seeing anyone, and you’re literally the last man I’ve been on a date with.”
The part of him that warred with her over her apartment wanted to snicker that he was her only option, but the situation also genuinely struck him as a bit sad. “I’m not entirely sure that Manhattan Matchmaker and Chambers Gin is the right match. I don’t see the correlation between the two brands.”
“You want to appeal to young, hip customers? My demographic is all about young and hip.”
“And Mrs. White.”
“She’s a lot hipper than you.”
“That’s up for debate.” He was making her angry, which didn’t entirely bother him. Nothing like some good verbal sparring with a beautiful woman to get the blood pumping.
“Well? Will you? Just think of what this could do for your business.”
She might have been right about that. He and Joanna had been discussing exactly that, and judging by the look on his sister’s face, she’d pop off at him if he said no to this. “Yes. I’ll do it.”
“You will?”
“Yes, I will. Please don’t tell me you’re angry with me for saying yes.”
“No. Not angry. Just surprised, that’s all. You fight me on everything.”
It’s easier to convince myself I’m not so damn drawn to you. “I won’t lie. Chambers Gin could use the help. The American market is a big mountain to conquer.”
“Okay, then. It’s Thursday night. Eight o’clock. I’ll have a car for us at seven thirty.”
“I’ll come round your place at seven-fifteen.”
“I’m capable of meeting you at the elevator, you know.”
“Ashley, I’m a gentleman. A gentleman always picks a lady up for a date.”
Three
Ashley hardly recognized the woman in the mirror. Same face as hers, same hair and nose. Same eyes. But this was the familiar wrapped up in an entirely new and very expensive package. Poised on a pedestal, she twisted from side to side, admiring the sublime lines of the gown designed for her by Peter Richie. Designed for her. Since the Manhattan Matchmaker ride had started, there had been countless times when she’d wondered whether she was awake or dreaming. Today was just another to add to the list.
Peter shook his head slowly as if he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. “Absolutely. Stunning.”
He planted both hands at his waist, studying her. A woman with a mouth full of straight pins kneeled at Ashley’s feet, adjusting the hem of the gown.
Ashley wrestled with her innate need to deflect attention from herself. “The dress is beautiful. You’re absolutely right. Thank you so much for doing this. You have no idea how much I appreciate it.” She glanced down, only to catch the woman rolling her eyes. Had she said something stupid? Was it uncool to be thankful? She wasn’t entirely sure what she was supposed to say in this situation other than thank you. Her mother had always been emphatic when she was growing up: “No one will ever fault you for having good manners.”
Peter let out a deep belly laugh. “No, doll. Not the dress. You. You’re stunning. All eyes are going to be glued to you at that party.”
Ashley swallowed, or at least attempted to. It was hard to get past the lump in her throat. The thought of all eyes glued to her made her exponentially more nervous about the party. Those gatherings were difficult—everyone vying for a piece of her, but it was always a bit superficial. Lots of compliments and praise, but not much in the way of real conversation. No, it was all “keep doing what you’re doing” and “we just want more.” How much more of this was there? One day the world would tire of the Manhattan Matchmaker. It happened to everyone who ended up in the spotlight as she had, and when it ended, it always seemed to end badly. Tastes changed. Fads came and went. She didn’t want to be reduced to that, but someday she would. In some ways, it would be a big relief, but it would mean that her fabulous ride was over.
People assumed that since she was on TV, she’d wanted the limelight. That wasn’t the case for her at all. Her confidence in what she was doing and in her ability to do it were unwavering, but it was the other piece of the puzzle that gave her problems. She didn’t want her face on the sides of buses. She wanted to match people. She wanted the world to believe in true love. In a world where there was so much bad, she wanted people to remember that there was good.
“I’ll be sure to tell everyone that all of the credit for the world’s most perfect dress goes to you,” Ashley said to Peter.
“Keep talking like that and I’ll keep you in party dresses forever.” He winked at Ashley then held out his hand to help her step off the pedestal. “You’re done, sweetie. The girls will have your dress ready by the end of the day. We’ll have it sent to your apartment.”
“Oh no. Send it to my office, please. I’m in the middle of a huge apartment project, and it’s a total mess.”
Ashley left Peter Richie’s design studio in the Garment District and opted to walk along 8th Avenue to her building on the Upper West Side. She probably wouldn’t make it all the way in heels, but she’d try. It was too beautiful a spring day to not enjoy the splendor of the city. Sporting her biggest Jackie O sunglasses and with her hair tucked up in a hat to avoid being spotted on the street, she set out on her way.
What was left of the afternoon sun peeked between the buildings, the late-April air warming her enough to make her shed her cardigan, draping it over her arm. South Carolina would always be home, but she couldn’t see herself living anywhere but New York for the foreseeable future. The city was simply too much fun, brimming with its own kind of beauty. Sure, it could also be a very lonely place, but changing that, one couple at a time, was her charge. There was love to be found in the city that never sleeps. And she was just the girl to give it a push.
After a good twenty blocks, her feet had had all they could take, and she hailed a cab. It didn’t take long before they were stuck in rush hour traffic, so she took the chance to call her mom.
“Hello, sugarplum,” her mother answered.
As welcome as the sun she’d soaked up along her walk, Vivian George’s sugary South Carolina accent was all Ashley needed to shake off the vestiges of her stressful day and feel much more like herself. “Hey, Mama.” Her voice cracked simply out of happiness. If she closed her eyes, she could smell her mother’s cooking and remember exactly what it was like to grow up in a house where there might have been little money to pay the bills, but love made it seem as if they wanted for nothing.
“You’ll be happy to know we’re having nearly thirty people over for the premiere of Manhattan Matchmaker. I wish we could have you here, honey, but I know you’re busy.”
It’d been two months since she’d been home, and that’d been only for a few days. It was difficult for her to get away. Work was a constant demand on her time. And that didn’t assuage even an ounce of guilt. “I need to come home. And I will. Or maybe you and Daddy could come up to see me. I can book you first-class tickets, and you can stay in my guest room. It’ll be so beautiful when the apartment is done. I really want you both to see it.”
“I know you do. I really do. We’ll have to see how your dad is doing. Travel would take an awful lot out of him.”
“I could pay a nurse to travel with you. You wouldn’t have to do anything. I swear it wouldn’t be much trouble.”
“And that’s so generous of you, really. But I don’t want to make any promises, Ash. He doesn’t even like it when we go to the grocer
y store. New York would be a big undertaking. We’ll talk about it.”
Ashley saw through the cab window that they were close to arriving at her building. “I just really want you to see it. That’s all.” She knew deep down that her parents understood her success. Still, she wanted them to see the physical manifestation of it, outside the things she paid for that they saw every day. She wanted to show them that she had done well for herself, and done well for the family.
Four
The antique rocker in Lila’s nursery was the perfect place for a daddy-daughter summit. “So, Lila, Daddy’s going on a date tonight, but it’s very important that you know that you will always be the most important woman in my life.”
Lila looked up at him quizzically. “Hi.” She palmed the side of his face and smiled, rubbing her tiny fingers over the stubble along his jaw.
He chuckled quietly. Hi was her new word, and she was eager to use it. “Hi, yourself.”
“Hi,” Lila replied.
Joanna, over that night as babysitter, was listening in, leaning against the doorway. She stretched out her arms. “Want me to take her? You really don’t want to be holding a baby while wearing a tux, do you? You’re begging for a disaster. She’ll drool all over you.”
Begging for a disaster. Fitting description of what he was all dressed up for. “I’m getting my last few kisses before I have to go to this wretched party.”
Sure enough, a droplet of drool fell from the corner of Lila’s mouth, dropping down onto his black suit jacket.
“See?” Joanna grabbed a clean washcloth from the top of the nursery bureau. “She’s going to ruin your suit.” She crouched down next to them, wiping away the moisture that had collected on Lila’s lips. “Daddy just needs those teeth to come in so he can get a little more sleep and we can all stop doing so much laundry.”
Marcus shrugged. “It doesn’t bother me at all. It means she’s still a baby. I’m in no hurry for her to grow up.” Indeed, he wasn’t. He’d take millions more moments exactly like this one. Freeze time and let him stop the clock on the impossible search for the one woman on the planet to take on the role of his wife and Lila’s mother.
