Chapter Seven
ASHLEY OPENED THE door of her apartment with a groan, kicking it behind her before she shuffled over to the sofa and collapsed on it in a veritable heap.
Today felt like the longest day she’d ever known, and it was only five o’clock.
Yet her world had shattered, come back together and shattered again in the space of a few hours.
Ashley still don’t know what to think about any of it.
What did Nico Galletti even want from her?
This morning, he’d seemed intent on cruel destruction, and then this afternoon he’d rowed back on it all…
maybe. Ashley still couldn’t tell if he was merely toying with her.
Why have her attend this gala event, and why make it seem as if they were working together, if he had no intention of taking on her company, even as a “pity project”?
The questions seethed through her mind, filling her with uncertainty…and that was without thinking about that scorching kiss they’d shared, which she’d been doing her best to block out and act as if it had never happened.
Yet now, as she lay on her sofa in her studio apartment, Ashley let herself remember.
She luxuriated in the memory of his strong arms around her, his hand sliding up her thigh, his fingers tantalizing her flesh and cupping her breast…
His lips, so soft and full, yet hard and demanding at the same time…
Heat bloomed inside her at the mere thought, snaked through her veins and filled her with wanting.
Ashley had been kissed only a few times in her life, and it had all been unremarkable, confirming her suspicion that romance was nothing more than a distraction and worse, a weakness—one she had no intention of giving into the way her mother had.
She’d been in thrall to a man who had as good as disposed of her when she’d outlasted her usefulness.
And, Ashley suspected, Nico would be a similar kind of man.
Maybe he didn’t possess the subtle yet devastating cruelty her father did—although there was no real reason for her to think he didn’t—but in any case, she was under no illusions that that kiss had meant anything to Nico whatsoever.
If anything, he’d been trying to demonstrate his power over her, something she had no intention of giving him.
She would, she decided, never let him kiss her again.
Even if she’d agreed to attend this ball with him tomorrow night. With the fate of her business in his hands, what else could she do? But, as Nico himself had said, it was a business engagement only, and Ashley intended to be every inch the consummate professional.
The buzz of her intercom had Ashley heaving herself from the sofa with a groan. She didn’t get many visitors, because she didn’t have many friends, but this day had been one surprise after another…
‘Delivery for Miss Ashley Woodward,’ the voice on the intercom informed her after she’d pressed it.
‘Can you leave it in the post room?’ she asked. Usually deliverymen just chucked whatever packages or parcels arrived in the small room intended for such things.
‘I’m afraid Mr Galletti’s instructions were to have it delivered directly to your apartment.’
Briefly Ashley closed her eyes. She had no idea what Nico had sent to her apartment, but she was not surprised a deliveryman was determined to obey his fearsome instructions.
‘All right, thank you, you can send it up,’ she said wearily, and she pressed the button to unlock the front door. She supposed she should be grateful to Nico; he’d provided her with a car to take her home from his office after she’d—reluctantly—agreed to attend this event.
‘If it’s black tie, I don’t have anything to wear,’ she’d warned him after he’d told her, irritatingly, to ‘dress appropriately’. ‘I gave away all my formal clothes years ago.’
His brows had snapped together at that. ‘Why did you do such a thing?’
‘Because I had no need for them and I didn’t want the reminders,’ she’d replied shortly.
She’d not been about to explain how she’d hated every dress her father had forced her to wear, intent on her being the consummate hostess, the perfect princess.
How giving them all away had felt like freedom, a huge weight sliding from her bowed-down shoulders.
‘But if this is a business event,’ she’d told Nico with emphasis, ‘Then I can attend in business wear, so we should be fine.’ She’d bared her teeth in a steely smile and, to her annoyance, Nico had given her a little quirk of his lips in return, as if her petty little power plays merely amused him.
She’d wondered if he’d still be amused when she showed up at the charity event in off-the-rack business separates.
As Ashley opened the door to her apartment, a groan escaped her.
There was not just one deliveryman, but three, and they carried a portable clothes rack with at least a dozen plastic-swathed hangers that looked to hold designer dresses.
Clearly Nico had not approved of her suggestion that she wear her usual business attire.
She wasn’t surprised by his high-handedness, but she was certainly aggravated by it, especially when she considered her history with her father and all the dresses he’d made her wear.
‘I don’t need these,’ she informed the first deliveryman as he held out a receipt for her to sign. ‘You can take them back.’
The man shook his head resolutely. ‘Mr Galletti said you might say something like that. He insisted they stay.’
Ashley nodded resignedly and signed the receipt.
She wasn’t going to take her ire out on a hapless and innocent deliveryman, but neither was she going to wear these designer gowns.
‘Thank you,’ she told him and, after closing the door on all three men, she turned to face the dozen dresses hanging from the rack.
She stared at them hard for a second as a visceral shudder went through her.
The days of designer dresses and glittering balls were long behind her, but just the sight of a single plastic-swathed hanger had a reaction rising up that she could not suppress.
She had to curl her hands into fists to keep herself from yanking those hangers off the rail and hurling them to the floor, which she’d never done when her father had made his demands.
You’ll look beautiful tonight, princess, because that’s all you’re good for.
Doing her best to banish that hard voice, Ashley turned her back on the clothes and headed for the bathroom.
She wanted a long, hot shower, then a mug of hot chocolate and an hour of brainless TV.
Maybe then she’d figure out if she had the brass neck to ignore Nico Galletti’s gowns and wear what she’d intended to all along—a perfectly serviceable business suit.
An hour later, swathed in a thick terry cloth bathrobe, her damp hair falling in ringlets about her face, Ashley was gratefully sipping from a very large mug of hot chocolate.
She’d already fielded over a dozen emails from employees, asking about the rumours now swirling around that they might be able to keep their jobs.
She’d tried to call Ruth, but her phone kept switching to voicemail.
She’d get answers eventually, Ashley supposed, but it would have been nice to find out what Ruth knew—and to understand just what she was up against.
She’d also had six voicemails from various media outlets, asking her to comment on the video that had gone viral. It hadn’t taken long for her to figure out what they were talking about: a couple of clicks, and Ashley was watching Denise tearfully explain how much she needed her job.
A sigh escaped her, along with a weary and cynical chuckle.
So that was why Nico had changed his mind about dismantling Infinite Innovations.
Nothing to do with a change of heart or an interest in the inventions, but merely a way to control the damage to himself and his company. She should have guessed.
Ashley put her phone on mute and tossed it aside.
She was not going to talk to any media, she resolved, and she was going to do her best not to think about Nico Galletti until at least tomorrow morning.
For a few hours, she would enjoy numbing her brain with back-to-back episodes of Is It Cake?
and forget the wretched man even existed.
Surprise rippled through Nico as his limo pulled up in front of the decidedly dilapidated building on Fort Washington Avenue, up in the most northerly reaches of Manhattan.
This was not where he’d expected Ashley Woodward to live.
Yes, he’d suspected she’d fallen on harder times; but, considering the last time he’d seen her before today had been in the ballroom of her Park Avenue mansion, a box-like apartment in a less than salubrious neighbourhood on the very tip of Manhattan seemed like a fall too far.
Was this really where she lived—and why?
Her father might have lost the Woodward fortune, but there had to have been something left; something he’d squirrelled away in an offshore account for his family.
‘Marco, there’s no need to wait,’ he told his driver. ‘I’ll take an Uber back.’ If he could get one all the way up here.
Stepping out into the balmy spring evening, Nico raked his gaze up and down the street.
Cherry trees with blossoms like puffballs framed a trash-strewn pavement.
No, this was not the neighbourhood he’d expected Ashley Woodward to live in.
Once again, she’d surprised and unsettled him, and he was determined to get to the bottom of the mystery—tonight.
Frowning in thought, he mounted the crumbling stoop to her building and pressed the button for apartment 6B.
‘Yes?’ Her voice on the crackling intercom sounded cautious, as well as exhausted.
‘It’s Nico,’ he told her briefly, expecting her to buzz him up. Instead, there was only silence.
Then, finally, ‘What are you doing here?’