Page 6 of Acquiring Ainsley
No, that can’t happen. We will fix this. We must.
To distract myself from all the bad news swirling around me, I took a few selfies from the back of the taxi, making sure that I angled my phone so that the light stroked my jaw and presented me in the best way. After twenty or so tries, I found a profile shot that would suffice, which I uploaded to my profile with a snappy caption and a few hashtags. In the last half-day or so, I hadn’t uploaded anything to my social media accounts. Not good. I needed to keep up the pretense that everything was fine, and that my life continued just as I had cultivated online—a glamorous array of jet-setting vacations, fashion posts, and photos with friends at parties and expensive restaurants. I didn’t want anyone thinking something was “going on” based on my lack of recent posts.
I locked the phone, then tried to focus on the city streets as they passed by outside the passenger window. That lasted about two minutes before I opened the device again and checked the number of likes on the post. Seventy-five so far. Not bad.
When we arrived at 957 Park, I dropped my case in the apartment I kept on the fourth floor of the forty-five-story skyscraper, freshened up a bit, and took the elevator to the top level.
Just keep your cool, Ainsley…
For as long as I could remember, Dad had maintained the forty-fourth and forty-fifth levels as his fiefdom. Other tenants took up office space on the lesser floors, but the top two had his signature all over them. He had lived in a 25,000-square-foot bachelor pad on the forty-fourth floor and used the forty-fifth as the home for Ross Publishing. The rest of the building housed a smattering of financial firms, real estate agents, luxury condos, and premium shopping, all of which paid rent to my family’s trust. Losing the empire meant losing that income, too.
I didn’t want to let myself focus on that. We’d find a way out of this mess. The empire would not fall. Not if I could help it.
Ashton waited for me in the lobby just off the elevator entrance, where he leaned against the long, white, marble reception desk. He’d lost weight, and dark circles highlighted his bulging brown eyes. His black suit hung lose on him, appearing two sizes too big. Behind him, large iron letters spelled out “Ross Publishing and Holdings” across a marble paneled wall.
But maybe not for much longer…
“How are you?” I managed, even though I was asking a question that didn’t need to be answered. I knew how he was doing. Terrible. Guilt nagged at me; I should have helped him more. Shouldn’t have left it all to him. “I feel so awful about this. And you look—”
“I’m okay.” He pulled me into a hug, and the musky smell of his cologne filled my nostrils. Dad had worn the same scent, and the memory of it tugged at my heart. “Thanks for coming.”
“Didn’t have much choice, did I?” I moved away from his embrace and tried to suppress the frustration pulsing through my veins. “We’ll figure this out. There must be an answer to this problem. We just haven’t found it.” I turned to the receptionist. “How have you been?”
“Well, things are—” She braced her hand on the desk. “I mean…”
“Brenda has been very helpful in this process.” He shot her a knowing look and instructed me to follow him down the hallway toward the conference room.
I thanked Brenda for all her assistance and followed him down the long corridor, which had offices on one side, and large windows on the other that showed off the Manhattan skyline. My father had once called the property his greatest triumph.
When we got to the conference room door, he paused. “Ainsley, I need you to know that I realize this isn’t easy for you.” Ashton put his icy hand on my arm. “I know this is all a shock. But I’m here for you. I’m right next to you. We’re family.”
“Of course, we are.”
“We’re in this together—no matter what happens next.”
“I know. You don’t have to keep reminding me. Dad always told us that—he drilled it into us. Family first.”
“And everything that I do, I’m doing for the good of this family.” His grip tightened, making me think of cold steel. “I need you to promise me that you won’t forget that.”
I searched his face. Why was he saying this? What was prompting this intensity? This wasn’t like Ashton at all. He was usually a lot more reserved, stoic even. At that moment, though, he sounded desperate. Pleading. Begging.
“Don’t worry,” I said. “I won’t forget it.”
“Good.” Ashton took a deep breath and straightened his slumping shoulders. “Here we go.”
He pushed open the wide door. The room behind it held a large oak conference table with seating for sixteen, a credenza laden with my father’s favorite barware, and a large Andy Warhol print on the far wall.
And a man I hadn’t laid eyes on in quite a while.
“Oh, my god,” I said to Ashton, not bothering to hide the disbelief in my voice. “What ishedoing here?”
My breath caught in the back of my throat, and a mix of emotions crashed through me—shock, disgust, distrust, and something else—something that I didn’t want to face. All I knew was that the man in front of me was the last person I expected to find in the conference room that day.
I narrowed my eyes at Ashton. “What is this? What’s going on here?”
“Pleased to see you, too,” Trevor McNamara said after he stood from the far end of the conference table. He buttoned his navy-blue jacket, smoothed it, and made his way across the room. “You look beautiful, as always.”
He extended a hand.
