Текст книги "Pure Abandon"
Автор книги: Jeannine Colette
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Текущая страница: 20 (всего у книги 20 страниц)
ASHER
I don’t know why she always feels the need to shower at my place. It irritates the hell out of me, but at least I know she’ll be gone as soon as she’s done. It’s the only reason I keep her around. She may be a vindictive bitch, but she’s a great fuck and knows I’m not going to ask her to stay the night. I don’t want her here all night. I don’t want anyone here all night. I may hate to sleep alone, but that’s my cross to bear. My penance for a wrong I did so long ago. I sleep alone, in the dark, and I like it that way.
I push the covers off my body and lean down to the floor, grabbing the dress pants she so carelessly threw on the floor in her rush to get me naked. I slide them on, going commando and shirtless. I know she’s going to see me like this when she gets out of the shower and want another go, but I don’t care. I want her gone when she comes out.
Walking down the hallway, I turn into the kitchen and grab the bottle of scotch I’d started before she arrived. I pour myself a fresh glass and savor the burn. Only alcohol that hurts is worth drinking.
I take my glass and move into the living room. It’s a huge room in a huge apartment. Too big for one person. I know this, yet I don’t know how to live any other way. My house is nestled, if you will, on the top two floors of the Asher building. If you hit Penthouse on the elevator, you’ll go to my office. A very public space that everyone and their mother goes through, trying to get a piece of me and the Asher dynasty. What most people don’t know is there is a private code for the elevator to bring you here.
It’s three thousand square feet of mine. I only let a handful of people up here. It’s one of the few things that keeps me sane. This and music. When I’m up here, I can relax. No one is asking me for money, a deal, a favor. No one can pretend to need me, care for me, want for me. There are no false pretenses up here, no bullshit.
I could have bought in another building. I could have bought one of those brownstones or mansions on Park Avenue. But this is my building and I can control it. I know who goes in and what goes out. I can monitor my world from this building. For that reason, and that reason alone, I created my sanctuary on top of the world that I control.
The living room is a two-story expanse of black walls and a black ceiling with floor-to-ceiling windows on the north and east walls. No curtains, no drapes. I can walk around ass naked and no one would be able to see in. A white marble fireplace sits on the west wall, surrounded by bookshelves and a giant mirror that reflects black and glass. A low slate-grey couch sits in an L-shape in the center of the room. Simple, clean… just how I like it. The room opens up to a dining area I hardly ever use, except for the occasional breakfast. It’s a black dining table with seating for eight. I’ve only sat at the head and have never had company.
Beyond the dining space is a kitchen that’s fully stocked by the maid, and past there is a long hallway where you’ll find three bedrooms, my home office, a TV room, gym, and the music room. That is my meditation space, my sacred place to think. Even the few guests I do have up here are never allowed in there.
Especially her.
I’m looking out the north window, seeing the lights of the city below and the red taillights in the distance. The suckers driving home on a Friday night, back to their mundane lives, wondering what kind of bullshit they’ll open the door to when they get home. The holidays are approaching. You’d never know it from being up here. No tree, no lights, no cheer. Those fools below me, they’re probably putting up their trees tonight. I can’t remember the last time I had a Christmas tree. I’m searching my brain, trying to remember, when I hear the water turn off.
I take my glass and pad over the foyer area. I asked my assistant Cecelia to drop off some documents this afternoon. I’ve been ignoring them for the better part of a year and, apparently, they need to be answered. I open up the manila envelope and pull out the white-and-blue documents my grandfather’s attorney prepared. They’re the final acquisition papers that make me the sole owner of everything Edward Asher built. It’s the final piece of the dynasty I never had any intention of owning. His board knows this too, which is why I’ve let them keep control of his businesses all this time. It’s been long enough, and I have to take control of the lion’s share, become an active member in the corporations. Not only will I have control of my own businesses, but I will now have possession of the complete Asher dynasty.
The problem is when I assume Edward Asher’s role in the world, I’ll have to disengage from my personal projects. There will be no time for my music lessons or charities. I’ll have to sell my music and communications companies. Grandfather thought they were a waste of time. He’ll be thrilled to know I gave it all up. He should be. It’s a stipulation in his will. When I take control, all of my personal companies and affiliations must be sold. The man never understood my love of music and the arts. They reminded him too much of my parents. They were two people we were never to speak of.
I could just rip up the papers. Say fuck it and live my life the way I built it. I have my own fortune. I can live my own life. But that’s not who I was raised to be. I was born an Asher. This is my legacy. This is who I was groomed to be. No time for Alex. You are an Asher.
My thoughts are invaded by the sound of high heels clicking loudly down the hallway. I drop the documents back on the table and lift my head to see her approaching with her head bowed as she buttons the last two buttons of her silk blouse.
She lifts her head, taking in my shirtless frame, and a wicked smile crosses her face. I know what she’s thinking, and I’m already hitting the down button on the elevator to escort her out.
“I know you have a no sleeping over policy, but I could really make it worth your while,” she says, putting her hand on my stomach and letting it graze its way south.
I’m seconds away from conceding when I’m saved by the chime of the elevator arriving. The doors open and I place my hand inside, motioning for her to enter. That is, to exit my apartment.
“Mal…” I say with a condescending tone. She knows the rules.
Malory removes her hand from my torso and grabs the glass of scotch from my hand. She lifts the glass to her mouth and takes a sip, savoring the burn just as I was a few minutes ago.
“That’s all right. You and I both know I’ll be back.” She hands me the glass and takes a step into the elevator. I remove my hand from holding the elevator doors open and let them slowly close, her black eyes trained on me. They’re the last thing I see before the door closes.
She’s right. She will be back. Malory and I have had a thing going on for years. I give her what she needs and I take from her what I want. She used to work for me in my production company, but she surpassed her disloyalty tenfold, so I had to let her go. These days, she works for some other company where I’m sure she screwed her way to the top too. I would never have her work for me again. She’s too much of a liability. But when it comes to a good fuck, she’s an exceptional employee. I don’t have to explain the rules, and she always follows them.
I start to walk back to the bedroom when I glance at the front table in the foyer and see a square white envelope. It’s addressed to me at my office downstairs. Cecelia must have brought it up.
I turn it over. There’s no return address. I put down the glass of scotch and open the seal. I pull it out and see a picture of a family of four, all wearing white sweaters and sitting on the bow of a boat. The father has dark-brown hair and light eyes that match the little boy’s in his arm. His other arm is draped around a beautiful woman with soft-brown hair and gorgeous green eyes.
Kathryn.
In her arms is a small child, a new addition, who also looks just like his father. The inscription on the card reads:
FROM OUR GROWING FAMILY TO YOURS.
HAPPY HOLIDAYS!
THE MONROES
GABRIEL, KATHRYN, JACKSON, AND GRAYSON
She sent me a fucking Christmas card. The one woman who I let my guard down for, who I almost told my deepest secrets, who I actually fell in love with. The one fucking person I want but doesn’t want me back, goes and sends me a fucking Christmas card with her asshole of a husband and fucking kids! Kids, who by the way, she didn’t tell me about. That’s right. I fell in love with a girl even though I knew she was married, but I didn’t give a fuck. I didn’t. I don’t care what kind of man that makes me. I wanted her and I got her.
I had her for a minute, when he took her away from me. How callous is she to send me a goddamn picture of their perfect little family.
I turn the card over and see she handwrote a note. A short sentiment she had no business writing.
THINKING ABOUT YOU ALWAYS. HOPE ALL IS WELL. —KAT
The card crumbles in my fist and I throw it against the wall, followed by the glass of scotch I lifted from the table.
Storming into the kitchen, I grab the scotch and drink straight from the bottle. My sanctuary has been invaded. The one person who has no business even being thought about in here just penetrated these black walls. I think it’s time I leave.
It’s time to get out of here and go away… far away.
CAN’T GET ENOUGH OF PURE ABANDON?
Check out my blog for photos, inspiration and random thoughts behind the book.
www.jeanninecolette.com
They say, “It takes a village…”
I’d like to thank my village for helping make Pure Abandon a reality.
To my sister, Nicole, who this book was originally written for. She was the first person to read a line and brave my love of the run-on sentence. Without her, there would be no story.
To my editor extraordinaire, Jamie Chavez, for her incredible eye for detail and help forming Pure Abandon into a story worth publishing. I hired her as a developmental editor, but she did more for this book than I ever dreamed. For realz ; )
To Autumn Hull of The Autumn Review and Wordsmith Publicity for her unique ability to catch the fine threads of the story that are unraveling and sew them back together. Without Wordsmith Publicity this first-time self-publisher would have no idea how to get this book into the hands of readers and reviewers.
To Sarah Hansen of Okay Creations for the world’s most beautiful book cover. It is sexy, soulful and unique. To Jovana Shirley of Unforeseen Editing for making my words look beautiful on the page. And, to Cassie McCown of Gathering Leaves Editing for copy-editing and dealing with my love of the word “that.”
To Jennifer Windstein, my friend, roommate and travel partner, who sat through two reads and gave equal love and insight each time. To Nanci Weaver for her constant support, guidance, and never making me feel like a fool in the process. To Nicole Lancellotti for her unwavering friendship, support and creative input. To my beta readers Tara McCormick and Nicole Parsons: I miss your face. And, to my very own dark haired mentor, Jill Meister, who was this book’s final line of defense.
To my friends and family for whispering words of encouragement, especially my Mom for telling me to “go to work” and being where I couldn’t while I pursued my dreams. I couldn’t have done this without you.
To Starbucks for being my office.
To Snow Patrol, Sia, Adele, and Taylor Swift for being my inner soundtrack.
To my husband, Bryan, for always having my back and pushing me forward. He surprised me with his insights and ability to find holes within the story. I continue to be in awe that I married someone so brilliant…and funny…and witty…and handsome…you’re everything.
And, of course, to the two tiny people who rule my world: I love you.
Writing a book is fun.
Letting people read said book is the most frightening thing I’ve ever done.
Thank YOU for reading Pure Abandon.
I hope you were entertained.
Jeannine Colette is a television producer, writer, mother, and philanthropist.
A graduate of Wagner College and the New York Film Academy, Jeannine went on to become a Segment Producer for television shows on CBS and NBC. She currently freelances in the television industry while attending to her children and pursuing her writing career. She lives in New York with her husband, the two tiny people she adores more than life itself, and a rescue pup named Wrigley.
Jeannine and her family are active supporters of The March of Dimes and the Hearing Health Foundation.
