Page 66 of Hating the Boss

“Mr. Ashcroft!”

“Over here!”

“No date tonight, Mr. Ashcroft?”

The loud voices and questions were almost as adamant as the flashing bulbs of the cameras. I did my usual tight-lipped smile, giving the occasional wave or nod. My refuge was just a few feet away, up the stairs and under the circular lights hanging below the gray awning of the entrance. The doormen stood like London guards, stoic and expressionless in their black and gold embossed uniforms and matching hats.

To appease the photographers, I stopped on the steps and hit my usual pose of buttoning my jacket. I was wearing a custom Versace tux, its burgundy color rich, and the fabric even richer. I thought it would complement the gown I had picked out for Sarah. It was a shame we weren’t walking this red carpet together.

When I was sure the photographers had what they needed, I thanked them, and made my way inside. I quickly found the ballroom, a place I had been many times, either for weddings or other galas. Despite having been there before, it always took me by surprise how the room could transform. The stone arched pillars loomed above me, as they always did, along with the large crystal chandelier at the center of the room, but the rest of the room was drastically different.

There were large orange trees under the pillars. Actual orange trees, with white blossoms filling the room with a sweet citrus smell. Installed on either side of the crystal chandelier, were additional chandeliers made of white flowers that cascaded down like snow. Underneath were two lines of circular tables with lush tree branches at the center of the table, white blossoms and small oranges hanging from each sprawling twig. The large, glass vase was surrounded by candles, emitting a warm glow at the center.

Toward the back, at the center of the room, was a glossy white stage housing a four-piece jazz band who was playing covers of Top 40 hits. The white dance floor lay at the foot of the stage, overhead lights creating a light show that was in sync with the music.

On either side of the dance floor were two high-top bars with orange trees arching over top, and twinkling lights strewn along the branches. I made my way over to one to order a drink as I waited for Sarah to arrive. I was eager to see her, and to see her reaction to this gala that had somehow topped last year’s. If they were going for a romantic, end of summer theme, they nailed it.

“What can I get you, sir?” asked the bartender in a crisp, white suit and black bowtie.

“A whiskey, please. Neat,” I said, turning to lean against the marble countertop and scour the place for any familiar faces. I wondered if my father had arrived yet. Tonight would be the perfect night for him to see Sarah and me out in public.

I wasn’t sure what we were, but it felt more than just a show we were putting on. We no longer had crazy sex after hours in the office, like our relationship had matured past that. It wasn’t like I hadn’t thought about it or wanted it. I just felt like it meant more now, and I wanted to do things right.

Ever since I had taken up Anton’s advice (again) of asking her on a date, things had changed between us. She had opened up a part of herself that I knew was rare, sharing the hard parts of her life that made up who she was. Most people would never experience the loss or hardship she had in a single lifetime.

But it wasn’t just that. She had told me her dreams, and it was like no one had ever asked her about them. Like no one had ever asked her what she wanted. I wanted to be that person. I wanted to be a lot of firsts for her, or at least one-up the firsts she may have already had.

That made me think this was more than just a business arrangement, but I had to talk to her. I needed to see if I was the only one feeling that way. I had no intention of being blindsided by another woman again.

“Your drink, sir,” said the bartender, bringing my attention back to him.

“Thank you,” I said, taking the cool glass from his hands and taking a deep sip.

“That looks good,” said a familiar voice as I felt someone sidle up beside me.

I knew that voice and perfume, bringing me back to a time I desperately wanted to forget.

“Angela,” I said, not even looking at my ex as I turned away from the bar.

“That’s how you greet me? After everything we’ve been through?”

I refrained from rolling my eyes and looked at her, her heart-shaped face jutted into a dramatic pout. Her red lips were larger than the last time I saw her, probably from whatever injections she had her new fiancé pay for. She was wearing a black strapless gown that hugged her tall, lanky body and pooled out across the ornate carpet like dark liquid.

“I don’t think I owe you much more than that,” I said coolly.

“Oh, Brad,” she said, swatting at my arm playfully. “Don’t tell me you’re still hung up on all that.”

“All that,” I repeated slowly, my irritation growing by her lack of accountability.

She had used me. Saw me as a prize to be won and money to be spent, all the while pretending to care about me and the man I was behind the business. It was an impressive act while it lasted. Truly, she could be an Emmy award-winning actress.

It was a miracle I caught on before it went too far. As if placing a ten-karat diamond ring on her finger hadn’t taken it too far, but at least we hadn’t made it as far as walking down the aisle. I figured her out when I came across emails to other wealthy men. I supposed she was keeping her options open in case our wedding fell through.

“I think I see someone I know,” I said, walking away. I didn’t want to entertain her delusions any more than I had to.

I heard her scoff with offense behind me, but continued across the dance floor to where Trent Page stood with a large beer.

“Been skydiving lately?” I asked, stepping up next to him.