See you in three days.
Asher
I stood and stretched, still feeling the morning's workout, which had been particularly intense. It wouldn't be the only workout for the day, though. Between board meetings, I had a private Thai kickboxing session booked with a master instructor. If things went really well with my sessions, I planned to be fighting in a ring in a month's time in a local league—under a fake name and identity, of course. I'd always valued my privacy immensely, just as my grandfather had taught me to do, and headlines about a business mogul fighting in a brutal Thai kickboxing league would not do. Marketing was my business, and I knew that wouldn’t be an effective way to market myself or my company.
The cuts and bruises from the ring would be easy enough to explain. Most people who knew anything about me already knew I had a penchant for extreme sports, but publicity was another thing altogether. I'd always avoided it at all costs, and I wasn't about to start getting into it now.
As I stretched, I looked down the long dining table—at which I was, as usual, the only person—and my gaze fixed on the painting perched above the antique fireplace. It was a heavy, somber oil painting of my late grandfather, founder of the Sinclair Agency. He had been the one to purchase this home in Hong Kong. I had fond memories of having breakfast with him at the table that was now so empty.
And, as I always did, I gave those severe eyes a respectful nod. My granddad had been my hero, my pillar of strength growing up. He'd been a hard man and, in addition to his success with the Sinclair Agency, he'd been a war hero. Despite his tough exterior, he had always been a fair and just man. Most only saw his cool, intense demeanor, but he’d had a warm and affectionate side as well. Everything I had grown up to be was almost entirely due to his influence, and not a day went by that I didn't miss him.
“I hope you're proud of me, Gramps,” I said to the painting. “I really do.”
With that, I headed off to take a shower and begin what was set to be a very busy three days in Hong Kong.
***
I stood in front of the mirror in my private bathroom, checking my hair and straightening my tie. I wasn't sure why, but the thought of interacting with Lilah Maxwell had me a little off balance.
“Come
on, Ash,” I said to my reflection as I pushed a hand through my hair to calm myself. “Yes, she's pretty. Yes, she's fiery . . . and yes, you do like those things, you really do. But, come on. You're the CEO of one of the most powerful PR firms on the continent. What are you feeling weird about? Get it together.”
I adjusted my tie and ran a finger over the deep cut across my right cheek—a souvenir of the previous morning's sparring session with the kickboxing master. For a 55-year-old, he could still move as fast as a teenager and I suspected his punches, kicks, knees, and elbows were just as devastatingly powerful as they had been when he'd been a younger man.
“Okay, let's do this,” I encouraged my reflection and, with that, I turned and headed to the office three doors down from mine and knocked on the door.
“Just a moment,” came a voice from inside: Lilah's voice.
“Sure,” I replied.
The door opened, and there she was, dressed in a pale-blue business suit that more than complemented her striking eyes. Her hair was pulled back, but in a softer style than the day I’d met her. She beamed a warm smile at me and extended a hand, which I shook firmly, but pulled away the moment I was sure I felt a tingle pass between us.
“Good morning, Mr. —Asher,” she corrected herself as our eyes met briefly. “How was your trip to Hong Kong?” she asked politely.
“Good morning, Lilah. It was productive. Thank you for asking. So, how do you like the new office?” I asked, stepping inside.
“Oh, it's beautiful!” she exclaimed. “I wouldn't have imagined that I'd be in an office this amazing so quickly. I was prepared for it to take me a few years to work my way to an office view like this.”
“When you've got talent and drive, sometimes things happen faster than you think they will. But, of course, you’ve got a lot to prove in order to keep the view.”
My grandfather always said you had to keep a decent amount of pressure on your staff to keep them on their toes; nothing excessive, but enough to remind them that nothing was set in stone. Complacency doesn’t move a company forward; hard work and ambition does. I could not—and would not—tolerate complacency in my firm. Lilah, like every member of my staff, needed to realize this.
“I understand completely,” she replied, “and I intend to do just that. My goal is to see to it that you have no doubt you made the right decision by offering me this position. But more than that, I want to prove to myself that I can not only do this job, but that I can do it brilliantly.”
I smiled. “Excellent. Ultimately, the only person you should ever need to prove anything to or compete with is yourself. As long as you're bettering yourself every day, you're winning the race. That's my philosophy, at least.”
“It's a good philosophy.”
I walked over to her desk and immediately noticed a picture of her with a handsome, rugged-looking man staring at me from next to her computer. It was completely irrational, but a sudden stab of jealousy shot sharply through me.
“Is this your boyfriend?” I regretted the words as soon as they came out of my mouth. It was a stupid thing to ask, but what could I do? It had already been said.
“No, no,” she answered hastily, and I couldn’t help feel a sliver or relief at her quick insistence. “He's my oldest brother, Eddie,” she added. “He's also my best friend.”
I stared at the man in the picture, and it began to make sense. Once I looked closer, the physical resemblance between the two was undeniable.
“I see it now. You two favor quite a bit.”