Page 13 of Pure Abandon

Outraged, I grab the door handle and swing it open ignoring Trish who is standing on the other side of the door holding two black coffees.

“It’s Mrs. Monroe to you!” I raise my hand and flash my wedding ring at him. Shit! I’m not wearing one today. What the…? I lower my hand in aggravation and motion toward the open door. “Now, if you don’t mind, I need to compose myself and put myself back together.”

“Mrs. Monroe?” His brows curve in confusion. His eyes wander around the room. He is completely taken off guard. Rising from the chair, he adjusts his cufflinks and speaks in a professional manner. “Well, we seem to have gotten off on the wrong foot.”

Poor Trish stands frozen in the doorway, not knowing if she should be coming or going. Behind her, people scurry through the hall.

Asher passes by me, careful not to brush shoulders, and heads out the door, taking my nerves with him. Mortified, I close the door, trying to block the eavesdroppers’ view of my disheveled appearance.

“What happened to you?” Malory looks at my soot-covered ensemble in horror. She is seated at the conference table, closest to the door.

All heads in the conference room turn to the door as I enter the room, late for the meeting. My clothes are now dry thanks to the hand dryer in the ladies bathroom, but track markings of Midtown still give evidence of my interesting morning. I pulled my wet hair into a slick bun. The most polished look I can achieve given what I have to work with.

“You look like you were run over by a truck!” she hisses.

“An SUV actually.” I send a death gaze down to the head of the conference table where Alexander Asher is seated.

He looks at me with those golden eyes, making my ears turn red again. He stands, keeping his eyes trained on mine, and motions for Heavy Harvey, who is seated to his right, to stand. “Mrs. Monroe, please take a seat. We were just about to discuss the venue for the event.” He puts emphasis on the Mrs.

Crap, why did I tell him to call me by my married name?

“No, please, Harvey, stay seated,” I say, preparing to take a seat in the back corner of the room. Harvey is already walking toward a chair in the back of the other side of the room.

“Mrs. Monroe.” Asher motions toward the chair next to him. “ Sit.” He is so dominating. It is sickening.

“It’s Ms. Grayson, please.” I stress the Ms. right back at him. He looks at me with intrigue as I take the proffered seat.

“If we’re done here, I’d like to continue with the logistics conversation.” Heather breaks the tension. It’s the most welcoming thing she’s done since I arrived.

“Yes, logistics.” Asher composes himself and takes his seat.

Heather polishes her hair and swivels her chair in Asher’s direction. With her big brown eyes, she gazes at him, attempting to captivate his attention. “We’re going to need a bigger venue.” She looks at him as if he is the bigger venue she needs. A light bulb goes on in my head. This must be why she doesn’t like other women.

Asher doesn’t seem to be interested in Heather’s attentions. He is purely business. Not the same carefree yet seductive man I met an hour ago. “I don’t understand. What is wrong with David Geffen Hall?”

“Mr. Asher, “ Gretchen chimes in, “every single act we’ve asked is available. This event is going to draw way too many people. This is a huge problem for us. If we don’t find a new venue, we’re going to have to turn down performers, and I’d hate to turn any of them away and risk burning a few bridges.”

“Asher… um, Mr. Asher…” Heather corrects herself. “We have the venue booked and the folks at Lincoln Center have donated a lot of their time and more to this event. It would be in bad taste to break that relationship.”

“It would be in worse taste to limit our event.” Asher puts his fingers to his mouth, brooding and detained. “What about the Opera House?”

“Unavailable,” Heather says. “We’ll have to go through the list and limit which performers we have.”

It seems like a silly problem. David Geffen Hall holds almost three thousand people. That’s a huge audience for a charitable concert, but I suppose it would be nice to have an even bigger venue. Maybe next time they should consider a sports arena. Although, that would be rather extravagant.

I don’t know where the idea comes from or why in the world I say it, but the words just slip out of my mouth.

“What about Central Park?” I inquire.

Heather props her curvy body up to attention. “Out of the question. We’re talking security and a bigger production, not to mention getting the mayor’s permission.”

“Yes, it’s just too much to do in the allotted time.” Gretchen agrees. Heather shoots daggers at me for suggesting it.

It was a stupid idea. I’ve seen concerts done there before. Good Morning America does it every week. But I have no idea what goes into securing a space like that. I rest my right elbow on the arm of my chair and place my palm against my forehead as it falls heavy into my hand. It’s not even ten in the morning and this is officially the worst day of my life.

“No, no, wait. I’m the one footing the bill here.” Asher places his hands on the table, a pensive look on his face. “That could work. It’s been done before. It would be big, much bigger than anticipated. And if so, we might be able to get all the networks to bid in on this.”

My head perks up, stunned he is actually considering the idea.