Chapter 5
Chapter Five
D riving her sedan the long way from the parking lot to the highway via backroads and then exiting from the ramps, might have been a poor choice. Ashley didn’t really need more time to think about her actions or, more accurately, inactions. Her chosen path provided sixty uninterrupted minutes of consideration.
When Christopher had told her his idea, he had been so cute and calm. She remembered everything she loved about him. From the way his eyebrows drew into a solid line to the firm set of his chin, he was his most adorable on a mission. Maybe to others he was intimidating, but not to her.
He had hardly aged, his slim and trim figure still taut in his tailored suit. All those years of sitting behind a desk all day had not affected him physically. He must have maintained his running routine.
She watched enough rom-com movies to picture bumping into him under the guise of following her own exercise regimen. She’d wear something cute, tight, and short and strike up a conversation. Anything for a repeat of the way he looked at her.
When he had stared at her mouth, his eyes held a simmering heat, like melted gold. Good. She wasn’t the only one all too aware of the other. Using their attraction for her purposes would only burn them both. She’d let her mind wander and forgot the important thing: he stood in her way.
For the moment, she didn’t have any other option besides following his lead. While she never lacked an idea, she wasn’t ever sure of the response and effectiveness of a plan before she moved on to the next. She had never trivialized her time by considering outside perspectives.
To secure her future, however, she needed a different approach. She needed to listen and learn first. If the town really didn’t like Christopher, maybe her comment about waiting him out wasn’t so far off base. Besides, she had enjoyed a hot meal, a soft bed, and standing under a warm shower. She wasn’t eager to leave the comfort of the Inn.
And he wasn’t half bad at laundry. She’d be tempted to give him the Victorian nightgown for a cleaning if she hadn’t tossed it already. A shudder shook her from her head to her toes. When she had picked out the garment, she had no idea she’d nearly die in it. She wasn’t wearing nightgowns ever again.
He might suspect foul play among their neighbors, but she knew better. The lighthouse was most definitely haunted. After packing her bags, she dressed, reapplied her makeup, and strolled to his office.
If she’d been worried her pink, seersucker sundress, espadrilles, and wavy hair tied with a thick, satin ribbon had been too much, she reveled in the appreciative glint in his eye. The slow rake of his gaze over her figure was like a caress. As long as she could throw him off track, she had a chance. The power dynamics between them might be more evenly distributed than she realized. Or they reached a new level of personability in their estrangement.
He had recollected himself, created a momentary diversion, and whisked her off the property in his car, dropping her at the parking lot. She had almost convinced herself he intended to throw her into the bushes like an unwelcome guest on a 90s sitcom. His frown upon taking in the state of her vehicle almost had her questioning her nerve for the whole endeavor. She couldn’t keep sweating through her clothes whenever she needed to fetch the vehicle. She’d have to deal with his opinion with a solid dollop of her own instinctual snobbery. Old money wasn’t flashy.
She tightened her grip on the steering wheel of her little sedan. The same vehicle she’d left Loon Lake in. It was a little beat up after parallel parking in various urban locations for the past decade. But she still loved it. Her loyalty was unimpeachable. If he didn’t understand that, then more fool him.
She signaled and turned onto the drive leading to the front of the Inn. She hadn’t asked him what he’d been up to for the past decade. Work was the obvious answer. The likelihood he’d found another woman in their tiny town to replace her was slim. Ten years was a long time. Should I worry? Had he strayed from our vows?
Surely, the vague, faceless female wouldn’t want to live in a studio apartment in Ashley’s family business. Wouldn’t she be worried about the ghosts? Or, at the very least, aware she’d be subject to constant comparison?
Only if I have any loyal friends left at the Inn.
Ashley slowed the car and parked in the circular drive, leaving the engine humming as a valet approached. From her quick tour through the office and apartment last night, she had spotted no stray hair ties or discarded garments strewn around the place. Not that another woman would be so blatant about her presence, per se, but she’d have to know she was a mistress and want to leave some sort of evidence of her existence behind, right? Like marking her territory with a lacy bra or pair of high heels? Were all mistresses inherently as sexy as the women on soap operas?
Unless it’s Elise McKenna.
If Ashley hadn’t parked, she would have rolled the car into a tree. Her heavy limbs stopped working. A shudder wracked her body. The town’s ice queen, and the only potential rival for her husband’s affection, wouldn’t waste her time being messy. Oh no, Elise was cool perfection.
Ashley had never been a fan of the other woman’s staid demeanor and vice versa. Thrown together often because of their age and the limited number of females, the pair had never warmed to each other. No amount of cajoling and sleepovers had worked. To her father’s chagrin, Ashley had preferred to spend her time wreaking havoc with her sidekick, Christopher.
Christopher had often tried to include Elise in their schemes and games. He brought her up in their childhood conversations often. He’d always had a soft spot for the practical, serious Elise.
Ashley had no idea what might have happened during her absence. Perhaps, with his pushy wife gone, he had finally found the right moment to pursue something with Elise. No. Ashley gritted her teeth and willed her imagination to stop. She had her own twisty road to destiny, and it started now. The other woman would find herself out of luck.
The valet opened the door.
The young-ish-looking man in a crisp white shirt, black tie, black vest, and black pants waited patiently outside as she swung her legs out of the vehicle.
He extended his hand.
She didn’t recognize him.
“Are you a guest, ma’am?”
Ma’am? She glanced in the rearview mirror. Hadn’t she done a decent enough job with her makeup to hide the fine lines around her mouth and the bags under her eyes? Her concealer was a little cakey. Her shimmer eyeshadow was thick.
She pressed together her lips, refreshing the color and her resolve. “I am the owner. Mrs. Hale-Lewis. Please have a bellhop grab my bags from the trunk.” She lifted her chin and accepted his help out of her car.
The youth widened his amber eyes but bowed and extended her a claim for the sedan. He gestured for a bellhop and popped the trunk. “Very good, Mrs. Hale-Lewis.”
She almost smiled. To irritate her father, she’d taken Christopher’s last name. Online, and soon enough in real life too, she’d be Ms. Hale again. He was probably drafting divorce papers as he waited for her grand entrance. She liked hearing her married last name while she could.
She stepped onto the curb behind the bellhop, who was pushing a cart with her bag. She scanned the entrance of the Inn, emotion catching in her throat. Too much of her life, identity, and soul were wrapped up in the bright, white building. Hiding in the shadows, she hadn’t had a genuine opportunity to process the monumental shift in her life. This was hers now. And the future had never been more wide open or terrifying.
Without her father to supplement her life with a monthly allowance, she was truly on her own. The poor-little-rich-girl status would not win her any supporters. Despite that, for the first time ever, she was in control of her choices and her fate.
She strolled inside the automatic doors to the lobby and breathed deep the scent of cut lilacs and hyacinths, releasing a delicate perfume. The large, open space held the reception and concierge desks to one wall, a large seating area opening to the porch in the back, and at the side, the entrance to the restaurant.
The bellhop had stopped at the reception desk. Chatting with the woman behind the high counter, he tipped his head toward Ashley. The woman met her gaze and offered a tense smile.
Ashley didn’t recognize her either. Never mind, she plastered on her biggest smile and approached the stranger at the concierge desk. Fake it till you make it propelled her through her hardest challenges. This moment didn’t even crack the top ten.
“Good morning,” she greeted the man in the suit, standing before his desk. “I am Ashley Hale-Lewis, owner of the Inn. See that the Gardenia Suite is prepared for me and my bags brought upstairs.” She tipped her head. “Thank you.”
She strolled across the marble tiles, her espadrilles silent as she floated to the dining room. She tried her best to channel every rom-com heroine she’d grown up watching. Too bad she didn’t have on a great hat, her arms laden with shopping bags to inform everyone of their huge mistake.
As she stepped over the threshold, from tile to patterned carpet, she dropped her shoulders and enjoyed her first actual smile in a long time.
Standing at the host stand, his mustache as neatly combed as his hair, Pierre Leduc checked through a ledger. He lifted his head. And did a double-take.
“Good afternoon, Pierre,” she said. Finally, one familiar face. The tight coil in her tummy released. She hadn’t anticipated how much would change at the Inn. The business always experienced turnover, but she hadn’t understood the extent.
The building was cool and efficient, just like Christopher. From the outside, she hadn’t seen the transformation. Growing up, the Inn had reflected her father’s often cheeky demeanor. Since her husband assumed control, however, the operation permeated with logic. She missed the playfulness of the past.
“Madam Ashley,” Pierre stammered. He stepped out from behind the stand. “How may I help?”
“Right now, I’d love a good table.”
“But of course.” He turned and snapped at a few servers, pointing toward the window. “Please, right this way.”
She smiled and lifted her chin higher. She couldn’t lose her nerve or drop the false bravado. As much as she wanted to retreat upstairs and hide in the comfortable bed again, she couldn’t be defeated. She’d have to show no weakness in front of the staff. No doubt the spies had already run upstairs to inform him of what was happening.
As she passed tables full of diners, she nodded and took the seat selected for her overlooking the lawn. She’d order and then make a big show of asking the guests about their stays. When he came down, he’d witness that she’d followed his plan with her own deviations.
If all was fair in love and war, she’d fire the first shot.
* * *
What did it mean that Ashley drove the same car? Clinging to the past?
Christopher wished he didn’t care. Safely back in his office after escorting her off the property before anyone realized she was here, he had turned the question over in his mind on a terrible loop. He wanted to turn off his brain and stop analyzing every piece of information.
His subconscious had other ideas, working overtime to fill in the gaps about her life. Her semi-frequent social media updates and occasional blog posts presented a rosy picture. He’d fooled himself into thinking he had the full scope of her world through her updates. He heard her voice in every description.
She’d had roommates over the years and kept the Inn as her reference for every job. He’d intercepted most of those phone calls, providing a good recommendation. With every call, he’d wanted to reach out and ask her to come back. But her father hadn’t relented on his stubborn stance that she’d beg to return. And Christopher knew his equally willful wife would expect a tearful plea to come home before she entertained the idea.
But Christopher had often feared her pride would ruin her. How much had she depended on the allowance he sent her for her basic expenses? Slowly, he realized how much he didn’t know about her despite trying to stay informed.
Another thought chilled him. Was the car not a choice but a necessity? If she had funds, would she have bought a newer vehicle? What if I hadn’t wired money to her account ? Xavier had been explicit that money would not follow her off the property. But Christopher couldn’t help himself. Good thing, too. He didn’t want to think about her being destitute. How was that even a possibility? She was clever and quick-witted. She could charm her way out of any situation. As a kid, he’d been annoyed. As a teen and adult, he’d leaned into her skillset.
Why had she returned? She always waxed poetic about a fresh start. As far as he could tell, she’d enjoyed about fifteen. He didn’t want to think her coming here was truly her last option.
Because she simply couldn’t stay. He’d survived because of the distance. With her close, she threatened the equilibrium of his carefully ordered life. Quitting her had taken him years. And he’d fall into his addiction all over again at the first flutter of her eyelashes. He wasn’t leaving. He’d never dreamt of a better life somewhere new. As far as he was concerned, he liked history. Everyone knew him and vice versa. For better or worse, he never fought at the constraints of their small town. Even when some of the townsfolk would gladly push him out with a little help from his wife.
He wouldn’t think about that now. They would find a way towards a better future for both of them. It wouldn’t be together. Because now that she was back, they could resolve their business and officially move on. Legally. All the ties cut forever. Had she moved on already? Had there been others in the past ten years? She was fun and flirty without ever realizing how intoxicating those qualities were.
And now she’d be free to pursue whatever her next path was. He would too, although he didn’t see any change from the past decade. He wanted a family, but he couldn’t imagine one that didn’t include her. She came back looking for a fight, not friendship. He couldn’t let himself get confused.
The phone rang on his desk.
He stopped in front of the window overlooking the lake and crossed the room. He picked up on the third ring. “Hello, Christopher Lewis speaking.”
“Mr. Lewis, there is a woman downstairs claiming to own the Inn and requesting the Gardenia Suite.”
Christopher smiled. He appreciated the tone of outrage in the concierge, Mr. Brixen’s, voice and could picture Ashley waltzing in through the door, making quite the entrance. She’d done exactly as he asked. So why did he have a strange tingle along his spine like he wouldn’t approve of the result? Because she’s never really followed any of my plans without her own spin. He cleared his throat. “Where did she go?”
“She walked straight to the restaurant, sir. Should I have someone run after her and kick her out?”
A knock pounded on the door.
“No, thank you, Mr. Brixen. Please see that the room is ready for her, and I will take care of the situation.” He hung up the phone and sat behind his desk. He interlaced his hands on the desktop, assuming a position of cool confidence and intractable power. “Enter.”
Pierre Leduc strolled into the room, leaving the door ajar behind him.
“Pierre? Is everything all right?” Christopher asked. It was unlike the man to leave his post. Ever.
“She’s back.” Pierre sputtered and took several steps into the room, twisting his hands together. “She’s sitting in the restaurant.”
“It’s really her?” Christopher tried to instill his voice with as much wonder and surprise as he thought others expected. The truth was, he didn’t overly concern himself with outside opinions. He felt like the husband on a crime show being interrogated by the police. They would analyze his reaction for guilt or innocence ad nauseam for the entire sixty-minute program. He owed everyone a show.
Pierre nodded.
At least Christopher convinced one person. Besides himself. He wouldn’t give her the satisfaction of his heartbeat skipping. “Very well,” he said. He pulled open a drawer and found the folder he’d spent last night compiling. He pushed away from his desk, and gripping the portfolio in his hands, strode toward the center of his office and waved to the door. “Please lead the way, Pierre.”
The ma?tre d’ turned and looked slightly more confident than he had upon arrival.
Besides a few cleaning staff, Pierre was one of the last people who remembered Ashley. Everyone had heard of the epic fights between Xavier and his only child. Only a few employees remained who had witnessed the rows.
If Pierre expected a big, elaborate show of force from Christopher, the ma?tre d’ would be disappointed. He would officially start the way he meant to go on. Giving her a chance, for show, while working behind the scenes to ensure a settlement everyone could live with.
He knew she wouldn’t be happy with it. But neither would he if he was honest. He never wanted to be in a situation where one of them won at the other’s expense. But Xavier took that choice away from them.
He followed the ma?tre d’ down the guest stairs and corridors.
Pierre turned toward him at the base of the stairs in the lobby. “Do you think she’ll really attempt a takeover?”
Christopher smiled, adjusting his grip on the documents he prepared for her job. “Doubtful.”
He nodded at the staff and strode through the lobby and into the restaurant. Her light laugh danced in the air, bouncing off the crystals in the chandeliers and mixing with the clinking of utensils in a symphony of pleasure. He hung along the walnut paneled walls, skirting the perimeter of the room.
Everyone else hung on her words.
She’d amassed quite the gathering in the center of the room.
Servers and guests turned toward her or stood nearby.
With broad hand gestures and energetic facial expressions, she told some sort of lively story. She was charming. It was hard to turn away from her under normal circumstances. When she was on her best behavior, she was the most captivating person in the room. He ground together his molars.
He forgot about that. If he’d expected her to be off her game after he rescued her, he’d underestimated who he was dealing with. He worked hard to develop his go-to small talk starters, filling a notebook in his desk with ideas. Greeting guests didn’t come naturally, but he attempted to improve his people skills and practiced for hours. She started on top. With a sincerity to her cleverness, she was witty and warm, never condescending or off-putting. How? He’d analyzed her for years and never learned her secrets.
“Sir?” Pierre whispered at his side.
“Not here. Let her know her suite will be ready, and I’ll stop by later. Please tell Mr. Brixen?”
Pierre nodded and backed away.
Christopher gave himself one last look at her in her element. And then he continued along the perimeter until he reached the glass door leading to the porch and saw himself out. He made his way to inspect the lighthouse and look for clues. He’d almost welcome a ghost today. Rather an apparition to confront than the ghosts plaguing him from inside his head.
He didn’t get to simper and smile and order room service. He had a business to run. Unlike his wife, he had control. And he wouldn’t forget it.