I’ve come this far, I might as well keep going now. I shake my head and smile.
“It wasn’t a request,” she adds. “Get out and don’t come back here. Oh, and by the way, you’re far too old for that preppy schoolboy outfit.”
Despite myself, I can’t help but glance down at my khaki slacks and shirt. It’s neither preppy, nor school boy. “I’m not about to take fashion advice from someone who looks like she dumpster dives for her clothes.”
“Oh, you’re one of them,” Ashley leers, nodding to herself.
She doesn’t elaborate, and although I know I am playing right into her hands, I have to ask, “One of what?”
“One of them who will wear anything with a designer label. Because if Ralph Lauren or Gucci tells them it’s acceptable, then it must be. I think the word for that is clone,” she finishes with great satisfaction.
I don’t know whether to be angry that she thinks I actually have no style of my own, or impressed because she is so feisty.
Before I decide, she smiles sweetly at me. “This meeting is over. Have a good day.” She flips open a file sitting in front of her, dismissing me. Very likely, she has no idea which file it even is.
It’s a dismissal tactic I’ve used several times myself over the years, but I’m not one to be dismissed. “So you’re not interested in hearing about the proposition I have for you?” I ask coolly.
Ashley glances up from the file and shakes her head. “Nope. I have zero interest in anything you have to say.”
I shrug my shoulders and stand up. “It always strikes me as a shame when people running charities let their emotions get in the way of what could amount to a sizable donation of sorts, but never mind. There are plenty of charities who could use the money.”
“Wait,” Ashley calls as I turn away.
I turn back, one eyebrow raised.
She swallows hard and tries to smile. “Donation? I guess I could spare five minutes.”
Just then, something odd happens inside me. I want to make it hard for her. I want to see her beg me to rip her ugly skirt off, open her legs, and fuck her hard on her desk. Jesus! Where the fuck did that come from? The stress must have gotten to me. I am literally going insane. Slightly disorientated by the unwanted images inside my head, I sit back down. I rub the back of my neck to compose myself, then meet her eyes. “I told you earlier I’m not a total stranger, and that’s true.” I extend my hand over the desk.
Ashley takes it, eyeing me somewhat warily.
“I’m Finn Jagger, Arthur Jagger’s grandson.”
Her eyes widen slightly as she releases my hand.
I go on, “And you’re the granddaughter of Walter Winters, my grandfather’s business partner, correct?”
Startled and confused, she nods. “Yes, but I haven’t spoken to my family in years. Not since I decided I didn’t want to marry a monkey in a suit.”
I shift uncomfortably in my chair. This is going to be even harder than I thought.
“It’s funny,” she carries on, “how I was the golden child of my family until I decided I wanted to do something worthwhile with my life,” she admits, bitterly. She catches herself revealing too much, and gives her head a little shake.
I decide to gloss over the moment and try to take away a little of her discomfort. “It’s okay. Some people just aren’t cut out to marry into the corporate world. It’s hard. It takes a tough woman to put her needs after her family,” I say.
Her face clouds again.
I realize I’ve said the wrong thing again, although it was unintentional this time. I was actually trying to sympathize with her because I wouldn’t want to give up my precious time to care for others either.
“You sound just like my grandfather. He didn’t get it either.”
“Get what?” I ask.
“That this isn’t easier,” she replies.
Before I can even open my mouth to reply she goes into a passionate rant, “You think it’s hard to be married to some rich guy? Then try sitting here with a fifteen-year old boy who has run away from his abusive father and been on the streets for six months. Try making that kid, who has been shat on by everyone in his life who was meant to help him, trust you. Try making that kid see that you’re not like the rest of them. That you’re not going to throw him away like trash. Try making that poor kid see his worth. Then you’ll know how hard this choice is compared to being the pampered wife of a rich man.”
I swallow hard, uncomfortable suddenly. Ashley is turning out to be someone very different from who I thought she would be. “I-I couldn’t do that,” I say honestly.