Page 11 of Acquiring Ainsley
I turned around when the door slammed.
Ashton rushed into the room after being gone for about fifteen minutes. His pale face glistened with a fine sheen of sweat. “I’m sorry, Trevor, really, I am. I screwed this up. I didn’t handle this one the right way, and it’s my fault.”
“Nonsense.” I gave him a short answer simply to make him feel better about the sad state of his life. Never mind my own self-cesspool of regrets. “We’ve thrown a lot at Ainsley in the last hour. I’m sure she needs time to digest it all.”
I retook my seat and set the empty glass on the conference table.
Ashton followed my lead and sat in Ainsley’s vacated chair directly across from me. He gripped the table’s edge as if to steady his shaking hands.
“She’ll come around,” he assured me, his mouth in a tight line. “We can talk some sense into her. She’ll understand this is the only way.”
“Good.” I pointed my left thumb at my chest. “Because I’m the best you’re going to get. You need me more than I need you.” I let that hang in the air before I stood from the table for the final time. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have another meeting to get to.”
Somewhere, somehow, my brother had gone from mildly strange to certifiably insane. There was no way I was going to marryTrevor McNamara. Not him. Not even to save us from certain downfall. I wasn’t for sale. My body and my happiness weren’t business transactions. Ashton couldn’t sell me to the highest bidder, and my life wasn’t up for auction. Who was he kidding?
No way. Not now. Not ever.
Absolutely not.
Besides, if Ashton knew what had happened between Trevor and me that night at the Whitney Museum, he probably wouldn’t have insisted that I marry Trevor. And he would understand why I was more than just a little suspicious of a man who’d done nothing to earn our trust.
I considered telling him about it, but then decided that I’d use it later if I needed to. Instead, after yelling at Ashton in his office and reminding him of the fact that I controlled my own destiny, I went back to my apartment on the fourth floor. Tiredness and stress dragged my body down, threatening to overtake me. I took off my dress, climbed into bed, and passed out seconds after my head hit the pillow. It felt good to push away the pain with a long nap.
A few hours later, I woke to the sound of incessant buzzing at my front door. I threw on the white-cotton robe I found on a hook in the bathroom and padded over to the door. Behind it, I found Ashton leaning against the frame.
He was drunk. I knew that before he opened his mouth.
“Ainsley, I’ve been trying to call you for hours. You’re not answering your phone.”
“I was exhausted.”
“Me, too. But we need to talk. Now.”
I stepped away from the door, invited him inside with a wave of my hand, and led him to the living room. Ashton threw himself onto my overstuffed, gray couch, not bothering to take off his shoes. I sat across from him in the armchair and saw for the first time just how threadbare and worn his loafers had become. He needed a new pair.
I felt another tiny twinge of guilt about the way I’d been spending money in the last few months. I liked the good life, and I’d made sure that I lived in Palm Beach. Most nights there included dinner at a restaurant, and I attended three to five fundraisers or social events a week. All of those required new outfits, blowouts for my hair, manicures, and makeup application.
It seemed so insignificant—and stupid—now.
“I tried to tell you,” Ashton said, his voice coated in whatever alcohol he’d been downing to drown his misery. “I sent you the emails, the board minutes, and the monthly statements. I had my assistant call you several times.”
“I didn’t bother studying any of it,” I admitted in a soft voice, and some more shame brushed over me. I’d been lazy, and here I was, about to start paying for it. “If my bank account had the regular deposits each month, I trusted that we were fine. They always did, so I saw no reason to worry. Why would that change?”
He groaned. “I knew I should have made you take a more active role in the business. Dad even told me to do so a few months before he died. He said he wanted you to spend at least eighteen months getting to know the full breadth of what we do. He didn’t like that you enjoyed all the benefits without understanding the effort it took to make this happen.” His glassy gaze met mine. “But after he died, I indulged you even more than he did. You were devastated by his death, totally shattered. I thought that I’d give you more time, but a few months turned into years. And that’s my fault.”
The guilt in my stomach grew a little stronger. He was right. Ashton had been generous—perhaps too generous. Maybe all this bad luck was payback for that.
“I know you loved him. You were a good son. You always wanted to live up to his expectations.” I rubbed my hand across my forehead. “And you’ve done a good job of that, Ashton.”
“Hardly.” A hollow laugh escaped his lips. “And said just as we teeter on the edge of bankruptcy.”
“That’s not what I mean. I’m talking about who you are, and what kind of character you have inside. You’re a good man, Ashton. He’d love that about you.”
He shifted on the couch and adjusted the pillow behind his head. “I need you to do this, Ainsley. I need you to agree to Trevor McNamara’s request. Our whole existence is counting on you.”
“I already told you—”
“I’mbeggingyou. Pleading with you. We don’t have another way out.” He sighed and closed his eyes. “Trevor McNamara is asking for almost nothing.”
