Ashton Scott

His eyes on me have only flustered me more. I wish I’d had time to go home and change out of this damn dress before having to see Ashton again. The fact my boobs are practically hanging out has put me off my game.

“You can stop judging this dress,” I snap, my ruffled state finally getting to me.

“That wasn’t judgement, Lorelei.” His deep voice moves through me as heat flushes my skin.

Oh dear Lord, is there no end to his assault on my senses?

Focus.

Deep breaths.

He can kiss your ass, remember?

“What do you want, Ashton? I’ve already told you my building isn’t for sale, so I’m not sure why you’re here.” I load the Nespresso with a coffee pod as I speak, doing my best to ignore the war of emotions rushing through me.

“Everything in this world is for sale for the right price.”

If there’s one thing my grandmother taught me, it’s manners. Those manners are the only thing holding me back from telling him what I really think about that statement. Instead, I face him and calmly say, “It would seem you’ve found something that isn’t.”

He rests against the counter and casually crosses one ankle over the other as if he’s settling in. “You’re attached to that building.” It isn’t a question, but rather, a statement.

“Yes. My grandmother owned it for years while I was growing up. She loved the opportunity it gives people.”

Frown lines etch his forehead. “What opportunity?”

I shake my head in annoyance. “You know nothing about that building.”

“I know there are three businesses that you lease space to in it and that it’s a piece of prime real estate in Potts Point. I’m guessing the opportunity you’re talking about is the exposure its location gives those businesses.”

It’s moments like these I truly question my chosen path of building a business. The Willow Street building is all those things he mentioned, and yet it is so much more. However, the other things aren’t likely to rate high on any list that a man like Ashton checks off when considering acquiring an asset. The fact that I would include them on any list I make has me wondering at my ability to survive in the ruthless business world.

“No, the opportunity I was referring to was that the people she leased to, and that I now lease to, aren’t your standard business-type people. Pearl Winters established the Willow Street Fund to help people who have great business ideas, but who can’t afford to action them. The fund takes applications once a year and distributes money and works with the chosen businesses for a period of three years to get them up and running. If we have a lease available in the Willow Street property and they need a shop, we make it available to them at a deeply discounted cost.” I pause for a moment before adding, “There’s no way I’d ever sell that building. It’s too important to these people.”

He’s staring at me with a look I’m not quite sure of. If I had to identify it, I’d say it’s possibly confusion. “I knew about the Willow Street Fund and I knew your leases were too cheap, but I didn’t realise the two went together….” His voice drifts off as if he’s thinking about something else.

“It’s not something we make known. My grandmother figured that if people knew they could get cheap rent, she’d have everyone applying for funding. When someone signs a lease, they also sign a non-disclosure agreement stating they won’t share that information with anyone.”

“So what you’re saying is that anyone who has ever had a business in that building was helped by you or your grandmother. They wouldn’t have had anyone else helping them. Financially, I mean.”

“That’s correct.”

He continues to stare at me and doesn’t say another word, until he mutters, “That bastard.”

I frown. “Who?”

Without answering me, he pushes off from the counter. “I’d like to be the first to know if you ever decide to sell.” His phone is already to his ear and his attention has left me even though he’s still watching me.

I truly dislike his style of business.

As he walks towards the door to leave, I say, “No.”

He comes to a halt and turns back to face me. “Give me a minute,” he says into the phone before holding it to the side so he can speak to me. “No?”

I nod. “I told you it’s not for sale and never will be.”

“Yes, well, we all know how business goes, Lorelei. Times get tough and assets need to be looked at. Call me if that time comes.”

I watch him leave, and I feel a sense of accomplishment when my gaze stays firmly on his back rather than sliding down to take in that magnificent ass.