by Claire Adams
I nodded. “All of it. Nothing will remain. This is the nature of Zen Buddhism—there is no attachment.”
“How do you know so much about this? You've spent the last hour telling me all sorts of things about Shinto, Buddhism, and now this.”
“I took an extended sabbatical from the company several years ago. I felt I was losing my focus. I had been struggling to come to terms with the loss of my grandfather and there were other . . . family matters, on top of running the company and trying to get it to the top.
“So, I left it in the control of my grandfather's second-in-command—a close family friend who had been with the company and my grandfather from the beginning and came out of retirement for that short time to assist me—and I traveled for a few months. I spent time with an old family acquaintance in Japan at his remote mountain residence.”
“Oh, wow, maybe you are Batman,” she joked. “Seriously, though, that sounds like quite an experience.”
“It was. During the second World War, my grandfather served in the Pacific and he saved the life of a high-ranking Japanese Naval officer, Colonel Tanaka, who was about to be wrongfully executed for crimes he didn’t commit. He and my grandfather had become fast friends, and he told my grandfather he owed him a great debt that he was determined to repay.
“We visited the colonel a number of times when I was a boy. He lived in an old manor in the mountains which had been in his family for many generations. According to the stories I was told, he was the descendent of a prominent line of samurai warriors and, like his ancestors, he had maintained the traditions of the samurai.”
“Wow! That sounds like a movie.”
“It was kind of like a movie. I mean, the place looked like it must have been built 200 years ago, with a few modern conveniences thrown in of course. I loved going and staying there as a boy. My grandfather taught me to speak Japanese as a kid. I was pretty good at it, actually. I still try to keep it sharp by watching Japanese movies when I can, and I do have a few business contacts in Japan.”
“Nice. I speak Spanish pretty fluently myself, and I could survive in Italy if I had to.”
“Excellent. Everyone should try to master at least one other language besides their mother tongue, I think.”
“Agreed. Anyway, tell me more about your time in Japan,” her eyes lit up as she insisted I continue. It was endearing.
“Yeah, well, like I said, it was great for me. Colonel Tanaka, while in his nineties at the time, was still a skilled martial artist. Oddly enough, he really was a true master in the ways of the samurai. Ways that had been passed on to him from his father and his father's father before that. I told him I felt as if I'd lost my way, and that I needed to find my focus and drive again. I’ll never forget the smile that came over his face when he told me that the time had finally come for him to repay the debt he owed my grandfather. So, he took me in and trained me as if I was one of his own grandsons.”
“Trained you? In what way?”
“As a samurai.”
Lilah's jaw dropped, and I did my best not to laugh at the expression.
“No way. So, you’re telling me you lived in a Japanese manor that was a couple hundred years old and trained as an actual samurai, under a genuine samurai master?”
I smiled and nodded. “I did. Every morning I'd be up at 4:00 to meditate in front of the shrine for an hour. Then I'd spend the next three hours completing grueling, menial tasks, during which I wasn't allowed to speak a word or display any emotion. After that, I'd begin weapons training, which was followed by more meditation, and in the afternoons we'd perform hand-to-hand combat. The evenings were spent writing old style calligraphy with ink and brushes.”
“I don’t even know what to say. Wow just keeps coming to mind. This is totally not something I'd have expected from a . . .”
“A what? Someone like me? A financial mogul? A billionaire? Or let me guess, a playboy billionaire? I mean, that is the rumor, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” she replied, with a subtle blush coloring her cheeks.
“Well,” I said with a conspiratorial smile, “you might want to learn to expect the unexpected from me.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” she offered, smiling softly. “So how did it all end up then?”
“Well, I’m here now, so I found my focus. I found my way. I bolstered my discipline and became, in mind and body, a warrior. Colonel Tanaka truly did repay his debt to my grandfather in full. He saved my life, without a doubt.”
“Saved your life? How so?”
“Before I went, I felt like I was spiraling out of control. The stress was getting to me. I wasn’t handling it well.
“After I returned, I found that the company had been in decline, despite the best efforts of my grandfather's trusted friend and former advisor. However, with my newfound sense of drive and purpose, instead of throwing in the towel, I was able to not only turn things around, but turn the Sinclair Agency into what it is today. In the years after I returned from Japan, I found the intensity of focus and purpose I needed to take us to the top and beyond. And in my personal life, as well, I found more peace than I'd ever known before.”
I couldn’t believe I had just told Lilah so much about myself. Only my parents and a couple of very close friends knew about my time in Japan. Of course, I didn’t share everything with her that was flooding my mind. I wanted to add that an unfulfilled longing still remained even after I’d returned from training with Colonel Tanaka. I'd done everything on my own up to that point and even after I’d returned, and I’d been quite happy doing things by myself.
Or, so I'd thought.
In recent years, I'd begun to feel as if the close companionship I'd always told myself was an unnecessary burden wasn’t actually so unnecessary. Perhaps being alone, being entirely independent, wasn't such a great thing. Perhaps surrendering myself to another wasn't a weakness. Perhaps, in some ways, it required a strength and a depth of courage I'd never before been able to access.
But, again, I didn't say those things to Lilah—I couldn't, not just yet.
“Do you have any interesting souvenirs from your time there?” she asked.
“As a matter of fact, I do. I have a few suits of samurai armor and a number of weapons that I keep on display at my place. I've also had a Japanese garden, much like this one, constructed on the grounds near my home. I like to walk there when I can. When I have time, I'm learning to do sand art in the way the old man over there is doing. But, by far, my most prized memento of my time spent with Colonel Tanaka is a sword.”
“A samurai sword?” she asked with a glint of curiosity.
“Indeed. It had been in Colonel Tanaka's family for generations, and had been forged by a blade master 300 years ago, the steel folded and hammered a thousand times. According to Colonel Tanaka, the edge is still as razor sharp as it was three centuries ago. It's a true work of art. He gave it to me as a parting gift.”
“I'd love to see it sometime.”
Her statement took me by surprise. The last thing I was expecting was for her to suggest spending more time with me in any manner. Much less in a setting as private as my home. But I wasn’t about to turn down the chance to spend time with her.
“You should. I have a lot of fascinating pieces and artifacts. I am definitely something of a collector.”
“And I happen to have a great interest in history,” she remarked, but then, all of a sudden, a cold look entered her eyes. It seemed as if she regretted what she had just said for some reason. “Look at the time,” she noted as she pulled out her phone and checked it. “Our extended lunch break is almost up. We'd better be getting back.”
“Yeah,” I said, somewhat wistfully. “I guess we should.”
We walked back to the office in relative silence, but I couldn't stop stealing glances at Lilah.
I also couldn't stop wondering what was going on in that beautiful head of hers.
Chapter Eight
Lilah
�
�Come on, Lilah, you can do this. You can do this,” I repeated as I paced in front of my desk.
As if Monday mornings weren’t dreaded enough, try adding a presentation to the docket that could make or break your career with a company. I was scheduled to give my presentation on my proposed revamp to the Harry Winston campaign in less than 30 minutes and there was a lot riding on it. With every breath, it felt as if thousands of butterflies were swarming around inside of my stomach. I inhaled deeply and made my way to my private bathroom.
“You’ve got this, Lilah. Your ideas are good and they are going to work, they will—you just have to present them in a way that enables the senior team—and, of course, Asher himself—to see this,” I said to myself as I applied a few final touches to my makeup in the bathroom mirror.
My cellphone alarm sounded, vibrating on my desk, signaling that it was time. I drew in a deep, calming breath, held it in my lungs for a while, and then exhaled slowly.
“You’re ready. You can do this,” I encouraged myself one last time as I stared into the mirror.
I strode out of the bathroom, exuding as much confidence as I could muster. While I may have felt nervous inside, it would not do to show it on the outside.
Calm, collected, confident—this was the image I needed to pull off. I picked up the folders I needed from my desk and headed into the hallway.
I strode into the conference room with a sense of purpose and an invisible strength as I held my head high and kept my posture ramrod straight. I went straight to my spot at the table, arranged my files neatly in front of me, and took a seat while those around the table carried on conversations.
Moments later, Asher entered the room and the buzzing of banter that had been bouncing around the table fell silent. A sudden rush, an undeniable attraction to the sheer power he exuded, washed over me. It wasn't merely his strong physical presence or his rugged, strong-jawed good looks—it was the fact that this man, at the young age of 32, was able to silence a room of men and women who were, in some cases, twice his age, by merely entering the room. There was no resentment or jealousy simmering in that silence; there was only a deep, reverent respect for an immensely intelligent, talented, and driven individual who led from the front of the battle lines. To put it in simple terms: it was hot.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” he announced, “thank you all for being here. I'm not going to waste any time beating around the bush. We have important matters to attend to. First and foremost among those is the Harry Winston campaign. The newest addition to our team, Ms. Lilah Maxwell, has prepared a presentation on how she believes we can turn this currently unsuccessful campaign around.”
He looked straight at me, “Lilah, are you ready?”
I nodded and stood up. “I am, Mr. Sinclair. Thank you.”
“Excellent. Well, ladies and gents, without further ado, I give the meeting over to Ms. Maxwell.”
There was a polite round of applause as I stepped around to the front of the table at the head of the room.
“Thank you, everyone,” I said. “Before I begin, I'd like to thank Mr. Sinclair for giving me the opportunity to join this prestigious team. I hope that with the ideas contained in this campaign proposal that Mr. Sinclair's decision to appoint me will be validated.”
I picked up the remote control and dimmed the lights in the room before I fired up the projector. I glanced at Asher. When our eyes met he gave me a warm, approving nod. With me heart in my throat, I began my presentation.
It felt as if it had taken barely any time, but half an hour had passed when I brought up the final image and delivered my last line. I stopped speaking and, for a few tense moments, a heavy, almost tangible silence filled the room.
And then it happened.
One of the senior members of the team—a woman in her late forties—started to applaud. Soon everyone else followed suit. I looked across at Asher, and he too was applauding with a smile of approval. A heavy rush of adrenalin mixed with pride and satisfaction was rippling through my veins. The competitor in me wanted to jump up and down like I’d just scored the winning touchdown in a playoff game.
Instead, I calmly closed my presentation on the projector, turned the lights up again, said a quiet thank you, and went back to my seat where I turned on my tablet so that I could take notes from the next speaker's presentation.
Inside, however, I felt as if fireworks were exploding. I couldn't believe I had pulled it off so flawlessly; everything, and I mean everything, had gone exactly according to plan. It felt surreal, and I knew that I had to celebrate after work—even if it was a Monday.
After the meeting was over, and everyone was gathering their things together and leaving the room, Asher approached me.
“Absolutely outstanding,” he said. “Seriously. I think you blew everyone in the room away with that. You've gone above and way beyond what anyone expected of you. I have no doubt that these amazing ideas you have are going to turn the Harry Winston campaign entirely on its head.”
I was ablaze with pride and excitement at his praise, which I sensed was absolutely genuine—even though it felt as if there was something beyond mere professional respect in the way Asher was looking at me when he said it.
“Thank you so much, Mr. Si—, I mean, Asher.”
“I'm just telling the truth. I genuinely believe the ideas you presented today are some of the freshest ideas we've seen at Sinclair for, well, for years, to be honest. As a matter of fact, you kind of remind me of myself in my younger years.”
I laughed. “Thanks, Asher. But there's no need for you to talk like you're an old man or something. You're only 32, you know.”
He chuckled. “Sometimes I feel twice that age, though. Remember, I've been doing this since I was 20. There are times I feel like I missed out on my twenties completely, started my thirties right out of college, and am now living in my forties!”
“Come on now, you’re much too good looking to be in your forties,” I countered playfully.
“I’ll take your word for it,” he replied with a grin. “Look, I know it's a Monday, but how would you feel about a drink or two after work to celebrate? And, by that, I don't mean we're going to hammer away two bottles of wine again! Just a drink or two, seriously.”
“You must have been reading my mind,” I exclaimed. “Is that a trick that samurai master taught you?”
He grinned. “Wouldn't you like to know?”
“As a matter of fact, I would,” I laughed again, feeling very at ease in his company. “Jokes aside though, how would you feel about a little extra company at this celebration? My brother Eddie told me if my presentation went well today he wanted to buy me a drink. I mean, he was kind of an idol of yours when you were a young lad, wasn't he?” I cocked an eyebrow and gave him a smirk.
Asher grinned. “The lead guitarist of The Razor's Edge? Seriously? How could I not want to have a beer with him?”
I almost said, “I've told him all about you already,” but I managed to bite my tongue.
“Great,” I replied. “How does 8:00 at McGinty's Pub downtown sound?”
“That sounds perfect. I'll see you there. Until then, more work to get through. There are still four working hours left in the day.”
“Right. I'll see you later this evening.”
***
“Remember, Eddie, don't tell him I've talked to you about him before all right?”
Eddie grinned. “Don't worry, sis, I've got this.”
I saw Asher enter the bar as I looked over Eddie’s shoulder. “Here he is now! Act normal!”
“Uh, I am, Peanut. You on the other hand . . .”
“Shh! Don’t call me that.”
Asher approached our table with a smile. He was wearing jeans and a button down shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. It was the first time I'd seen him out of a business suit, and he almost looked like a different person—although the sense of effortless style was undeniably his.
Eddie stood to greet him, offeri
ng him a hand, which Asher shook firmly.
“Edward Maxwell,” Eddie said. “But my friends call me Eddie.”
“Asher Sinclair,” said Asher. “My friends call me Ash. Pleased to meet you! I hope I don't sound too dorky when I say this, but I'm a huge fan of your music.”
Eddie grinned.
“Thanks, man! Never thought I'd have a CEO of a Fortune 100 company saying that to me!”
Asher laughed. “I was a teenager once,” he said with a smile, “and I still have a soft spot for punk—although I don't know if that's what I'd call your latest offerings.”
“Yeah, we've been playing around a lot with folk chords and melodies in recent years. Going for a more mature sound, I guess you could say.”
“I think I speak for everyone when I say, we really appreciate it,” commented Asher. “It shows a deep musical understanding and . . . how you guys have evolved as a band over the years—I mean, the latest album has such a great, organic feel . . .”
I stood which interrupted them. As nice as it was to see them hit it off so quickly, I didn't want to sit around all night listening to them jabbering on and on about music.
“Guys, I hate to interrupt, but how about we get a few beers, huh?”
Asher smiled. “Of course. We are here to celebrate, so let's get on with it. First round is on me. What are you two having?”
“Guinness for me. Thanks, man,” replied Eddie.
“Make that two,” I said.
“Ah, Guinness drinkers, huh? Is there Irish blood in your family?” asked Asher.
“A fair bit of it!” Eddie replied with a laugh.
Asher went off to the bar to get the drinks, and I leaned over to Eddie.
“So? What do you think of him?”
“He seems like a good dude,” he remarked, “as far as first impressions go anyway. It's still hard to believe that a suit like him is a big fan of my band.”
“Come on, Eddie. He's not your average suit, you know.”
“I know, I know. You know what I mean, though—corporate types aren't exactly what make up the majority of the punk rock fan base. Still, seems like a nice guy so far.”