8. Cold Resolve
Chapter 8
Cold Resolve
Cole
I walk briskly out of the elevator, making my way down the hallway to my office. A hand in my pocket and hair tousled slightly, I know the aura I’m giving off, successful, strong, put together, and even though it doesn’t exactly match what I feel inside, it’s good enough for me. I replace the pensive frown I can feel on my face with a nonchalant expression as a few employees scramble past me, doing their best to look busy. Their greetings only elicit a curt nod from me.
I know that if most of them were asked to describe me anonymously, they would say I’m the spawn of the devil. Cold, difficult, calculating, someone who doesn’t care who he has to hurt to get what he wants.
They’re not wrong.
I wasn’t always this way, though. Once upon a time, I was a completely different man. I was the guy who brought a girl flowers on the first date, opened her door, held her seat out for her. I was the type to go all out to see to it that the people I cared for were happy.
That mirrored my professional life. Ever the consummate people-pleaser. But all it ever brought me was hurt and disappointment. So, I made the decision to lock those emotions up deep inside myself. I had to be tougher—it was the only way.
I shake my head, snapping out of it. Today is not the day to go down memory lane. As I get closer to my office, I rotate my shoulders in my tailored black suit to release some of the tension trying to creep up.
Soon I’m sitting in my plush leather chair, staring out the glass windows of my office at the beautiful scenery outside.
The warm Boston sun casts a golden glow on the city. It’s just a little after 8:00 A.M., but it already looks like it’s midday because of how bright the sun is. Pale clouds hang fluffily in the sky, contrasting brightly against the soft shade of blue.
My mind starts to wonder, and before it has a chance to take me down that familiar dark path, a sharp knock on my door thankfully brings me back to reality.
I shake my head and sit still for a moment.
A curt knock sounds twice again, and a second later, the door is pushed open.
My assistant, Allie, walks up to my table, her head buried in the file she has open in her hands, scribbling some things into it.
“Good morning, sir,” she greets, finally looking at me.
“Good morning, Allie.”
“Sir, there’s a—um…woman here to see you,” Allie says, glancing at me anxiously.
“I thought you told me I didn’t have any appointments today,” I say, a single brow raised as I wait for her response.
She fiddles nervously. “That’s true. She was not on the schedule.”
“So, she doesn’t have an appointment then?” I ask.
“No, she doesn’t,” she responds.
“Then tell her to come back when she has one,” I say simply, going back to the file I was reading before she walked in.
Seconds tick past slowly, yet my assistant stays rooted in place, fingers tensely clutching the folder in her hands.
“Is there something else I can help you with?” I ask slowly when it becomes obvious that she’s not leaving.
“Well, actually, sir,” she starts, nervous sweat breaking out on her forehead. After almost a year of working as my assistant, I’d have thought that by now the poor girl would be less intimidated by me.
“Speak, Allie. What is it?”
“Sir, it’s Ashley.” She says it as if I should know who she’s talking about. I shake my head. I’ve gone through a few Ashleys.
“Tall, leggy blonde you had dinner with a few months ago?” she says, trying to jog my memory.
My brows knit in concentration as I try to pinpoint exactly who she’s talking about. There have been so many tall, leggy blondes, the description feels generic.
“You had me make reservations for you at The Royale,” she continues.
My eyes sharpen as it comes back to me. “Oh. Her.”
“What’s she doing here? I ended things with her months ago.” The nerve of her to show her face here.
“If you don’t mind me asking, sir, how exactly did you ‘end things with her’?” Allie asks, eyes staring at me hesitantly, yet expectantly.
“I just stopped calling her,” I say like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
Allie stares at me wordlessly, a mixture of shock and disdain on her face. I can visibly see the struggle of her wanting to tell me off for being the asshole that I am, and biting her tongue to keep her well-paying job as my assistant.
“You look like you want to say something, Allie. Feel free to speak your mind.”
For some reason, I find myself genuinely wanting to hear what she thinks of me—what everyone thinks of me.
She’s hesitant, but finally says, “Um…women don’t think like men, you know? We need clarity. So next time it would be best to let them know that you’re breaking things off instead of ghosting, because this one is refusing to take the memo from me,” she says, with a bite to her tone.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean she’s continually coming to the office. The last time she was here, I insisted that she had to have an appointment before she could see you. She says she doesn’t want to make an appointment because it’s meant to be a surprise. Now she’s showed up again—she won’t budge no matter what I say. She’s not leaving without seeing you, sir.”
Fuck.
If there’s one rule I’ve tried to keep, it’s not mixing my personal life with work, and that’s exactly what’s happening right now. My personal life is AT work.
“Have her wait for me in the lounge downstairs. I’ll meet her there in a bit.”
“Yes, sir.”
A deep sigh leaves my lips as soon as Allie shuts the door behind her.
I walk slowly to the glass wall of my office overlooking the city. Cars honk loudly on the street below me, hundreds of people passing each other on the sidewalks. I watch all their nameless faces, vaguely wondering about their lives.
Once upon a time, I was one of those nameless faces, struggling to beat the daily early morning rush to get to my shit job that I hated, but I was content, because I had Lydia. I was in love, and it was enough for me. But it should never have been. It was a crutch I used to keep myself back from striving for greatness, and once that crutch was forcefully taken from me, it was like my eyes were finally opened.
It wasn’t just the softspoken lover in me that died when I found out Lydia was cheating on me. It was everything.
But, like a phoenix rising from the ashes, I was reborn into something cold, dark and determined.
I struggled, but eventually built my company from scratch. Took what was nothing and turned it into this billion-dollar empire.
But it’s still not enough. It’s never enough.
I spent too many years as a kid just wishing for the barest minimum, and now, it feels like no matter how much I have, there’s always the fear of that I’ll lose it all and be nothing more than that scrawny little kid that grew up in an orphanage, with nothing more than the clothes on his back. It’s what leaves me with the never-ending need to prove to myself that I can have anything that I want. Anytime I want it.
It partly explains why I go through as many women as I do.
Because I know I can have them whenever I want. On my terms.
Now, one of them is sitting downstairs, waiting for me.
I sigh, dusting invisible lint off my jacket, and make my way out of my office.
Ashley’s eyes widen just a fraction as she sees me. She’s seated at a corner table, wearing a short dress, long legs strategically crossed to give off the best view.
Her eyes greedily run over me. She’s never been shy about telling me about how good-looking she thought I was. She lived for trying to get me naked. Insatiable in bed.
Most men would be flattered by this, but it did nothing to satisfy me.
“Baby,” she squeals jumping up. Before I can think, she grabs the back of my head and pulls me in for a kiss.
Was the smell of her perfume always this overpowering?
She drops down to her knees in front of me, pulling my shirt up as she expertly unbuckles my belt.
Irritable now, I grab her hands and push her off to the side.
I grab a tissue on the coffee table and wipe my mouth, anxious to get the feel and taste of her off me.
“Don’t.”
“What’s wrong, baby?” she whines, still on the floor. “Why haven’t you been returning my calls?” Her eyes start to glisten.
God, I can’t deal with this today.
She stands up, straightening her dress. “I’ve been trying to see you, but the reception—”
“My assistant,” I correct.
“Whatever. That bitch has been refusing to let me see you. Obviously, she doesn’t know who I am to you. I’ve been waiting for hours.”
My eyes harden. “Don’t you ever speak about her like that again,” I say coldly. “Plus, it’s been less than ten minutes; you’d think you’d be able to tell time with my watch that you stole,” I say, glancing at the new platinum Rolex around my wrist.
This isn’t the one I had on the last time I saw her.
That one had been sneakily tucked away in her purse that I accidentally knocked over as I tried to quietly make my way out of the hotel room early the next morning.
I stared at that watch on the ground, watching the gold gleaming amongst the other contents of her bag that were strewn all across the floor.
In the end, I decided to let her keep it. She didn’t deserve a $25,000 watch, but it was a much-needed reminder to me that I was right in my assessment of women.
So, I just gathered up the items on the floor—a pack of gum, some lip gloss and wipes, along with the watch, and shoved it all back into her fake Birkin bag.
She really has some nerve, showing up here like this, after stealing from me.
“What? I—I didn’t—” she starts to stutter, but I raise my hand, cutting her off.
“Look, Ashley, I only came here to spell it out clearly to you, because you obviously haven’t been getting the message. It was just sex. That’s it. It was never going to be more than sex, although there might have been a little more sex if you hadn’t stolen my watch,” I say matter-of-factly.
Her face goes completely red, flustered. She tries to say something in her defense but can’t articulate the words.
“Just stop harassing my assistant. And for fuck’s sake, don’t ever show up here again.”
I don’t even flinch as her face contorts, hurt flashing in her eyes.
“It’s because of another woman, isn’t it?” she mutters slowly, her accusatory eyes glaring at me.
Unbelievable. Did she really not hear anything I just said? How do I keep getting myself into these situations?
“Is it that secretary of yours? That little whore! No wonder she’s been trying to keep me from seeing you!” she yells, only she couldn’t be further from the truth.
“It’s time for you to leave, Ashley,” I say, getting up and walking out of the lounge.
My problems always seem to lead back to women.
I really need to take a break from them.