3. Asher
THREE
ASHER
“Janette?”
“Yes, Mr. Egan?”
My assistant Janette shuffles into my office, her tight pencil skirt shifting against her thighs with every step. She stands in the doorway, with her phone resting in her hand, ready to jot down any notes I give her. She blows out a quick breath and stiffens her spine as I lean back in my chair before turning my attention to the city outside my window.
“I thought you were going to email me the details for the Knight account,” I say between gritted teeth. My head pounds as I loosen my tie around my neck.
“I was just going to, sir.” I hear Janette’s long nails tapping on her screen. “Mr. Knight sent an email yesterday afternoon with all the information you requested. Once I’m at my computer, I’ll forward it over.”
“Why didn’t you send them over immediately?” I ask in a tight voice, curling my fingers. I can’t help it; I’m tense as fuck this morning. I also know why, but I’m trying to push the reason to the back of my mind. I’m trying to pretend the life I’ve built over the past ten years didn’t come barreling into me, knocking me on my fucking ass.
Ever since last night, I’ve been out of sorts. Despite my efforts, I’m failing miserably at not letting it affect my work.
I spin in my chair and stare at Janette, waiting for her answer as I raise my eyebrows in anticipation, my nerves getting the better of me. I realize I’m not always the best when it comes to cordial interactions when it comes to matters of business, but deep down I know Janette doesn’t deserve the mood I’m giving her.
“Well?”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Egan.” She blinks several times, and her neck bobs dramatically as she swallows. “The email didn’t come through until after I left yesterday. I’d only just come by it after I’d arrived this morning and was sifting through my emails.”
“Fine.” I hold my hand up.
She gives me a curt nod. “Is there anything else you need me to do?” Her soft voice fills the large office. Her dedication to working for me stems from years of proving she can handle my mood swings and tough work ethic.
When I first established my firm back in Los Angeles six years ago, my first assistant Francine rushed out of my office in tears after I told her the one appointment she’d failed to put in my calendar cost me a ten-million-dollar sale. I’d never seen her after that day, and I swore I would never hire another assistant as incompetent as her again.
So far, Janette has proven to be better than Francine. She’s testing my patience today with her lack of hustle regarding Weston Knight’s email, though. It’s a well-known fact that New York real estate is a dog-eat-dog world, and landing Weston Knight as a client has been a goal of mine ever since I arrived in the city all those months ago.
But despite my frustration with Janette, I know it’s something else entirely that has me bothered. One woman in particular has been on my mind since I saw her last night. The only woman I’ve ever allowed to see what’s beyond the surface. Although letting her in burned both of us, it’s clear after last night that the scars of our past lives are still very evident.
I knew coming to New York City was risky. I knew Charleigh was here, wedged in among the millions of people packed between steel and concrete, but I figured the chances of my past catching up to me were slim to none in a city of over eight million. Last night, however, proved me wrong.
Now, I can’t get her out of my head. The way her body has clearly changed since the last time I touched her. Her curves have widened, and her eyes have somehow brightened. Her gaze shot straight to places that have sat dormant for years. Places I’ve refused to acknowledge. It seems I’m now caught between the man I’ve become and the boy I used to be when it comes to Charleigh. I’m all sorts of fucked up this morning.
“Sir?” Janette asks.
I snap my head up to focus on the New York skyline on display for me through my floor to ceiling office window after realizing I zoned out.
“No, I don’t need anything else.” I take a deep breath and turn my attention back to my computer. “But I’ll need that email within the hour. I’m supposed to be meeting Holt for lunch, and I want it sent to me before then.” I click on my internet tab, pulling up a search engine.
“Of course.” Janette dips her head and shuffles across the tile floor without another word.
My fingers hover over the keyboard. I’m ready to type in Weston’s name, but the piece of my brain I’ve been fighting against all morning urges me to type a certain name starting with a ‘C’ instead.
Deciding on neither name, I open the listing database for the city. When I’m stressed, it’s the perfect place for a distraction.
I immediately begin sifting through the hundreds of available listings in the area. Every few photos, I find myself raising my eyebrows, scrutinizing every little detail of each one. New York’s real estate is quite different from southern California’s. Every building seems cold and dark. Some pictures are even shrouded in a backdrop of deep gray clouds and rain. I take note of several properties that catch my eye. I may not know exactly what Weston Knight is looking for, but I can at least tab a few just in case.
I’ve flagged nearly ten properties when I come across one unlike any other. The description says the building is in Lower Manhattan, opposite to where my office is. I’m not sure what pulls me to it. Maybe it’s because it doesn’t look like any of the other listings I see in the price range I’ve chosen. It’s in a neighborhood I’m unfamiliar with, too, and the price is outrageous, even for New York City.
I open a separate window and Google the address to see what the surrounding area looks like.
My eyes widen when I see it’s in a less-than-stellar neighborhood. Everything about it is run down. Most of the buildings look vacant and abandoned, at least in the immediate vicinity. Beside the vacant office space for sale, there’s a tall, brick building at least twenty stories high. It looks as if it’s a dilapidated apartment building. For a moment, I think it’s just another forgotten piece of the city left behind to fall apart by the more up-and-coming surrounding districts, but it isn’t. The picture captures a moment in time—one where a woman is walking out the thick black door, with a little boy latched onto her hand. I’m staring at the boy and his mother, wondering what their story is. How did they end up living in a place like that? Clicking on the image, I swivel it back around to the office space and narrow my eyes, studying the neighborhood even more. In the distance I can see bright lights and cleaner streets. It’s not pretty, but it’s workable.
I go back to the listing on my other open tab. The agent definitely has this place way overpriced.
“Oh,” my best friend’s voice booms from my open office door. “Don’t tell me I caught you actually working.”
I look up to find Holt standing in the doorway, leaning against the doorframe, with his arms crossed, the sleeves of his suit jacket stretched.
I laugh and close out my screen, relaxing back into my chair. “Only every now and then.”
“Are you kidding?” His eyebrows shoot into his forehead. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you not working.”
I shrug off Holt’s comment, not wanting to dig into it any further. He isn’t my therapist, and I don’t want to dive into that one.
I run my fingers through my hair and stand before grabbing my suit jacket from where it’s draped across the back of my chair and tossing it on. For the past few years, I’ve grown accustomed to wearing suits every day. At times, it feels foreign. It’s hard to believe there were days I only had three different shirts to wear, nearly every single one littered with holes. The suit glides onto my body effortlessly as I slide each arm into the sleeves. It fits me perfectly, just how I like it. I adjust the cuff links and glance up at my best friend.
“We’re still on for lunch, right?” I ask, desperately needing to put as much distance between me and my computer as possible. The temptation to dig into Charleigh’s life since our split is eating away at me.
“Definitely.” He hitches his thumb over his shoulder. “I have a meeting in my board room in about an hour, so we’re good as long as we don’t go far. ”
I frown, having hoped Holt would have agreed to a restaurant farther from my office and my damn computer. Maybe then I could shake off the shock of seeing Charleigh or acknowledging how it has had me all fucked up all day.
But I’m a fool in thinking my phone won’t be enough temptation to look her up at some point.
“Did you have a chance to speak with Weston Knight? My assistant said he sent her an email and she’s forwarding it to me this morning. I’m assuming that means you talked to him.” I shift the topic to a more pragmatic, business-minded one. Anything to forget the curves of Charleigh’s body and how muscle memory seemed to kick into high fucking gear last night.
“I did.” Holt sniffs. “He’s the reason I had to bail on our meeting last night.”
“Oh?” I raise my eyebrows and give Holt a knowing nod. “I was wondering why you would recommend a client informally without showing up. At least it was for a good reason.”
Holt must sense my bitterness. He gives me a quizzical expression as the creases in his forehead deepen. “You still met up with Charleigh, though, right?”
I move past him and head straight for the elevator, ignoring his interrogation. Well, he’s asking a simple question, but any conversation on the topic of Charleigh is anything but simple. It’s complicated as fuck.
“No.” I glance over my shoulder, shooting him a straight lie. “She didn’t show.” The lie sits like acid on the tip of my tongue, but every aspect of my past burns a piece of my soul. I’ve learned it’s easiest to just ignore.
“That’s strange. Julianna told me she was there. She said she was on the phone with her while Charleigh was looking for you. You must have missed her.”
“Mm,” I hum while passing Janette’s desk outside my office. I don’t acknowledge her on my way out or tell her I’ m leaving for lunch. Instead, I glance at my watch to distract myself, realizing we’re leaving for lunch earlier than usual.
“So?” Holt asks once we reach the elevators.
I lean forward and press the call button before shoving my hands in my pockets. I stare up at the light, watching the numbers tick by. “So, what?”
“Did you miss her?”
His question is a heavy weight on my shoulder. I want to shake it off, but I know if I don’t answer him, he won’t let up, and I won’t be able to get my answer about Weston Knight.
I shrug, still unable to look my best friend in the eye. “I guess so.”
“Oh, well, I’ll message my sister and see if we can set up another meeting.” From my peripheral, I watch him tug his phone from his pocket. He’s tapping on the screen as the elevator dings and the doors slide open.
“You don’t have to do that.” I step inside the four golden walls.
Emotion is thick in my throat. The chambers of my heart and lungs seize with the memories of a tragic past that nearly suffocated me. Suddenly, I’m faced with a cold, hard truth as I stare at my reflection in the elevator’s mirrored wall.
Charleigh is a reminder of the person I used to be, of a life that no longer exists. A life I walked away from. The Asher who once belonged to Charleigh is no more. I haven’t been him for a long time, and I don’t want to be.
“It’s fine,” Holt says. “I’ll text Julianna and see what she thinks.”
My stomach churns.
I close my eyes and am immediately pulled back to last night.
Charleigh’s standing in front of me wearing a bright yellow peacoat and a black skirt. She stood out from the crowd, and if I hadn’t been so focused on my phone when she walked up to my table, I would have spotted her from a mile away. That part about Charleigh hasn’t changed in ten years—her ability to wear the most obnoxious colors yet still look sexy as hell. Her floral scent surrounded me, making it impossible to concentrate on anything else besides her pink-painted lips and her red, rosy cheeks.
My cock twitches, and I snap my eyes open, forcing myself to shove the memory away.
Fuuuuuuck.
When I look back at my reflection, I see Holt leaning against the back of the elevator.
He’s still typing out a message on his phone as the elevator carries us down to the lobby.
Holt has been a friend of mine since I graduated from UCLA with my bachelor’s before transferring to Columbia for my graduate degree. We were both completely shit faced at a fundraising gala for the New York City Mayor at the time. The mayor who also happened to be Holt’s dad.
Born from generational wealth, Holt is most likely a friend I wouldn’t have imagined having before I became the person I am now. Not because we wouldn’t have gotten along, but because Holt’s world simply never touched the one I had growing up. A world I forced myself to walk away from, even if coping through the trauma of my childhood hasn’t exactly been healthy.
Connecticut left me with deep, gaping wounds, and I searched for every piece of thread I could find to stitch myself back together. If I wasn’t studying my ass off in business school, I was fucking any woman willing to give me the time of day. I haven’t been interested in a relationship in years, and I don’t plan on starting now. Holt should know this… I think.
I haven’t told him about my past, before I came into the wealth I have now. He’s never asked, and I’ve never willingly offered it up to him. The dark, ugly pieces of the past are easier to deal with when kept to myself.
If Holt thought last night could possibly be anything other than a business meeting, he was wrong. Very, very wrong.
I lean against the wall of the elevator and study him, trying to search for any indication that he knows about mine and Charleigh’s past. For all I know, Charleigh could have told Julianna all about me and our sordid past, then Julianna could have told her brother. Is Holt fishing for information, or is he simply curious about how the night went?
I need to fucking stop thinking about Charleigh.
I’m not so lucky when we step out onto the sidewalk, though. The air isn’t as cold as it was last night. The sun beats down on my skin, and I wince against the bright light peeking through the enormous buildings surrounding us.
“Done.” Holt says, slipping his phone back into his pocket.
“What’s done?”
“I asked Julianna if she could talk to Charleigh about scheduling another time to meet.”
I roll my eyes, frustration boiling over. “Seriously, man. It’s fine.”
“Well,” Holt continues, annoyed with my stubbornness. “I think you’ll find this more than fine when I tell you about my idea for a different time.”
I pause, eyeing him in the elevator.
“It has to do with Weston Knight.”
My heart jumps. Now he has my attention.
He smirks. “Weston is holding a soft launch of his new beer garden over in SoHo in a couple of days. I thought it would be a good time for you to meet him and establish a rapport outside of a business setting. The man is sort of hard to pin down unless it’s on his time.”
I swallow my nerves and stare at my best friend as the elevator stops on the first floor. The doors slide open, and Holt is the first to step out, passing me to head into the lobby. He half turns, waiting for me to catch up before we both head out of the building.
Merrick, the valet, holds the door open for us, nodding in acknowledgement. The cool midday air hits my face as soon as my feet hit the sidewalk.
“Soft launch, huh?” I say to Holt.
“Yep,” he says, popping his mouth. “Since this is West’s eleventh restaurant opening, he’s sort of decided to stop making them a big deal. He likes to fly under the radar like that.”
I nod in understanding. Before my life changed, when my world revolved around Charleigh, I used to live mine the same way. Completely in the shadows. Until Charleigh brought me out into the light.
“Well, now that we have Weston Knight nailed down, will you reconsider working with Charleigh?”
I scrunch my nose and stop walking when we reach the café less than a block from mine and Holt’s office. I look up at the neon sign, anything to avoid looking at my friend. “I don’t know. Maybe she’s better off working with another real estate agent.”
“Are you joking, man?” Holt asks, forcing me to look at him. “ Fortune just listed you as number two on their list of top one hundred fastest-growing companies. If it wasn’t for that fucker Cyrus Temper, you’d have been number one.”
Thinking about Cyrus makes my skin crawl and my blood pressure rise. He is New York’s top real estate executives, and my number one rival in this industry.
I shake my head. “Fucking Cyrus.”
“Right?” Holt scoffs. “So, what I’m saying is, you’re the perfect realtor to help Charleigh. If you want to be the best and take that rightful place in Fortune , you’re going to need every high-profile client you can get.”
I raise my eyebrows. Charleigh is considered high-profile? Probably has to do with her family ties and the fact she carries the Keeler name.
Eyeing Holt, I give him a smile. “Well, damn, Holt. With how hard you’re selling me clients, you think you want to trade your title as head of that magazine you’re running up there and come work for me?”
Holt tips his head back in laughter. “Yeah, right. There’s no way I’d give up my job.”
I shrug, and his face falls back into a serious expression.
“Besides,” he continues, “I thought you never turned clients away.”
“I don’t, but…” I slide my hands into my pockets, dart my eyes over Holt’s shoulder, and zone out, thinking about what to do. On one hand, I don’t want to hurt Holt by telling him no. On the other, I’m not sure I want to see Charleigh again. I’m not sure I can handle it. Walking away from her the first time was difficult, and I’ve moved on. Seeing her drags up old feelings and the promise I made to myself the day I left. Seeing Charleigh again would jeopardize it all.
How do you go back on a promise you made ten years ago?
A broken heart never fully mends itself. Even if I’m the one who caused the wounds in the first place.
“I’ll think about it.”