Chapter Three
Asher
For the first time in years, I had to force myself not to stray from my routine. I've learned over the years how important discipline is and how integral to success having a firmly-set routine is. Like everything else I've committed to in life, I've stuck with my routine no matter how I feel when I wake up—and it's paid off for me.
I'm in better shape now at age 32 than I was at 18, and I feel more focused and motivated than I ever have at any point in my life. I generally start my days at 5:00 a.m. with a green smoothie and a bowl of raw organic fruit and vegetables. I then work out in my gym with my personal trainer for an hour. I have a protein shake and a long shower at 6:00, and then I check my email.
Except that a little something—or someone—seemed to have upset my focus somewhat. My first thought when I awoke had been to check my email. I had even reached for my phone once before I got dressed. But I managed to refrain.
It was, however, still in the back of my mind when I opened my messages on the projector screen of my dining room as I settled down to sip on my protein shake. My eyes were immediately drawn to one message in particular, and my finger went straight for the name: Lilah Maxwell.
Good evening, Asher.
Thank you so much for offering me the position on your personal team. I appreciate your promptness in sending the job description. After some careful consideration, I've decided to take the job. I feel there's a lot I can learn from someone like you. I hope, in turn, I'm able to live up to the expectations you have for me. I assure you I'll do everything in my power to do exactly that!
Let me know how to proceed.
Sincerely,
Lilah Maxwell
I drank the last of my protein shake, skimmed over the message one more time, and smiled.
“You've made the right decision, Ms. Maxwell,” I said to myself. “You've definitely made the right decision.”
I dictated a quick reply, which my speech-to-text program converted to type.
Lilah!
So glad you've decided to accept the offer. I suspected you wouldn't actually need that week. I'll email your supervisor regarding the situation and will personally arrange the transfer. Wrap up whatever you need to in your current department; three days should be enough to take care of that. If anything's left unfinished or simply can't be done in that time, no worries. I'll have your supervisor complete it himself, or have your replacement take it over depending on the urgency of the task.
I'll arrange an office for you on my floor. It will be ready shortly. Tell me, would you prefer a city view from your window or an ocean view? I've got vacant offices on both sides, so the choice is yours. You should be moved into your new office by the time I return and we will then have a chat about your new responsibilities and projects. Your primary focus for the time being will be the Harry Winston campaign, of course, which you have fantastic ideas for. We'll get those in motion ASAP.
I look forward to having you on my team!
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.”
“Yeah. We get that all the time. He and I both have our mother's looks, while my other brothers all look like my dad.”
“How come you don't have pictures of the rest of them on your desk?” I asked and immediately could tell that I probably shouldn't have. She looked noticeably uncomfortable. There were obviously some family issues there.
“It's just that I'm closer to Eddie than my other brothers,” she replied softly.
“Oh, I see,” I responded, not wishing to press the issue. “Well, tell me a bit more about Eddie then. He looks like an interesting guy.”
She smiled, seeming relieved to have gotten away from the topic of her other brothers.
“Eddie’s great. He's a rather unconventional guy—he was a college dropout, but he's worked hard and is quite a success in his field.”
“And, what field might that be?”
“He's a musician—the lead guitarist for The Razor's Edge.”
“What? No way. He's seriously in The Razor's Edge?”
She looked surprised that I'd heard of them.
“Yeah,” she smiled. “He's one of the two founding members still in the band.”
“That’s crazy. I've been a fan of theirs for years.” It was true. While I'd been raised on jazz and classical music and, thanks to my mother, had played the piano since age 6, my rebellious side had always had a soft spot for punk music.
“I discovered The Razor's Edge in my teens when I'd heard one of their tracks on a snowboarding video,” I continued. “That song Bullet. Man, that tune used to get me amped before my snowboarding sessions.”
“Wait. You were into snowboarding and punk music?” she said with a laugh that was half amusement, half disbelief.
I smiled. “All work and no play makes Asher a dull boy,” I countered. “And with all the hard work and focus I've poured into my life, I needed some outlets, some escapes. In my teens I had punk music, snowboarding, motocross, and a few other extreme sports I could sneak in without my mom finding out.”
“Wow,” she said with another laugh and bright smile that was just as stunning as her eyes. “I never would have thought it.”
“There's a lot most people don't know about me,” I offered softly. “A lot.” Suddenly, I no longer felt like talking about myself. Things were getting a little too personal, and so I changed the topic abruptly.
“Anyway, we're wasting precious time here. I have a lot of things on my plate today, so we should get to work. Have a seat and let's chat about this Harry Winston project.”
We sat down in the meeting area off in one corner of her office and started discussing the campaign while I did my utmost to focus on the conversation and ignore her striking eyes and the curvaceous legs revealed so casually from beneath her skirt. This was going to be an interesting working relationship—interesting indeed.