Ashton Scott Page 3

  “Jesus, don’t ever get married or have children,” Alessandra mutters into the phone. “Although, you’d have it easy because you’re the damn man. Ugh. I should have become a lesbian.”

  “I’m concerned about you. Your level of domestic disorder seems to have escalated. What’s going on?”

  “Malcolm is going on, that’s what!”

  “Aly, you’ve been married for nine years. Surely you two have your shit together by now.”

  Another long sip of wine. And then she lets loose on me. “You have no idea about marriage. I’m beginning to think that it wouldn’t matter if we’d been married for a hundred fucking years. He’d still be clueless about how to make his wife happy. Do you know what he had the hide to say to me today?”

  I shudder to think. “What?”

  Another long sip of wine. Surely that glass is nearly empty. “He suggested I take some defensive driving lessons. Can you fucking believe that?”

  I can, but no way in hell am I admitting that to her. Not in the state she’s in. Malcolm adores her and he’s a good husband. Alessandra just loses sight of that every now and then.

  Before I have a chance to form a reply, she continues, “Don’t answer that because I know what you would say. Just take note—never say shit like this to your woman.”

  “Duly noted.” I can’t see myself ever settling down with someone for the same length of time Alessandra’s been with Malcolm. Not because I don’t want to, but rather because I can’t seem to find the right woman.

  “So where were you on Monday night?” She returns to her earlier question.

  “I decided that with the mood I was in Monday, I was no good to anyone, so I just spent the night at home.” Stewing over what I’d learnt that day.

  “You’re pursuing that Willow Street building, aren’t you?”

  I ignore the disapproval in her voice. “It’s not for sale, but yes, I’m still pursuing it.”

  “How strange…. Dad definitely said he was putting an offer in on the Willow Street property.”

  “I’ll get to the bottom of it.”

  “Oh, I have no doubt,” she mutters. “Now, the reason I actually called you…. Please tell me you’re still good for tomorrow afternoon. If you say no, I may just kill you. Or send little humans around to hang out with you. Either would be punishment enough.”

  “You fail to recall my love for your little humans. You’ve nothing to worry about—I’ll be there.”

  Her relief is clear in her voice. “Thank you, Ashton. And now I will leave you so I can refill my glass before thinking up ways to show my husband just what I think of his idea for me to take those lessons.”

  She ends the call and I throw my phone down onto my bed. I pull my sweaty T-shirt over my head and dump it in the laundry basket before stripping out of the rest of my clothes. It’s just turned nine and I’m going to have a shower before dinner and then work for a few hours. A deal I’m trying to close in Los Angeles has hit a problem so I’ll be on the phone with them until the early hours of tomorrow morning.

  As I head into the bathroom, my phone rings again.

  Fuck.

  I just want some peace and quiet.

  I snatch it up. “Don’t tell me…. You’ve cut Malcolm’s dick off.”

  A chuckle filters down the line. “No, I can’t say I have.”

  I rake my fingers through my hair. “Thank Christ it’s you. I’ve just had Aly on the phone.”

  “Ah, say no more, my friend.”

  Jack Kingsley is my oldest friend. And any day I hear from him is a good day.

  Sitting on the end of my bed, I rest my elbows on my knees and drop my head forward. “You’re awake early.” Jack lives in LA.

  “Yeah, I can’t sleep. Too much shit taking over my mind. How the hell do you do it?” Exhaustion threads its way through his words, and I wonder what’s going on with him. I haven’t seen Jack for a good three months, which is unusual for us. Between my trips overseas and his, we normally manage to see each other every month.

  “Do what?” I ask.

  “Juggle all the balls in your court without going crazy or blocking it all out with an unhealthy addiction.”

  Fuck.

  Jack has a long history with drugs, and I’ve lost count of the number of times I’ve worried he might not wake up in the morning.

  “You forget, work is my unhealthy addiction.” I tread carefully; we’ve had more than one bad argument over his vice.

  “Ah, yes, well, I’ve tried to take that addiction up and all I feel is ten-fucking-times worse.” He blows out a harsh breath. “I’m coming home. I’ve had enough.”

  “For how long?”

  “I’m done, Ashton. I’m coming home for good.”

  “Jesus, Jack. What the fuck is going on over there?” As much as I want him back in Australia, I know it’s not where he needs to be. Every time he comes back here, he spirals further down the abyss of despair he lives most of his life in. Jack lives and breathes LA; he has no place living in Australia.

  “Directors who are trying to kill my soul and actresses who use me on their way up and throw me away the minute I no longer serve a purpose. That’s what’s going on over here.” His words are sour and he spits them out as if they are causing him extreme discomfort.

  “But what’s different, because you’ve been doing this for fourteen years now. And fuck knows, you’ve been dealing with asshole directors and fame-hungry bitches for a long time. What’s happened this time to make you want to quit?” He’s actually been acting for a lot longer than fourteen years, but that’s how long he’s been doing it professionally.

  “What’s the point to it all, Ashton? Why the fuck do I do what I do? I’m different this time…. It’s me. If I have no point—no reason—for putting up with all this shit, then I have no reason to continue.”

  My head jerks up and I push up off the bed. “Have you booked a flight?” I’m fucking concerned about him now; more concerned than I’ve ever been and the only thing I want to focus on is getting him home. The rest can be dealt with once I have him here safe.

  “Yeah, I leave tonight, just before midnight.”

  Thank fuck.

  “I’ll pick you up when you get in. And you’ll stay with me.”

  “Always trying to save me,” he murmurs and I feel his attention slipping away. “You’re a good friend.”

  “Are you using at the moment?” I bite out, unable to stop myself anymore.

  He sighs. “Nothing more than the occasional joint.” A brief pause before he continues, “I’ll see you soon, my friend.”

  And then he’s gone.

  I don’t waste a minute. Dialling a number I know off by heart, I wait impatiently for the call to be answered.

  “Fuck, Ashton, do you know what time it is over here?” Bruce Nielson’s groggy voice filters through the phone.

  “Yes, I know what time it is over there,” I snap. “Do you know that your client’s mental state is fucked up at the moment?” If he doesn’t come back with the right answer, I swear to God I’ll find ways to hurt him. Jack’s manager has never impressed me; tonight my tolerance for him has hit rock bottom.

  “What? So he punched his director and then went and got himself into a brawl with his ex’s new boyfriend? It isn’t like that shit hasn’t happened before where Jack’s concerned.” This must have just happened because it’s news to me.

  “You’re a piece of shit, Bruce, and I’m going to make sure Jack finally sees that. And then I’m going to ensure you don’t work another day in Hollywood.”

  I rip the phone away from my ear and stab at it to end the call before quickly looking up another number. She answers much faster than Bruce and is awake just as I knew she would be.

  “Ashton, to what do I owe this pleasure?” she purrs down the line.

  My dick stirs at the sound of that voice. Josephine Thorne and I go way back and I briefly imagine the lips that voice escapes from. Those lips have given
me many hours of bliss. At one moment in my life, I thought they’d bring me decades of happiness, but she walked away before we could go down that path. We remained friends, though, and she’s never let me down.

  “Jack’s not doing well. He’s on a flight home tonight, your time, but I’m concerned about what could happen in the hours between now and then.”

  Josephine loves Jack just as much as she loves me. Hell, the three of us have a past that is entwined together in ways three people shouldn’t be. She was the reason for one of his famous breakdowns after she walked away from him, too.

  She doesn’t hesitate. “I can go over to his place now. I’ll be there in half an hour.”

  I exhale the breath I’ve been holding. “Thank you.”

  “Ashton, I’ve got this. You don’t need to worry. I’ll make sure he makes that flight. You just get our boy better, okay? God knows I’ve been trying.”

  I frown. “What do you mean?” It’s been a good six months since I’ve spoken to Josephine.

  “He started going downhill about four months ago. It was hardly noticeable at first, but I know his signs as intimately as I know his body. I’ve spent so much time with him over the past few months trying to help him, but nothing has gotten through. I really think he needs you. You’re the only one who he’s ever really listened to.”

  I grit my teeth. I’m an asshole. My best friend has been suffering for months, and I’ve been too damn busy to notice. “Thanks, Josephine. I’ll make sure he gets the help he needs.”

  I can’t get off the phone fast enough. The urge to inflict damage on everything in this room explodes through me, and I punch the wall.

  Repeatedly.

  I lash out, trying to rid myself of the anger coursing through my veins.

  Anger at myself.

  Jack needed me and what the fuck was I doing? Screwing my way through Sydney and London, and pushing deals through faster than I could keep up half the time, rather than being there for someone I love more than myself.

  Jack’s right.

  What the fuck was it all for?

  The foreign feelings I’ve been experiencing lately rear their ugly heads and I realise I’m going to need to take this anger and confusion back to the gym. Punching holes in my wall isn’t going to cut it.

  5

  Lorelei

  “Have you heard from the dude you tried to have sex with after the wedding?” Sienna asks me late Thursday afternoon.

  It’s been three days since I scurried from the guy’s hotel room, and I am more than thankful that I haven’t heard from him. I close my laptop and run my fingers through my hair while stretching my neck. “No, and I don’t want to.”

  “Really?” The look she’s giving me tells me that she thinks I’m mad. “Lorelei, that guy was hot. Like, off-the-charts-I’d-do-him-in-a-heartbeat hot. Did you at least get his phone number?”

  “No, because I’m not interested. The only reason I went to his room with him was because I was so drunk I wasn’t thinking straight. And then to fall asleep while he was… well, while he was doing what he was doing”—my cheeks flame while I recall what happened—“I was so embarrassed when he told me the next morning. I couldn’t get out of there fast enough and honestly, if he called me, I would probably die of embarrassment.”

  Her mouth twitches and a moment later, she bursts out laughing. “You are too much, babe.”

  I narrow my eyes at her. “Why?”

  She attempts to get her laughter under control, failing miserably. But she manages to splutter, “You can’t even say the words, ‘giving head’. God, you make me laugh.”

  Pursing my lips, I say, “Clearly.” My cheeks still feel hot.

  “And, who the hell falls asleep while a guy’s eating her out? Unless he was really bad at it?”

  “Well, I’m obviously not the right person to ask about that because I can’t bloody remember.” I glare at her. “Can we please change the subject? I don’t want to rehash this disaster anymore.”

  Her laughter subsides and her features soften. “Oh, babe, it’s not that bad. Why are you so embarrassed about it?”

  I look down at my laptop for a moment, trying to ignore the feelings of not being worthy that are pushing their way into my head. Looking back up at her, I say, “You know how I don’t do one-night stands?” I wait for her nod before I proceed. “It’s because I feel dirty about them. Being a product of one, and not ever knowing who my father is turned me off them as soon as I understood what they were. Sex means more to me than a quick lay with someone I don’t care about. I’m embarrassed at my behaviour that night—not because I judge one-night stands, but because I did something I don’t believe in for myself.” God, I hope she understands where I’m coming from because I don’t care that other people—including Sienna—have casual sex. It’s just not for me.

  I shouldn’t have worried, though, because she gives me a smile. After eleven years of friendship, she knows me better than anyone. “I get it. And for the record, you are the least judgy person I know.”

  “Thank you,” I murmur.

  “Okay, changing the subject, highs and lows. My high is that I’ve scored six new clients this week, and by the end of the week, I’m hoping to add at least one more. My low is that the guy who lives in the apartment next to mine still hasn’t noticed me. Not even when I was wearing the tightest dress ever yesterday. Ugh. Do you think he’s gay?”

  She looks so depressed over the fact the guy hasn’t noticed her that I can’t help but laugh. Sienna’s a gorgeous woman with her always-immaculately-styled, long blonde hair and a body she works hard to keep in shape. She also spends hours on beauty, so she’s always dressed well with a full face of make-up. Either the guy is blind or gay. Or just not into hot blondes.

  “Probably. I mean, who wouldn’t want you?”

  Her depressed expression gives way to a huge smile. “This is why we are best friends. Now, hit me—give me your highs and lows.”

  “Well, besides waking up in that hotel room on Monday, my encounter with Ashton Scott does not rate as a high. You know I hate doing lows, though, so I’m not going to call it as one. My high would have to be the fact I booked my flight to Hawaii.” I’ve wanted to visit Hawaii for as long as I can remember. The trip I have planned will tick a few items off my bucket list.

  “You haven’t heard from Ashton again, have you?”

  “No, I think perhaps he got the message.” Just thinking about him stirs feelings I don’t want. Damn him. As much as he annoyed me, I’ve thought about him a few times this week, and some of those thoughts have been about his ass and his eyes and that voice…. Argh!

  Enough.

  Focus, Lorelei.

  Sienna’s watching me intently. Pointing at me, she accuses, “You were just thinking about him, weren’t you? And I’m talking about an I-wanna-jump-his-bones-kind-of thought.”

  I groan. “How do men manage to do this to us? I mean, I know I have no desire to date a man like him, and yet I can’t help but think about him.”

  She mimics my groan. “I feel ya, sister. I think God wanted some fun so he dreamt up ways for men to irritate women and now he just sits back and has a good laugh at our expense.”

  Her phone rings, interrupting us, and I listen as she has what appears to be a pissed-off conversation. When she ends the call, she looks at me with that look she gives when she wants something. “You love me lots, right?”

  “What do you need?”

  She grins. “I’m supposed to be taking my nephew to soccer practice this afternoon, but my mum just called and she needs someone to pick her up from the hospital. I’m the only one who can do it. I would love you forever if you took Tony to practice.”

  “What time?” It’s nearly four already.

  She pulls a pained face. “You’d have to leave in the next ten minutes. You’d just have to pick him up from my brother, get him there and then stay until I arrive after I get my mum home.”

  I stand. “It�
�s no worries. I’m finished my work for today.”

  The relief is clear on her face. “I’ll shout you dinner after practice if you’re up for it.”

  “If I’m up for it?”

  She laughs and says with a wink, “The kids all go to McDonalds afterwards, so it’d be a burger. Or you could just skip that and go straight for a sundae.”

  “I haven’t had a sundae for years. You can shout me dinner.”

  * * *

  We make it to soccer practice five minutes late. I’m stressed because running late for anything always knots my stomach with worry. Tony, on the other hand, just shrugs and thanks me for bringing him. He then runs ahead of me so he can join his team on the field.

  I wander to where the parents are standing to watch their kids. It’s an under-nines' game and by the looks of it, most of the parents are settled on chairs they’ve brought with them. Probably old hands at this by now. They’re all engrossed either in watching their child or on their phone.

  That is, except for one mother.

  I eye her and bite back a laugh. I’m guessing from what she’s wearing and her perfect blonde hair and face that she just came from the office, but she’s projecting frazzled vibes. A young girl, probably about four or five, is doing laps around her refusing to conform to the woman’s wishes.

  As I move closer, I hear the woman shriek, “Sadie, if you don’t sit down now and stop making all that noise, there will be no McDonalds tonight!”

  Sadie immediately stops what she’s doing. Her bottom lip quivers and her face crumples. “I want McDonalds, Mummy. I want to go there with Uncle A—”

  Her mother appears to be all out of patience and cuts the child off. “Well sit down and be quiet.”

  Sadie finally does as she’s told and as the woman lets out a long breath of relief, she sees me watching. Grimacing, she says, “Unfortunately bribery is my chosen method of parenting. Please don’t judge me.”