Turning Tables
Riley wasn’t there when Ashe returned to the condo late that evening, and neither was Miss Bailey. He looked in the spare bedroom and found she had taken the two dresses that she had brought home from the stylist the previous evening, though she’d left the clothes that had been there since they’d returned from St. Barts. Apart from the dresses, nothing had changed.
He knew it was irrational to fear that Riley would leave him, but it was always at the back of his mind. Riley had a tendency to retreat into herself, ignoring the rest of the world while she lost herself in her books. It was probably that which had made everyone blind to her drug addiction years ago. The thought lingered with him all day, yet he couldn’t contact her because he was hardly ever alone, and the last thing he wanted to do was to send her some trite text message wishing her a good day or saying that he missed her. They needed to talk properly.
Ashe leaned back against the couch and closed his eyes. He could fall asleep right now, right here if he allowed himself to do so. He was exhausted, anxious and edgy at the same time, though exhaustion took precedence. His day had been filled with last-minute run-throughs and then dinner with the cast and crew. Tomorrow everyone would be caught up in the machine that was opening night, from front of house all the way to the stage crew. From then on it was showtime, and a lot was riding on Ashe’s shoulders. He shared the spotlight with two other actors, Chase, who played Aufidius, and an established stage actress, Marcella Porter, who played his mother, Volumnia, but it was Ashe’s face which graced every billboard in the tri-state area. It was Ashe who took on most of the publicity.
Without thinking, he pulled out his phone and dialed Riley’s number. He was tired, yes, and all he wanted to do was go to bed, but he couldn’t do it without talking to her first. At the very least he could leave a message.
Riley answered on the third ring and Ashe heaved a sigh of relief. She sounded as if she had just awoken, her voice thick with sleep. He glanced at his watch and saw that it was 10:30.
“So sorry to wake you, love,” he said. “There was one last dinner with the cast and crew tonight, otherwise I’d have called you earlier. I want to apologize to you.”
“You don’t need to apologize for anything, Ashe,” she said. “What happened this morning is just something that happens between people.”
“Then why aren’t you here?”
“I wanted to give you space,” she said. “You’ve got a lot on your plate, Ashe, and I don’t want to be in the way.”
“You aren’t in the way of anything, Riley. In fact, I want you in my way all the time; that’s why I want you to move in with me.”
“After opening night,” she said. “When all your opening night jitters are gone. You practically hum with it, Ashe, and you get dark; like you did this morning.”
“I thought you said that was Paige speaking.”
“It was, too, which doesn’t help,” she said. “Break a leg tomorrow.”
Ashe frowned. “Aren’t you coming?”
“Of course I am. That is, if you’re not mad at me,” she replied.
“I’m not mad at you, Riley,” Ashe said, getting up from the couch to pace the floor. “If anyone should be angry, it’s you. I was wrong to ask you that question this morning. I trust you, but I behaved as if I didn’t.”
Riley sighed. “Well, we’ve never talked about my drug use, Ashe, at least not in detail. If it makes you feel any better, I didn’t call him. I don’t know why he targeted me again, but that part of my life is over.”
“I’m glad to hear it,” replied Ashe, smiling. “Will you stay here for good from tomorrow night, after the play?”
“Do you want me to?”
“Of course I do,” said Ashe. He understood her desire for reassurance, her need to be wanted; remembering his conversation with Paige yesterday and his recent meeting with Sid Eames, he didn’t blame her. “I want you with me, Riley, in our home, concocting your latest espresso blends in our kitchen, laughing at my silly jokes and letting me keep you warm in our bed – when Miss Bailey lets me. How can I make it any clearer to you?”
There was a pause, during which he could almost see her smiling. “You can make it clear to me tomorrow night; if you’re not absolutely exhausted, that is.”
“I won’t be,” he said, slipping his hand into his trouser pocket. “I love you, Riley-I-Am, more than anything in the world.”
“And I love you, too, Mr. Hunter,” she said. Ashe pulled a velvet-lined box from his pocket, his index finger brushing against its smooth surface, feeling it soft against his skin. He had been busy that day, but he’d made time to visit Dominic Pirelli, master jeweler of Manhattan, with offices still located at the Empire State Building. Ashe could have called Riley then, but he was afraid he’d betray his whereabouts if he did.
“I’ve never told you this, but I do know you believe in me, Ashe. You don’t know how much it matters to me,” Riley continued, taking Ashe back to the present. “You have no idea.”
“Riley…” he whispered, his voice suddenly hoarse.
She cleared her throat to continue. “You should get to bed now instead of listening to me ramble on and get all emotional. Wasn’t it you who told me that a good eight hours of sleep is what keeps your skin baby-soft with no dark circles under your eyes? That’s what I was working on before you interrupted my beauty sleep,” Riley said, laughing. “Now it’s your turn.”
“I’m off to bed now, love.”
“I tried putting cucumber slices over my eyes,” she added, “but I ended up eating them instead.”
Ashe had barely hung up his phone when his house phone rang. It was Terence from the lobby, and judging by his voice he was flustered. Sammi must be back, Ashe thought; the nerve of the man.
“Tell him that Miss Eames will be right down,” he said.
“Mr. Hunter, I’m not calling for Miss Eames,” Terence said quietly. “There’s a lady here who says her name is Miss Catriona Marks. She’s here to see you, and she’s quite insistent on coming up.”
Ashe cursed out loud, not caring if Terence heard him. “Don’t let her step in that elevator, Terence. Tell her I’ll be right downstairs.”
Setting the jeweler’s box on top of the coffee table, Ashe hurried out of his condo and stepped into the elevator. His heart was racing. What the hell did Catriona want? He’d been so caught up with the play and Paige and Sammi that he’d completely forgotten about her. Wasn’t she supposed to be filming the second season of her cable TV series, Carnival Road?
Ashe frowned. If there was a second season, he thought, pulling out his phone to search for news about her series. For his sake, there had better be one. As the elevator doors slid open, the top search results popped up on his screen. They said it all, one of them standing out above the rest.
‘Despite Critical Acclaim, Carnival Road At Risk Of Cancellation.’
Catriona was alone, sitting on one of the lobby sofas away from the main door. Ashe was tempted to scan the front of the building for photographers but knew it would be useless; whatever she had in mind, he wouldn’t see it coming. A photographer waiting outside was too predictable for her. Besides, someone had already leaked his address in the fan forums the week before, gleaned from property records. Most of New York didn’t care who he was or where he lived, but that didn’t stop paparazzi waiting around to take pictures.
Once it had been difficult to pin him down, when he was constantly filming around the world and only appearing when there was something to promote. Each appearance then was carefully planned, such as the act of getting a cup of coffee with Isobel Reign. Things were different now, however. His decision to take on Coriolanus had been made in order to stay in New York and nurture his relationship with Riley, but it had left him feeling like a lion trapped inside a cage for all to see, and there was nothing he could do about it.
“What do you want, Catriona?” Ashe asked wearily as she got up and leaned forward to brush her cheek against him. He leaned back stiffly to avoid her touch.
“We need to talk,” said Catriona. “Collette’s been in contact with your manager, trying to set up a meeting, but you’ve been ignoring all our attempts.”
“That’s because we have nothing to talk about,” replied Ashe through gritted teeth, standing with his hands thrust into his trouser pockets.
“Really, Ashe! What’s all this animosity? All I want is a few appearances with you, at the after-party tomorrow night, for example. After all, all this gossip about us having been an item years ago has the studio execs salivating for more. It’s working, you know, thanks to whoever leaked the reports; it’s working like a charm. All they want now is something, anything, to drum up publicity for Carnival Road, nothing more,” said Catriona, smiling sweetly.
“You’ll always want more, Catriona,” Ashe said.
“Well, I’ll try to stop myself,” she chuckled, then pouted. “You’re so edgy, darling, the way you always used to get just before a play. Remember how I used to calm you down, relax you? It worked every time.”
“No,” replied Ashe, although he did remember. How could he forget the heated encounters which had stoked his young and inflated ego, where Catriona Marks, a Domme to the rest of the kinky world, was submissive only to him? He’d tried to forget his past with her, whatever happy memories they’d once had now tainted by what she’d done to Hazel.
Catriona heaved a sigh, shrugging her shoulders. “Maybe one day you’ll remember those days fondly, Ashe. I know I do.”
“The only days I remember fondly, Catriona, are the days after I left you,” said Ashe coldly. “Even though I had to pick up the pieces of the sister I used to know, at least you were out of my life.”
Catriona stared at him as if his admission came as a surprise, but she said nothing.
“You had five years with me, and that’s all you’re going to get; nothing more beyond five minutes, which ends right now,” he concluded, glancing at his watch.
Ashe turned around and walked away from her until she spoke and stopped him in his tracks.
“I have our contract,” she said.
“A contract that I’ve fulfilled, just as you have. It’s called a relationship and it ended five years ago,” Ashe said without turning around.
“Not according to the agreement that we signed and was never properly ended for you simply walked away. You didn’t even have me return my collar back to you,” she said, walking toward him, her heels clicking on the floor. She sidled up next to him. “This details everything you wanted for us, Sir Ashe. This is what binds us together.”
“It’s a piece of paper,” Ashe said coldly. He’d been right; what Catriona had in store for him that night, he hadn’t seen it coming.
“What do you think would happen should this piece of paper be leaked—by accident, of course?” She dropped her voice to a whisper as Ashe turned to face her, his eyes flashing angrily. “The details are mind-boggling, aren’t they? The tasks, the duties, the expectations—details that include every toy in that room, every piece of equipment. Granted, they were all mine, but do you think the public will care?”
Ashe knew they wouldn’t, and it was now his turn to be silent. He could feel Terence watching them from the periphery of his vision as he pretended to look at the TV monitors surrounding the building and hallways.
All the public would care about was that everything in that room belonged to Ashe Hunter, Hollywood’s ‘It’ boy with a dark secret. Titillating, yes, but as Gareth had reminded him days earlier, it was information that could detonate his career into rubble.
Everything Ashe had worked for would be gone in the blink of an eye—the contracts, the movie deals, even the play; there was a perfectly good understudy, after all. Yet if he granted Catriona what she wanted, everything he had with Riley would be gone.
“I’ll consider it paid if you do this for me, Ashe. I promise,” Catriona said softly, moving to stand in front of him, her eyes downcast, submissive.
Only a fool would fall for that, Ashe thought, feeling the bile rise in his throat; a poor fool, left with no other choice.