Collar
If Catriona thought that releasing Riley’s arrest record was enough to send Ashe’s life into a tailspin, she was wrong. Although Ashe had never intended to time his proposal to coincide with Catriona’s first strike, photos of Riley having breakfast with him at the Library Café sent gossip rags into a tizzy. Social media were especially excited, since pictures of Ashe and Riley and her rock of an engagement ring had surfaced there first.
Even Abraham Reign was ecstatic over the development. He believed that bad news was usually true, and it was what people remembered best. His strait-laced British asset was rumored to have been into a kinky lifestyle and to prefer women with an undercurrent of danger, Catriona being a Dominatrix and Riley having a history of drug possession; this turned out to be an asset to Ashe’s career.
It didn’t matter that his fiancée’s arrest for heroin possession had been dismissed and sealed, nor that a high-profile legal firm had taken care of the details of her arraignment pro bono, which meant she must have some pretty powerful connections; it still shot Ashe’s reputation to the top of the gossip mills. So much for the image of the proper and charming Brit which Ashe had cultivated—he was still dashing and charming as hell, but according to a well-known gossip columnist was also a bit of a dirty dog exactly where it counts: with women.
The only wrinkle that Abraham saw in Ashe’s new imperfect image was that it put his own daughter’s reputation in the spotlight.
“I don’t mind that everyone’s talking about you and Catriona, Ashe,” he had said when he called Ashe on Monday afternoon, leaving his office to practice what he called ‘damage control’. “Shit, we’ve all got our skeletons and you and I know who’s really into that shit and who isn’t in this town. What people do behind closed doors is their own business, right?”
“Of course,” Ashe said, sitting at his desk as he watched Riley and her nephews playing dominoes in the living room. He’d been helping them minutes earlier, until Abraham had rung up and he’d had to retreat into his study for some privacy, keeping the door ajar.
“Now people are assuming that you and she, well, were into it.”
Ashe shrugged then. “What Isobel and I did behind closed doors is our own business, Abraham; isn’t that what you just told me?”
“What can I say, Ashe? You can’t blame me for being curious,” Abraham had chuckled. “Who knew that underneath it all you were as kinky as almost everyone in this town? I do like the new nickname for you: the Dark Prince. Has quite a nice ring to it.”
If Riley had been alarmed at the turn of the gossip mill, she didn’t show it; instead, she kept herself busy. On Tuesday, she took her nephews to see Aladdin at the Amsterdam theater and for pizza afterward. The rest of the week was spent packing her things and boxing up her mother’s books to be moved into Ashe’s condo, though she had rented a storage unit for everything else.
She was leaving her furniture behind, choosing to sublet her apartment fully furnished, hopefully to someone she knew. That way, if worst came to worst she would always have a home to return to. No one would kick her out and leave her homeless ever again, she told Ashe, not even he, if things didn’t work out between them. This admission made Ashe realize that, although Riley didn’t show it, Catriona’s digging into her past had got to her. Paige’s words returned to him unbidden.
You weren’t there, Ashe, when she fooled everyone into thinking she was clean when all that time she was nothing but a junkie.
Still, Ashe trusted her, despite Paige’s warning. It was important to him that they trusted one another; she’d said yes, and as soon as they could decide on a date they’d get married. It was a huge step to take, yet it was something that felt so right.
A week later, as Ashe sat opposite the executives of Masquerade Films in Century City, which had purchased his screenplay, he found his thoughts drifting to Riley. He and Lance were in the midst of discussing their movie, with their chosen director, Warren Ellis, sitting on one side of Ashe and his agent on the other.
It didn’t matter that people around the table were talking about money, back-end profits, commissions, pre-production costs and all that; as far as Ashe was concerned he was back in New York, wondering if Catriona would strike while he was out of town. If she did, what would happen? It wasn’t as if Ben, who’d remained behind, could do anything to stop Catriona. Besides, Riley didn’t need a babysitter. She’d made that clear to him just before he’d left for the airport the day before, when she’d assumed that Ben was staying in town to keep an eye on her.
“How dare you treat me like a child!” she had seethed at him, prompting Ashe to step back into the condo and shut the door as Lance waited outside on the landing. “You’re just like the rest of them.”
“Ben’s not staying on account of you, Riley,” he had told her. “There are things he needs to take care of while Lance and I are away.”
“Including me.”
“Where the hell did you get that idea?” he’d asked her, keeping his deep voice low so that Lance wouldn’t hear him. “Lance and Ben work for me, and there are things that need to be done here, Riley; it’s been that way for years. No one is babysitting you.”
Ashe didn’t know what had set her off that morning, though he knew she’d been exhausted from packing the night before, even with Tessa, Carl and Ben helping her move. When he’d returned home from the theater that evening she’d been fast asleep on the couch, her mother’s picture book on the floor and a half-empty bottle of wine on the coffee table. She hadn’t even stirred when he’d carried her up to their bedroom, not rousing till the following morning, when she’d awoken to find him zipping up his carry-on luggage and getting ready for his flight to L.A.
“I wish you didn’t have to go,” she’d said, pouting playfully and following it up with a kiss.
“I have to,” he had said, brushing her hair from her face with his fingers. “I’ll be back before you know it, Riley. I might even surprise you with something.”
“Those candy bra and panties were fun that last time,” she had giggled. “Pity they weren’t sugar–free.”
“I’ll think of something else, and they’ll definitely be sugar–free.”
It unsettled Ashe that thoughts of Riley were distracting him from what the executives at Masquerade Studios were saying, their excitement evident in their loud voices and lively arm gestures. He should be ecstatic, focused solely on the present. Their script had been sold for six figures at auction, with an actor already chosen, himself, and a director, Warren, who was sure to give the film the eclectic vibe it needed. Their script was a wry comedy which one of the movie executives had said reminded him of Paul Anderson’s work.
“I would never have put you down as a comedy writer, or actor for that matter, Ashe,” Stan Wilson, one of the executives was saying. “Of course, there was your indie work, like Besties and that other flick where you played an incompetent burglar.”
“The Smoking Room,” Ashe said, grinning as he forced himself to return to the present. It had been one of his early films, a tale of bungling burglars getting tangled up with organized crime. It had been a modest success in England and got as far as the indie circuit in the U.S. It wasn’t unusual for Ashe to run into young men who could recite lines from the movie.
“Yes, and you were hilarious in it,” Stan said, nodding his head. “But I think your strength is in dark characters, the brooding heroes with hidden pasts; as it should be, considering your own past, you naughty bugger.”
Stan had said the last word with a feigned English accent, one that reminded Ashe of Hugh Grant; but he wasn’t smiling. Before Ashe could respond, someone knocked on the door. The woman who had escorted them into the conference room an hour earlier announced that Doug Ellis, the line producer, was on his way up, along with two studio accountants.
As soon as Ashe heard Doug’s name, he relaxed and leaned back in the chair. Whatever had prompted Stan to mention Ashe’s past would have to wait. Line producers took care of the money, and Doug’s presence meant that the real work was about to begin, the crunching of numbers for the projected budget. The movie would cost about twenty million dollars to produce, at the very least. No special effects were required for this sweet comedy set in a small town, though everything apart from the second unit would be filmed on a Los Angeles soundstage.
It meant that Ashe wouldn’t have far to go to work. He could have Riley with him in L.A. while he filmed his scenes for a few weeks, and she could enjoy the California sun and carefree lifestyle. Still, that would be at least a year ahead, for Ashe’s current year so far was completely booked. When Coriolanus ended its run, he and Riley would fly off to Paris to meet Will and Rowan for a few days, and then he’d take Riley to his favorite places in Europe for two weeks—Berlin, Amsterdam, Madrid, and Barcelona. Ashe had to fly out to Australia to film an action movie for three months, and then go to Budapest for two weeks. There was also publicity to be fitted in between shooting days, to coincide with the release of a movie he’d filmed two years earlier which was scheduled to be released in April.
His phone buzzed, rattling softly against the conference table and he saw Riley’s name pop up. Ashe smiled, glancing at his watch which was still set to New York time, around one in the afternoon. His surprise should have been delivered that morning, and he swiped his display to read her message. As the picture flashed onto his screen, Ashe hastily slipped his phone under the table.
Riley had sent him a selfie. Wearing nothing but a tight black leather corset, she knelt in the middle of the bed. Around her neck was a leather collar with two chains draped down toward her breasts, no doubt meant to be attached to nipple clips. In the picture, Riley had wrapped her left arm over her breasts to cover them, as she took her photo with the other hand.
Riley: This I didn’t expect but I’m not complaining! I can’t wait for the test drive.
Riley had included two emojis of bug-eyed perplexed faces, a heart, and three kisses. Ashe enlarged the image on his phone from under the conference table, not wanting anyone else to see what was meant for his eyes only. Riley’s innocence left Ashe seething and tugged at his heartstrings.
In the enlarged image, Ashe caught a glimpse of a black gift box and bright red tissue paper scattered about the king-sized bed, as if she’d torn through the wrappings excitedly. He had to admit that she looked absolutely luscious, with her long blonde hair falling over her shoulders and her lips in that pout he knew so well.
But the sight of Riley in her new outfit was painful. It was one thing for her to look hot in fetish wear he’d picked out just for her, but in this case, Ashe wasn’t the one who had sent it.