“Hi, Mr. Jagger. It’s Matthew from the front desk. You have a guest that isn’t on the approved guest list.”
“Who is it?”
“Ashley Winters,” Matthew voices, almost apologetically.
Well, well. I feel the surge of wild victory. Like a caveman who finds out a hot woman is standing at the mouth of his cave. Pity, she doesn’t have the hairstyle to make the image work. “Thanks, Matthew. Send her up, please.”
I look down at my sweat soaked shorts. I don’t have time to change fully, but I slip them off and pull on a pair of grey sweat pants hanging on a rail.
I move out of the room and through to the living room, the towel still draped around my neck as I wait for Ashley to arrive. The bell sounds as I get to the door. I open it and there she is.
She’s wearing a pair of blue, high-waisted jeans with a lilac t-shirt. On her feet is a pair of brilliant white sneakers tied up into two large, neat bows. God, her fashion sense is fucking tragic.
She doesn’t speak when I first answer the door. Instead, she just looks at me, her eyes moving down my body, taking in the fact that I am shirtless.
I think I see a slight stain of color begin on her cheeks, but I can’t be sure.
She catches herself staring at my chest, clears her throat primly, and quickly shoots her gaze upwards until she is looking me in the eye. “I shouldn’t have come here.” She lets her eyes stray down to my chest again before looking back up at my face, a look of judgement passing across her features. “And you’re clearly entertaining.”
“If that were the case, I guarantee you that I wouldn’t have stopped to see you,” I explain. “I was working out.”
“Oh,” she mumbles, and this time, she does blush. A deep red. Not unattractive, though.
Great. If this were a match. Finn, one, Ashley, zero. I smile politely. “Why don’t you come in and make yourself comfortable while I go and change into something a little more appropriate.” I step back and open the door all the way.
She nods once and steps inside. Her eyes are all over the place as she takes in the living room area. It’s a massive open plan room, cavernous and airy. The kitchen stands at one end with a mini bar beside it and a dining area set up. The black leather couch and chairs are positioned to give the best view of the city. Ashley doesn’t speak, she just stands mutely looking around.
“Make yourself at home,” I say. “I won’t be long.”
I move across the living room, down the hallway and into my bedroom. I quickly throw on a pair of black ripped jeans and a white t-shirt. I run my hands through my hair, getting it back into some sort of style. I glance at myself in the full-length mirror. To my surprise, my eyes are glittering with excitement. I frown at myself.
What the actual fuck, Finn?
This is just an arrangement.
I move back to the living room, and for a second, I think Ashley has changed her mind and left. As I move further into the space, I see her standing on the balcony, her arms resting on the railing.
Her back is to me as she looks out over the city. She must have sensed my eyes on her, because she turns around. She looks awkward as she steps back into the room. “I’m sorry. I just wanted some air,” she trails off, looking down at her too white sneakers.
“It’s fine. I told you to make yourself comfortable, remember.” I shrug. “So, what brings you here, Ashley?”
She looks up at me and her expression changes. Gone is the flustered woman who stood before me a second ago, replaced by someone with purpose. “I did a bit of research into you after you left my office yesterday.”
“Really? Isn’t that like cyber stalking or something?”
“It was when you did it too,” she points out.
Ashley, one, Finn, one. I nod for her to go on.
“I have a question. Why is someone like you, who was born into money and never wanted for a thing in his life, so desperate to get his hands on his grandfather’s company that he would even consider this insulting arrangement?”
I shrug. “I have my reasons.”
“Yeah, I figured. What are they?” She presses.
“I want what should be mine.”
“Bullshit,” she retorts. “You wouldn’t go to this much trouble just for the money. You don’t need it. So that makes this personal.”
“Okay, you got me. It’s personal. My grandpa set me a final challenge and I intend to rise to it.”
“We’re getting warmer, but that’s still not the full story, is it? If you want me to even consider this, then I need to know the truth.”