I stand. Not because I’ve given up, but because I know I need a different strategy.
“Believe it or not Ashley, the idea of being married to someone as stubborn as you isn’t exactly my dream either. But I can see the benefit of it for both of us.” I fish into my pocket and pull out one of my business cards. “Here is my card. Just in case you decide to start putting the charity before your own personal prejudices.”
I hold the card out.
She takes it and looks at it.
For a second, I think she might be starting to reconsider the idea.
Ashley looks over it and then she drops it into the waste paper basket. “Goodbye, Finn.”
3
Finn
I run on my treadmill, faster than a jog, but slower than an all-out sprint. My gaze is turned toward the window. From this high up, I feel almost as if I’m flying. Except for the fact, my lungs are burning and the muscles in my legs are aching, which ruins the illusion. But even so.
My favorite time to work out is early evening in the winter with the rain lashing down outside, and lightning forking through the sky. It’s a far cry from this workout. It’s mid-afternoon and the sun is shining. I’m feeling restless and frustrated, running almost always gets me focused, at least it used to.
My main problem right now is Ashley Winters and her flat out refusal to even consider my proposal. For the record, I realize I fucked up. I should have taken my grandpa’s advice and been charming. Instead, I was cocky, arrogant, and made it sound like our marriage was a done deal. I suppose in my mind it was.
It never really occurred to me that Ashley might say no to such a plum deal. I didn’t expect her to take one look at me then fall in lust with me like the stupid fantasy I indulged in, but I did expect someone with a business mind who runs a seriously underfunded charity to see the sense of the deal I offered. Maybe I should have mentioned how short a short-term arrangement it would be. Only as long as it took for all of the paperwork to go through and we could probably be divorced within six months. Also, I should have made it even clearer that it would be nothing more than a business arrangement and she wouldn’t be curtailed in any way at all.
I guess none of it matters now.
I fucked up in good style, and no matter how hard I try, I can’t think how I can approach her again. I can’t arrive with a box of chocolates and flowers because she would see right through that. I’ve already played the think how many fifteen year old boys you could help with the money. Maybe, if I had told her just how much was at stake… I know instinctively though, I could offer her a billion and it would make no difference.
In fact, I’ve got her so riled up I can’t even imagine her agreeing to see me again, let alone changing her mind about the deal. I know I should inform Andrew Garfield that the marriage won’t be happening, but I haven’t yet. It’s only been a day since I spoke to Ashley, and I’m still clutching at straws, still trying to convince myself I can turn this around.
Who knows, maybe I can. Maybe some idea will come to me over the rest of the weekend. It had better. I didn’t take the whole weekend off to feel this restless energy, to hear this irritating little voice in my head mocking me for failing so spectacularly.
I took the whole weekend off, something I never do, to come up with some genius plan to convince Ashley this is a good idea. There’s still time. It’s only Saturday. Maybe I’ll feel more inspired tomorrow.
One thing I know for sure… running isn’t clearing my mind or bringing new ideas. If anything, it’s making me feel even more hopeless. Even the music I have pounding through the room isn’t distracting me from my negative thoughts. With a sigh, I reach out and turn the speed of the treadmill down to start my cool down. I think maybe I should lift some weights. If nothing else, it might get rid of this tight ball of frustration inside of me.
I coast through my cool down, until my slow jog becomes a walk, then I turn it off and jump off. I pick up a towel and rub away the sweaty sheen that’s formed on my skin. I drape the towel around my shoulders as I move towards the first rack of weights. Just as I’m about to pick one up, my intercom buzzes.
I’m not expecting anyone and I frown. I shrug and turn the music off, heading for the intercom. I press the talk button. “Yeah,” I say.