“I can’t stay long,” the woman said. “Jeremy wants reports on how you’re doing from time to time.”
“Then you leave Jeremy to me,” he said with a grin. “How about you start with your name?”
“Ashley,” she said with a giggle. “Ashley Wright.”
“I believe I know someone with a similar name,” he said. “I guess that’s what happens when two beautiful people are popped out around the same time.”
“Would you like me to call you something other than ‘Ashly’?” she asked.
“How about you call me ‘handsome,’” he said.
“All right ... handsome.”
The two of them talked for a while, but it did nothing but make him feel like a pile of shit. She was pretty. Kind. But he knew she couldn't hold a candle to Kallie. None of the women in this club could. But Ash was on a mission. A mission that hit him the second he saw someone taking a picture of him with his arm wrapped around another woman.
He could do some personal public relations work in his own favor.
“Miss Ashley.”
“Yes, handsome?”
“Would you be so kind as to get me another drink? I think I might go have a dance or two,” he said.
“I’ll come find you. I promise.”
“Good girl.”
He caressed her cheek with his thumb before he got up and left his empty glass behind. He buttoned his suit coat around his waist, then made his way for the dance floor. The press was everywhere. Everyone was probably calling their buddies. “Ash Worthington is out and about!” “Ash Worthington post–gold digger heartbreak remedy!” He could see all the headlines in his mind’s eye, and he was determined to turn them around.
“Ash Worthington doesn’t get played by gold diggers” was more up his alley.
He found himself a passel of pretty women and they were more than willing to let him in. He hated the feeling. He hated the idea of another woman other than Kallie rubbing up against him. But he was on a recon mission, and he needed to fake it until he made it. He needed to treat these beautiful women like playthings and nothing more. The world needed to see that Ash wasn’t broken after something like this. That Kallie hadn’t gotten the one-up on him like the world thought.
And he was going to play it the fuck up.
He wrapped his arms around the women as Ashley brought him a drink. And once he took his drink, he pulled her into the group. They all danced and whooped and had a grand old time, and he made sure the press saw every second of it. Pictures were snapped of him grinding on other women. Other pictures were taken of women tugging at his tie and pulling him closer. Even more pictures were taken of him feeding Ashley his scotch while she shoved her beautiful tits into his body.
He let the press take plenty of pictures, because he had a message to broadcast.
The alcohol flowed and the scotch settled into his stomach, and soon the room was spinning. He somehow got glitter all down the front of his suit and women were pawing at him for attention. He danced them around the room and ground his cock into the back of their asses. His hands fell onto as many of them as he could, and then he threw his hands into the air.
“Shots for everyone!” he exclaimed.
And the entire club erupted into shouts and exclamations of approval.
He drank until he couldn't remember the color of her eyes. Or the feel of her skin. Or the way her lips danced along his cock. He drank until the only memory he had was of his beach island bungalow. With the wind pouring through the open windows and the surf nipping at his ankles. He was ready to get back. Ready to run back to his safe haven and coop himself up there for the rest of his life. New York City had chewed him up and spit him out not once, but twice.
He’d been played by a woman he loved and he’d been played by a city he loved.
He finally pulled away from all the dancing, his suit soaked with sweat. He settled his exorbitant tab and left an outstanding tip for the barkeep, then he made his way to flag down a cab. He somehow stumbled up to his apartment and made his way inside, kicking off his shoes and hopping around as he tried to take off his socks. He managed to get one off before he shrugged his coat off, but his fingers were too drunk themselves to get his damn tie off.
“Fucking necktie. The fuck. I hate these things.”
He fell onto the ground trying to get out of his pants before he climbed up onto his couch. The pillows felt soft against his cheek. The air-conditioning kicked on and it sent chills of pleasure down his spine. Drying the sweat on his clothes as his pants sat around his ankles. He face-planted into the decadent materials as the room spun. Tilted. Jostled. Shaking him until his stomach turned and his mind finally succumbed to sleep.
Sleep.
That would make everything go away.