Undone, Volume 1 (12 page)

With any luck, the more
time I spent with him, the less I’d like him. That would make
things easier. He’d sure surprised me last night. And humiliated
me. Just when I’d thought things were working out like a dream,
he’d sprung it on me—I’m average. That was why he liked me.
Even in my bed, I could feel a blush stealing up to my cheeks.

My phone blipped. A
text message. I reached over to my night table and picked it up.
“Call when you’re awake.” From a number I didn’t recognize,
area code 310. Hmm, was that L.A.? It could be Ash.

I clicked over to my
email and saw there’d been a flurry of activity. Ash had a lawyer
who apparently didn’t sleep. Last night he’d sent me a bunch of
documents and I’d looked them over with a mug of tea in my pajamas.
I’d clicked to e-sign more because it all felt surreal than because
it all made sense to me. All the language seemed to be around
protecting Ash’s privacy, and I had no interest in messing with
that. I had a long list of personal hopes and dreams, but gaining
notoriety through a celebrity tell-all wasn’t one of them.

Plus, Ash had put it in
writing that he would set up a fund to cover operating expenses for
the branch library for twenty years, exact financial details to be
finalized at a later date. I honestly had no idea how much it would
cost, but there had to be renovations involved. The building dated
back at least a hundred years. All that charm with the lions and
gargoyles came with the price tag of leaky plumbing, poor ventilation
and loud, hissing radiators that made children jump as if monsters
were in the walls. But Ash had agreed to cover it all.

The latest email from
Nelson Armistead, esq., was from an hour ago. It said I could expect
the hardcopy paperwork for signing to arrive via courier at nine a.m.
On cue, I heard a buzz.

Jillian got to the
intercom first, irritated at the early morning interruption though I
knew she’d probably already been up for a few hours. Early to bed,
early to rise and all that for Jillian. On the other hand my other
roommate, Liv, had probably only hit the hay a couple of hours ago.

In my fluffy blue robe
and slippers, I ran down the stairs and signed for my documents.
Jillian waited for me up at the door of our apartment, holding a cup
of coffee and brimming with questions.

“How was it last
night? Is that package from him? Did he apologize for what he did to
Mandy Monroe?”

“Well.” I shifted
my weight from one foot to the other. Subterfuge was not my middle
name. On the scale from crafty as a spy to over-sharing as my Aunt
Irina, I tended more toward my aunt than I’d like to admit. “I
had a good time?” It came out way too much like a question.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes?”

She looked at me
quizzically. “Is he a jerk?”

Yes, he was a jerk,
wasn’t he? If you weren’t a creep, you didn’t have to hatch
elaborate plans to prove that you were a good guy. You didn’t need
a lawyer drawing up agreements and a PR firm cooking up a storyline.
If you were a decent guy, you just walked around your life being
decent. Not like Ash Black.

But I couldn’t tell
that to Jillian, because I’d sworn everything to secrecy. I
couldn’t tell a soul about what we’d agreed to do. I couldn’t
really say anything about him to anyone other than the types of
details that we’d officially agree upon.

“Does he feel bad
about breaking Mandy Monroe’s heart?” Jillian asked.

“Yes, I think he
does.” At least he felt bad about it getting taped and millions of
people watching it, I knew that much.

“Do you think you’ll
see him again?”

I nodded. “He’s
taking me to his family’s holiday party tonight.”

“What?” Jillian’s
mouth dropped open, but I was saved further questioning by my phone
ringing in my bedroom.

“Sorry.” I ducked
out of our kitchen and closed the door of my bedroom behind me. Our
walls were as thin as paper, though. This was going to be harder than
I’d thought.

“Hello?” I caught
it after the third ring.

“Anika?”

“Yes.”

The woman calling
introduced herself as Lola Delacroix from the PR firm representing
Ash Black. “I hear you’re joining the team for the month?”

“The team?”

“Team Ash. You’re
going to be a clutch player. You can think of me like your best
friend and your coach all-in-one.”

Huh. Why did that sound
more like an ultimatum or a threat than reassurance?

“I’ve just sent
over your itinerary for the day. Look it over and tell me if you have
any questions.”

“Now?”

“Yes, now.” I could
practically see her eye-roll through the phone. I could tell, this
one ruled with an iron fist. I found her email and clicked open the
attachment. Oh my, the first appointment was in 45 minutes in midtown
Manhattan. First a stylist, then a salon, then a personal shopper,
then a meeting with Lola, herself.

“You’re in New
York?”

“Will be. I’m
hopping on a plane right now, and we can review your role together in
person.”

My role. “Are you
sure all this is necessary?” I could already tell my day looked
like a montage from a teen movie where the nerdy girl gets a
makeover. Only I wasn’t sure I was ready for all that. And hadn’t
Ash said, he’d picked me because I was so average? Why did they
want to give me a whole new look?

Lola gave a dry laugh.
“You’re so cute.” But she didn’t sound like she really
thought that, more like moronic. “Have you ever been interviewed
before, Anika?”

“You can call me
Ana.”

“Ana?”

“One time, my school
was changing its lunch policy and the local news came and interviewed
students.” My palms had sweat and I’d looked like a terrified
rabbit on the news that night, replying in one-word whispers.

“We’re not talking
anchormen and school lunches, Ana. We’re talking vultures. Sharks.
You’re going to be smack in the middle of a feeding frenzy like
nothing you’ve ever known.”

I cringed. “Won’t
they mostly be interested in Ash?”

“Sure, but you’re
new. Fresh blood. They’re going to want to know all about you. And
we’re going to have to give them some great shots.”

She meant staged
romantic moments, candlelight dinners and all that. My stomach
flipped, and I had to admit it wasn’t entirely because of the media
circus she was describing. It was also the thought of the show I’d
be a part of in the ring, the focus of Ash’s attentions.

“Now, I know you’ve
signed the NDA. And you’ve passed a thorough background check.”

I had? When had they
done a check on me? How had they had time?

“But I have to ask,
are there any skeletons in your closet we should know about? Because
now’s the time, Ana. Any misdemeanors, fetishes, drug habits,
enemies?” She rattled off the list as if she were well-accustomed
to dealing with clients with all of the above.

“No,” I answered
honestly, suddenly feeling squeaky-clean. I hadn’t thought of
myself as such a girl scout, but I guessed when you compared me to
the kind of celebrities who needed to hire PR firms to do damage
control I looked like an angel dropped down from heaven.

“Well, prepare
yourself,” Lola continued, “because they’re still going to try
to look for dirt. So, believe me, you’re going to want a good
haircut.”

§

Two hours later, I
stood in the middle of what looked like a giant closet filled with
racks of clothes on wheels in the shortest dress I’d ever worn. It
barely brushed the tops of my thighs.

“I don’t think so.”
I shook my head, but no one seemed to hear me. People buzzed around
with clipboards and wireless earpieces and swatches of fabric. They
weren’t all on my case, I didn’t think. That would be weird. But
they were all intensely busy and focused for a Saturday.

A woman began measuring
the inseam of my leg, her hand brushing alarmingly close to a part of
my body only my OB/GYN got access to. And Ash last night. Heat crept
back into my cheeks.

“I’m not sure I can
wear this,” I tried again a little louder. The woman measuring me
spoke to someone next to her. “OK for the show in L.A., but for
S.F. we’re going to need to tone it down.”

“San Francisco! Get
out the performance fleece!” a man sauntering past called out.

My phone rang in my
bag. “Sorry, I just need—” I broke away from them for a moment
and grabbed it. It was almost noon and I hadn’t heard from Ash yet.
But it wasn’t him.

“Hi, Mom.” I tried
to make my voice sound normal, like I was having a typical Saturday,
maybe still at my apartment drinking coffee and chatting with my
roommates. Chilly hands unzipped the back of my dress and the fabric
fell to my feet.

“What’s this?” a
woman asked, fingering my bra strap as if it were contaminated.

“I know, right?”
another woman agreed, shaking her head in disgust over the sorry
state of my plain, beige bra. Apparently they didn’t buy their
lingerie off the extra-markdown discount rack at Marshalls. But maybe
they should, you could get some good deals there.

“Who’s there?” my
mom asked, her spidey sense tingling. “What’s going on?”

“Oh, nothing, just my
roommates.” Stripping me naked and making me try on new bras, just
like every other Saturday.

“Do you work today?”

“No, not until
Monday.” They’d been cutting back on our shifts, part of their
money-saving campaign. Which would end in a month, I reminded myself.
That was the silver lining of all of this.

Speaking of silver, the
bra they hooked me into fairly glittered with silver beading and boy
did it lift and plump. But why were they bothering with my bra when
Ash and I had a no-sex clause clearly and explicitly written into our
agreement? I’d signed the papers, twice now, electronically last
night and in hardcopy this morning. Despite romantic appearances,
both parties agreed to not engage in sexual relations of any kind. I
knew it made sense and would certainly help to keep things simpler
between us, but I had to admit when I signed I felt a hint of
disappointment. He’d made me feel so delicious, so irresistible, as
if he couldn’t stand to keep his hands off of me. But then hours
later he’d signed an agreement to not touch me for the next month.

Guess all that
adoration had been manufactured, a ploy to reel me in. It had worked.
The feel of his fingers working their way along my thighs, slipping
under my panties, stroking my sex so slippery wet for him. It had
worked really well.

“And this afternoon,
are you finishing your Christmas shopping?” Mom asked.

“I think so.” How
was I going to handle this with my parents? Maybe I should drop a
hint? “I had a nice time on a date last night.”

I winced, knowing the
avalanche of questions my simple statement would provoke. “A date?
You didn’t mention a date! Who’s the boy? Do we know him? What
does he do for work?”

Like a life preserver
thrown from a coast guard ship, another call came in offering me an
out. “I’m sorry, it’s my boss at the library calling. I’ve
got to talk to her.”

“Call me back!”

“OK, Mom.”

The conversation with
my boss went as easily as I’d expected. She was thrilled that I
needed more time off around the holidays. As it was, they’d been
encouraging people to take vacation so they could save money. They
already had implemented reduced hours and reduced staffing. My
requesting more time would only ease things up for them.

It wasn’t any harder
with the families for whom I taught piano. Around the holidays, none
of them stayed in town anyway, all heading either somewhere warmer to
de-thaw or somewhere even snowier to ski and snow board. My absence
until the second week of January wouldn’t create any inconvenience
at all. It was almost too easy to free myself up. I almost wanted to
ask—wait, don’t you need me?

But Lola had informed
me that she and Ash certainly did. She wanted me to treat my romance
with Ash Black as my full time job for the month, and as such all of
my expenses would be paid. I’d be outfitted, styled, flown across
the country and perhaps out of it—details were still being
finalized. I was expected to give everything to this.

Starting tonight.
Apparently Ash’s family didn’t just throw a typical sort of party
for the holidays. No, they held their party at the Waldorf Astoria,
black tie. Stop one on the Crazy Train.

The stylists slipped
something new over my head. I closed my eyes, took a deep breath and
tried to prepare myself for the wildest ride I’d ever been on.

Chapter
2

Ash

The Waldorf Astoria
ballroom. I knew it like the back of my hand. If the back of my hand
kept getting redecorated and retouched every year. We’d congregated
here for our annual holiday party as long as I could remember.

After all of five
minutes, I ducked out of one of the service doors. Ana wasn’t there
yet, no need to torture myself with relatives I didn’t know and
former colleagues of my father’s offering their condolences. I
could hide out until Lola texted me that Ana was about to arrive.
Then, I’d rush to the entrance, the eager suitor, helping her out
of her limo and embracing my dearest love.

Lola had assured me
that that there’d be a full array of media outlets represented to
capture the moment, our public debut. Our modest family shindig of
500 usually got a few pics in the press anyway, what with all the
socialites and brand names in attendance. Lola had merely turned the
usual interest up a notch. Well, really I’d done that. She’d just
let them know that if they came, they’d get an Ash Black-related
hot new scoop.

In the empty, plain
corridor connecting to the kitchens, I exhaled. There, I could relax,
just for a minute. I could really use a cigarette, but I knew I had
to resist. There was the image thing, of course. These days smoking a
cigarette landed you in the doghouse worse than kicking a puppy. Not
that I’d ever done anything like that, though Mandy Monroe would
probably pay good money to doctor up footage of exactly that. Point
was, I didn’t need any grainy photos leaking of me scowling like a
villain with a cig in my mouth.