Chapter 10 #2
Anja sat opposite her, cross-legged in the armchair, leaning forward with the intense concentration of someone trying hard to follow a language she didn't fully possess. She did not sign well, but she tried, which, along with her insistence on coming all the way to the thirty-second floor to ask my brother if he knew anything about a certain Ella Brooks, told me how good of a friend she was. She watched Ella’s hands, frowned when she missed something, then offered her phone when words failed them both, allowing their conversation to move between signs, typed sentences, and lip-reading.
I had no objection to Anja visiting. Quite the opposite.
I believe, perhaps with more desperation than certainty, that seeing a friend who belonged to her life before captivity might help Ella remember she existed outside the orbit of trauma, doctors, guards, and my relentless need to control every variable around her.
I mean, that’s what I told myself, even though the truth was far less flattering.
I had been checking the feed every few minutes since I left the house. Compulsively, might I add.
Across the table, Oisín Byrne, my chief accountant, was in the middle of explaining market recovery with the precise diction of a man who knew more about math and equations than people.
He stood beside the wall screen, sleeves rolled to his forearms, brown hair combed back from his face, his Glasgow accent sharpening every time he pointed at the chart behind him.
Rain darkened the windows beyond him and smeared the city into vertical lines of steel and car lights.
“As you can see,” Oisín says, tapping the screen with the back of his pen, “we’re up one point from this morning’s position, which is not bad at all, considering half the city had us buried four days ago.
” On my phone, Ella’s hands move, and I should look away.
But I don’t. Her signing flows with the natural grace of someone who breathed ASL, while I can only transpose it into English.
Anja squints, missing part of it, and Ella slows down, then types something, then signs again.
That part, I caught.
I don’t think it’s a long-term thing, she signed.
My attention fractures. The meeting room continues around me, smelling faintly of coffee, portfolios and fresh croissants sitting in a basket in the middle of the table. Yet all I can think of is my girl, my silent princess, considering the possibility of leaving my home.
Nate is sitting to my right with one ankle crossed over his knee, his tie loosened slightly, while two senior analysts, legal counsel, and Oisín’s team study the charts of our current financial situation.
I’m absorbing information from two places at once: this room and the one twenty minutes away from here.
“As you can see,” Oisín continues, “the market has stopped panicking, but it has not resumed trusting us. Those are not the same thing, period.” Is my house starting to feel like another cage?
“Sir?” Oisín asks. I lock the screen and place it face down beside my folder. “That is not good enough,” I remark. Oisín lowered his pen slightly.
“A one-point recovery in this environment is not insignificant.”
“I did not say it was insignificant. I said it wasn’t enough.
We need a move substantial enough to alter public perception.
We’ve managed to stop the bleeding, which is good, but it is not enough.
” Nate glances at the phone, then at me, and because he’s been my brother longer than I had been capable of lying convincingly to him, his mouth flattens with understanding.
Everything was bleeding.
My company.
And me.
All around me, there are fires I have very little control over. I’m in constant first-aid mode, not knowing how long it will last, or if long-term survival is even in the picture. Strictly company-wise speaking. Obviously.
“I’ve got a lead on a merger that could help with that,” Nate adds.
“Thanks, Oisín. Really, that was insightful, as always. Send me the updated exposure report, and I’ll look more into it.
” The screen changes as Nate takes over, slide after slide replacing Oisín’s recovery charts with a possible merger structure, capital injection timeline, and press strategy to spin the odds in our favor.
“Reminder, everyone,” Nate clasps his hands. “Agency. We have it, we use it.” If my mother knew, she would say it was a sign from her angels above, making sure the word was hammered into my brain often enough.
Ella needs it from me. We haven't talked about her leaving, and it's only been a few days, but I need to mentally prepare myself.
If she wants to leave my house, I have to let her.
If she wants to come back, it has to be because she chooses to.
Who I am in this world, or how much I can give her, can’t weigh into the delicate balance of us.
Although reasonable and logical, the thought is just as unbearable as pouring gasoline over myself and striking a match at the same time.
Blood drains from my face as I picture my home without her.
I can’t. It would be empty, not only of a person, but of all the things she is.
If I play my cards right, I will get to witness that. To witness life with her.
“You’re still coming tomorrow, right?” Nate asks, his voice entering the fog with practiced irritation. I blink at him.
“Tomorrow?” His eyebrows rise.
“Maddie’s birthday. Shit, don’t tell me you forgot.”
“Calm down. Her present is in my safe.”
“You’d better. She’s beyond excited. I had to go buy all sorts of stuff around town to respect the theme.”
“Which is…”
“Firefighters and princesses.”
“Firefighters and princesses? Both?”
“Don’t.” He lifts a finger. “I already spent a week trying to tell her that it wouldn’t work, but then, you know, what do I know?
Mom used to hold garden parties with champagne fountains and canapés, and those were so boring.
At least Maddie chose this herself, and I think it’ll be fun.
She has friends coming after lunch.” A smile tugs at my lips.
My brother, the picture-perfect finance guy organizing princess parties.
Why does that not surprise me? Nate has always been good with people.
And I did not lie, though. I found Maddie’s gift a month ago when I was visiting Prattscreek and had to stop for Matt to fix something with the car in the middle of nowhere, between a gas station, a supermarket, and a bookstore.
I browsed the young adult section until I found a series I used to read when I was her age, given to me by one of our nannies.
A fantastic tale about a group of friends searching for a treasure in a magical land.
I’ll bet Maddie will spend hours on end reading it, even if Nate is not going to be happy about it.
Getting to be the fun uncle, although surprising, is kind of a flex I would like to keep for as long as possible.
“And, um, she asked if…if Ella would be there,” Nate adds, tapping the side of his index on the edge of the desk. “It’s, you know, kind of a big deal for her to have someone else like her there.” I look down at the phone.
“Might be too soon for her.”
“Why? Isn’t she tired of staying in your house like a prisoner?” I glare at him.
“She isn’t…” Pressing the bridge of my nose, because of course Nate is the only person who manages to slide under my skin, always pressing the right button.
“Relax,” he says. “It’ll be fine. And Mom will be…Mom, but I guess it’s better Ella sees it now rather than later, when it’s too late.”
“Too late?”
“When she has your ring around her finger.”
“You haven’t even met her. Why do you assume…” He raises his eyebrow with a don’t give me bullshit kind of look, to which I do not answer. I crack my neck, massaging my nape with a wince.
“Tough night?”
“My back hurts like hell.”
“Why? Are you sleeping on the floor or something?” He scoffs, and I prevent myself from admitting the truth, that yes, I am, because that is the only place I can be near her without pushing her boundaries.
“And by the way, it’s kind of creepy to watch her on your phone,” he adds, pointing under the table with a knowing look.
I would very much like, under different circumstances, to give him a piece of my mind, but since Nate lost the love of his life two years ago, I do not shoot back.
“Just saying,” he continues, “she should at least know about the cameras.”
“She knows.” This time, it is his turn to be speechless.
He stutters once before leaning back. “Okay…wow, yeah, not weird, you guys are not weird at all.” Leaving on that note, we both head to our respective offices when my phone resounds with Kathy’s voice.
“I have Brenton on line two.” I press the designated line, closing the door of my office, which is more often open in case one of my executives wants to talk to me.
“Brenton.”
“Mr. Ashford,” he says. “You’re on speaker. I have Deputy Garron with me.” I stand near the desk, above the speaker, scanning traffic and people with dark umbrellas on the sidewalks.
“Deputy Garron,” I rasps, reminding myself that I could handle everything with private security, but if I were to do it myself, it would end in a bloodbath and I’m not sure that’s the safest outcome for everyone.
Moreover, knowing Cole could spend the rest of his life locked inside a cell similar to the one he imposed on Ella would actually give me peace, and perhaps offer the same to her.