by Miles, Amy
Ash,
Thanks for putting up with me last night. I’m glad it was your door I stumbled into.
Slade
PS: Why don’t you take the morning off? I’ll cover for you. My treat.
Ashlyn reads the note three times over as she sinks slowly onto the bed, touched by his thoughtfulness. It’s not just the fact that he actually took the time to write it, but that he was glad he found her instead of anyone else.
Heat kisses her cheeks as she runs her finger over his tightly scrawled letters. She turns to look at the bed sheet that she left piled outside the bathroom door in her haste and smiles.
“I guess he’s not so bad after all.”
A knock at the door startles her. She shoves Slade’s note deep into her purse and rushes to open the door. Sophie lowers her hand to her side. “You’re not dead? Well, I’m glad to see that.”
Ashlyn steps back to allow her friend in. “Of course I’m not dead. Why would you even think that? It’s so… morbid.”
Sophie’s gaze trails over the fallen sheet, the rumpled covers, and Ashlyn’s wildly tangled hair. Her perfectly arched eyebrows rise with suspicion. “Is there something I should know?”
“Of course not,” Ashlyn assures as she rushes past and grabs a brush. Tears sting her eyes as she fights to untangle the mess she usually calls hair. It’s not like her to sleep with wet hair either. Her normally loose curls turn into a mass of ringlets that love nothing more than to entwine together in one giant knot.
Standing in the doorway, watching her, Sophie crosses her arms over her chest, pulling her suit taut. “Something’s up. You slept in, which you never do, and Slade was on time, which he never is.”
Ashlyn forces herself not to react to Sophie’s implication. “Nothing happened.” When Sophie doesn’t speak, Ashlyn turns and laughs. “I swear.”
“Fine.” She uncrosses her arms and holds out her hand for Ashlyn’s brush. She grabs the detangler from the counter and sprays down the brush before handing it back. “Then tell me why you’re acting more like Tamsin than yourself?”
For a moment, Ashlyn considers trying to continue with the innocent card, but she knows Sophie too well. She’ll get the details one way or another. They might as well come from her instead of Slade.
“Slade had a bit too much to drink last night and thought my room was his. I couldn’t just let him wander the hotel, so I let him in. By the time I made him a cup of coffee, he’d passed out on my bed. I slept on the couch.”
She points toward the evidence of bed pillows still on the couch. “See? Completely innocent.”
Sophie’s lips purse. “If you were anyone else, I would think you were lying.”
Ashlyn frowns. “I could have a fling, you know.”
A twinkle replaces the stern look in Sophie’s eyes. “Oh, if only that were true. Might do you some good.”
Yanking the brush one last time through her newly straightened hair, Ashlyn tosses it onto the counter and turns to face her friend. “Did I miss anything really important? I meant to be there, but Slade closed the blinds and I didn’t know—”
“Calm down.” Sophie raises her hands to grip Ashlyn’s arms. “It was totally fine. Just a bit of schmoozing. Nothing we couldn’t handle.”
Ashlyn blows out a sigh of relief. It feels so weird to have missed out. A smile stretches across Sophie’s face as she reaches into the black portfolio case hanging from her shoulder. “In fact, Slade took notes for you.”
“Seriously?” She grabs the notes from Sophie and giggles at the stick figure drawings he made for each person he met, complete with a conversation bubble detailing rude thoughts. She raises her hand to her mouth to cover her laughter as she feels Sophie watching her closely.
“It’s, um… it’s cute,” she manages to say.
Sophie nods. “He’s not all that far off actually. Most of the book reviewers were rather dull, to be honest. If it weren’t for his quick wit, it would have been a long two hours.”
“What about Tamsin? Did she show up?”
Sophie hesitates but nods. “Late as usual, but she was there. She did seem rather annoyed that you weren’t.”
Ashlyn’s neck warms with embarrassment. “I really am sorry about that.”
“No.” Sophie shakes her head. “You haven’t taken off a single day in two years and you work more hours than anyone I know. I think you of all people deserve to sleep in for a morning.”
She turns and heads back to the exit, pausing just before she opens the door. “In fact, I’ve cleared your schedule for the rest of the day, apart from having lunch with Slade and Tamsin. Why not go see some sights? I know you’re dying to.”
Ashlyn stands and stares at the closed hotel room door after Sophie lets herself out, shocked by the sudden abundance of free time. What should she do?
She glances over at her laptop and for the first time, she doesn’t feel drawn to it. Instead, she grabs her room key and her purse and heads out of the room.
She’s always wanted to walk along Lakeshore Drive in the spring. Today seems like the perfect time to do just that.
Nineteen
Slade taps his knuckles against the doorframe of suite 5ll, unable to stop himself for thinking over his encounter with Ashlyn from the night before. How could he have been so stupid to show up on her doorstep and then pass out on her bed? She must be horrified by his actions, and rightfully so.
Maybe that would explain why she was so quiet today at lunch. She looked pretty with her windblown hair and cheeks flushed from the chill on the air, but there was something off. He could tell she was lost in thought. She hardly looked at him the entire time Tamsin prattled on about the club she found the night before.
He crouches down to look under the door but can’t see any sign of light. “Ash?”
Slade knocks again and waits to the count of thirty before sliding a key card into the slot. It was given to him for use only in case of an emergency, and if anyone were to ask, he will claim it is for this reason that he enters her room, not to satisfy his burning curiosity.
In the couple of weeks since he’s known Ashlyn Doyle, he has found her to be painfully introverted but never blatantly rude. Ignoring his questions at lunch was contrary to her normal polite decorum. Something was bothering her.
Tamsin was a useless source of information when he visited her room, only to find her draped across her chaise, nursing a lingering buzz from the night before. Glancing around her room, he couldn’t figure out how she could make a mess so quickly. A leather skirt lay draped over her closed laptop. A single shoe sat atop her coffee table while the other was tossed by the side of her bed.
Crisp wrappers and soda cans littered the floor. Rumpled clothes were piled on the bathroom floor. Towels strewn about haphazardly.
Ashlyn had told him that when a book releases, Tamsin focuses all her time on marketing instead of writing. Judging by what he’s seen, he would guess that her exploits between books is what fuels her inspiration for the next big hit.
After leaving Tamsin’s room earlier, Slade wandered back to his room, lost in thought. Finally the curiosity drove him back to Ashlyn’s door.
“Ash? I know you said you were busy tonight, but I thought maybe we could talk about…” His words trail off as he realizes her suite is completely empty.
Closing the door silently behind him, Slade crosses the room and heads straight for her desk. Piles of papers line the glossed cherry wood surface. Stacks of bills to be paid, receipts to be filed, and a colorful array of Post-it notes are clustered around her closed laptop.
Nothing seems out of the ordinary. He rubs the slight stubble along his jaw as he sweeps his gaze around the room. “What are you up to?”
He rounds the end of the desk and past her king-sized bed with its mountain of throw pillows to peer into her bathroom. It is immaculate, a far cry from his own room.
Her toiletries line the granite backsplash just below a wide-framed mirror and dangling
accent light that brings out the flecks of gold in the tile. The double sink has been wiped clean of any hint of toothpaste residue or water spots. The white terrycloth robe she wore the night before hangs on a hook beside the shower. Her towels are each neatly folded atop the towel rack, and a pair of pristine white slippers is placed to the side of the bathmat.
Three razors hang in a row from the shower’s white subway tile wall surround. Four bottles containing shampoo, conditioner, shower lotion, and body wash stand upright in the wall insert, each label perfectly straight.
“I bet the maid loves cleaning your room,” he muses as he turns off the light and places his hands on his hips to survey the rest. If it weren’t for a small silver hard-shell suitcase standing beside the TV stand, the T-shirts and jeans hung in the closet, or the stacks of bills on the desk, he would never have known this room had been rented.
Slade frowns at how little of an impression she’s made on the space. It’s almost as if Ashlyn is afraid to disturb it or personalize it, despite the fact that they’ll be staying here for three nights.
From where he stands, he can see her work diary laid open. A large, thick red marker line is drawn across her entire night. Evenings are when Ash likes to work in solitude.
“What are you hiding?” he wonders aloud as he slowly heads toward the door. He stops short when he spies a crumpled envelope poking up from the waste bin.
The paper feels heavy and expensive to the touch. Flipping over the cream envelope, Slade realizes there is no address or postmark stamp on the front. Only Ashlyn’s name.
This letter has been hand delivered.
Is she meeting someone in secret? A guy, perhaps?
Slade’s stomach pinches at the thought, but he instantly pushes aside the feeling. Ash is a big girl. She has every right to have a bit of fun, but if that’s true, then why does the thought of her out with another guy annoy him so much?
After tossing the envelope back into the trash, Slade heads toward the door. He jerks his hand back from the handle when he hears a knock from just on the other side. “Ms. Ashlyn Doyle? There’s another delivery for you.”
Unsure if he should answer or not, Slade holds his breath and waits. The man knocks twice more before slipping an envelope under the door. His shadow shifts as he walks back down the hall. Slade presses his ear against the door and waits for the sound of the elevator ding before he scoops up the envelope.
It has the same feel as the one he left in the trash. Elegant penmanship has scrawled Ashlyn’s name across the front. A surge of guilt fades within seconds as Slade slides his finger under the flap and retrieves the note.
Miss Ashlyn Doyle,
We would like to present to you an invitation for one guest to attend the A. Doyle Foundation Gala this evening at eight o’ clock at the Ritz-Carlton. The invitation is included. Please have your guest bring this with them to the event.
~ Rebecca Chambers, Chairman of the Board
Slade reads over the note several times, trying to let the message sink in. A. Doyle Foundation? Are they referring to Ashlyn?
Scratching the back of his neck, Slade paces several times. It doesn’t make sense. What sort of person would it take to start their own foundation? And for what?
His curiosity burns too bright to be ignored as he crosses the room and places a call down to the front desk. “Yes, this is Slade Collins from room 411. I’m going to need my tux brought up. I’ve got a party to attend.”
Twenty
Ashlyn slides her hands down the silky layers of her white bodice, her fingers trembling as nervous tension twists her stomach in knots. It’s not the fancy cocktail dress with its strapless design and flared skirt that makes her uncomfortable, or even the strappy high heels that wind around her ankles. It’s the speech.
What was she thinking agreeing to doing this?
A year ago, Ashlyn was asked to be the keynote speaker at the A. Doyle Foundation gala. At the time, she thought she could handle it, but in all fairness, it had originally been pitched to her as a small gathering. Chairman of the board Rebecca Chambers failed to mention that the invitation list had swelled to over five hundred of Chicago’s elite.
Pacing back and forth, Ashlyn can feel her ankles wobbling. If only they had let her wear her sandals on stage, then she wouldn’t have to fear tripping and making a fool of herself before she even speaks the first word.
“Two minutes,” the backstage director announces. Ashlyn offers a nervous smile and turns away, left alone with her tormented thoughts.
This is going to be an epic fail. She silently groans, burying her hands in her hair. She squeals, realizing she’s just ruined the updo Sophie worked so hard to create for her this afternoon.
“Sophie,” she whispers as loudly as she dares. She can hear Rebecca doing the opening remarks just on the other side of the velvet curtain. “Get over here!”
Her friend rushes across the stage, careful not to catch her heels in the maze of electrical wires spanning the backstage area. She scrunches her nose with disapproval. “I told you not to touch your hair.”
Sophie digs into her clutch purse and pulls out a handful of pins. She tucks them between her teeth as her fingers begin skillfully weaving Ashlyn’s hair. Ashlyn groans as she feels pins jabbing at her scalp. “You knew I’d forget, didn’t you?”
She nods as she pushes the final pin into place. “My job is to always be prepared, and with you, I have to prepare for several train wrecks.”
“Wow.” Ashlyn smirks. She’s thankful that for a few seconds she can focus on something other than her speech. “If I didn’t love you, I would take great offense to that.”
“It’s not my job to make you like me, Ash. It’s my job to make you look gorgeous.” She grins as she steps back and nods her head with approval. “Looks even better than before.”
“Great. Now at least when the whispers begin to filter through the room about how pathetic I sound, I’ll know they liked my hair.”
“And your dress too.”
Ashlyn looks down at the beautiful dress that clings to her body with perfection. She never would have dreamed she had the curves to fill out a dress like this, but even she has to admit she looks pretty darn good in it.
Sophie leans in close and nudges Ashlyn with her elbow. “Who knows? You might manage to snag some stud muffin to dance with later.” Ashlyn’s cheeks flood with heat and Sophie laughs. “Works every time.”
“Vixen,” Ashlyn mutters as she steps back and grabs her notecards off a stack of boxes beside her. She ignores the bottle of water, knowing if she puts anything on her stomach now, she’ll risk losing it all over the podium. “And who the heck says stud muffin nowadays?”
“I do. I think it’s going to come back into style.”
Ashlyn laughs. “No. That one needs to stay dead and buried, forever.”
“Miss Doyle?”
Her throat clenches off as she turns to see the stage manager has returned. “Already?”
The brunette nods, offering a compassionate smile. Everyone at the foundation knows how terrified Ashlyn is of large crowds. “You’ll do great.”
“I second that,” Sophie says, reaching out to squeeze Ashlyn’s arm. “Keep it short and sweet. Just remember, this isn’t about them. It’s about the kids.”
Taking a steadying breath, Ashlyn nods and follows the stage manager to the break in the curtain. She takes three deep breaths and then steps through when Rebecca calls her name.
It’s hard to see against the spotlights that flood her vision as she emerges onto the fifteen-foot stage. Three chairs sit off to her right. Two of which hold the other board members who were asked to speak before her.
Ashlyn gives them each a tight grin and approaches the podium. Rebecca is all smiles, looking gorgeous in her floor-length sequined dress. Her golden hair falls in a straight and glossy cascade over her shoulder. A strand of diamonds graces the curve of her neck.
“Speak into the microphone and don’t
lock your knees,” she whispers as she leans in to give Ashlyn a hug.
Dozens of tips race through Ashlyn’s mind as Rebecca steps behind her and moves to the empty seat. She sets her notecards down on the clear podium and clears her throat, wincing at how loudly it echoes through the room.
Her grip tightens on the edge of the podium as she fights to control her mounting fear. “I, uh…” She clears her throat again. “Most of you know that I sort of suck at speeches.”
A low smattering of laughter ripples through the room.
“And I’m not the most eloquent of people, so I promise to make this short and painless.” She shifts on her feet and pauses to chew on her lower lip. Every eye in the room is fixed on her. It’s hard to breathe or think past the sweat pooling in her underwire bra.
She looks down and shifts her cards. The words blur in front of her and she panics.
At the sound of a scraping chair, Ashlyn looks up to see a small girl leaving her mother’s side. Her little dress shoes clomp on the stairs as she climbs onto the stage. Ashlyn can hear the girl’s mother hissing at her to get off the stage, but she waves off the concerned mother, finding herself completely enraptured by the little girl’s smile.
In her small hand, she clutches a piece of paper. When she stops before Ashlyn, the girl holds it out for her to take. “Thank you,” she whispers as she accepts the gift.
Opening it, Ashlyn’s breath catches at the beautiful drawing of a woman and child holding hands. At the top is a rainbow, complete with a sun and clouds and the legible words: “Thank You.”
Tears spill down Ashlyn’s cheeks as she sinks to her knees and opens her arms wide. The girl rushes into her arms and crushes her.
“Thank you, Abby. This the best gift I’ve even been given.” Dazzling blue eyes twinkle up at her as she pulls back. “Think you can help me for a few minutes?”
Abby’s mass of loose auburn curls bounce as she nods. Ashlyn takes her hand and stands to face the crowd. A hush has fallen over the attendees. Ashlyn hopes that’s a good sign.