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After.I flicked over the hangers in my closet. I needed to get out of this bedroom, this apartment. The office wasn’t the most welcoming place, but at least it was a change of pace.
“Before. I’m not a total lost cause.”
“Hmm. Well, if all you have to do is rub on some rich man's lap, then we better get to work. Grove Communications will be back in the green in a matter of nights. In all seriousness, I think Leden is a huge get. Cici always wanted to get them on board, just like your Grandpa Jim. And even if he’s a fuck-boy, you know he’s connected to half the big dogs in the city. And I’ve heard the guy is majorly set for finances. Like, even outside of his little side gig as CEO of Leden.” I could picture her putting air quotes over “little side gig.”
“I know, I know. I googled him too.” Too much maybe. I clenched my jaw before that truth slipped out. Grumpily, I tug a knit sweater over my head and roll my hair into a messy bun.
“So just move on. When’s your next meeting with him?”
“We were going to talk about ideas at dinner, but that’s a hard no now. I’m going to stew in this mess for a bit longer and then get my ass to the office.”
“You’ve got this, Ashlyn. You are great at your job. Now go kick ass. His if necessary.”
I grinned at my reflection. She was right. I was a professional. And I wasn’t falling for his “rich boy, smoother than silk, don’t worry just crash here tonight” charm this time. I knew better.
I sighed. “If you decide to give up the golden lifestyle of avocados and Hollywood, you know I’d have a job for you in about five seconds. Cici would be thrilled.”
She snorted good-naturedly at my offer. “If you can find a duplicate of the man you described on the phone but without the in-house competition, I’d gladly haul myself down there for you. Even to San Francisco.” I could hear the laughter in her voice. Even if she had grown up here, she had gotten straight out of town the minute she could, happy and living her dream in Los Angeles as a marketing strategist for a production group there.
I hung up laughing and feeling far more like myself.
***
I flopped across my couch, a cheap glass of Chardonnay on my coffee table. For all that this day had started out as insanity, the rest of the day had been productive. I’d set up no less than five press events, booked Liam an outing at Leden’s favorite charity auction, and signed him for a charity 5K race next weekend. I had no idea if he could run, but I’d felt the muscle on him. He’d manage. And I couldn’t wait to see if he could keep up that smirk as he hauled himself up Nob Hill.
I’d come home, grabbed the peanut butter and the wine, and sat down to bask in my success. But now my brain just wouldn’t let go of it. I tapped the pen against my teeth. My phone, set to vibrate, buzzed against the chipped dark wood of my coffee table.
LIAM: You aren’t answering my calls. And you cancelled dinner.
ASHLYN: I figured that would be best.
LIAM: How’s that?
ASHLYN: I didn’t think we needed a meeting to discuss my running into your girlfriend.
LIAM: She’s my sister. My SISTER! If you’d listened to any of my voicemails, you’d know that.
Wait what? I knew Liam had a sister… Was that who that had been?
Yes, my brain answered immediately. I had wanted to believe he was awful. I’d wanted to believe he’d brought me there under false pretenses. Shame aside, it’d been easier to shift him back into that side of my mind where he was the villain, rather than deal with the idea that my client might actually be a decent guy.
ASHLYN: Who leaves voicemails?
LIAM: Desperate men. lol
ASHLYN: Is she really your sister?
LIAM: Since the day she was born. Google it. Samantha Macklen. She’s an accountant.
I snorted. Not just any accountant. She worked for her father’s campaign for mayor and had access to some of the most powerful people in the entire state. This family defined overachieving.
ASHLYN: She still walked in on me in full walk of shame mode. It’s customary for me to hide from you for at least a few days while my embarrassment recedes.
ASHLYN: Cute family picture in Bahamas, by the way. The Batman swimsuit really saves it.
LIAM: I was twelve. And please don’t hide. I’m sorry about this morning and the shitty Instagram thing. Is there any way I can make it up to you?
I hesitated. Our little text chain notwithstanding, it was very hard to be mad at this man. But that didn’t matter. Liam Macklen was off-limits. A hard line. I knew that. Yet my fingers kept moving, hovering over the phone as if begging to keep the conversation going.
