God, I Hate That Man Read online

  Oh well, looks like Ashley is not popular with her. I start down the only hallway I can see. It occurs to me that this is part of my grandpa’s plan. Ashley is probably one of those hippy types who doesn’t shave her armpits and refuses to shower until there’s world peace or some shit like that. My grandfather always seemed to want to throw me into the worst situation. He thought it was good for character building, but he wouldn’t choose anyone too far outside what he considered feminine and socially acceptable.

  Or would he?

  My grandfather had always been interested in making money, lots of it, not the scene that went with it. It was my mom’s side of the family who’d been interested in impressing society. Grandpa was self-made and he instilled a sensible work ethic in my dad and a furious one in me. I think he picked me to succeed him a long time ago. My mom was old money, more interested in how she was perceived than anything else. Maybe my grandpa who never got on with her has chosen a tree hugger type just to horrify her.

  I guess I’m about to find out because I’ve reached the third door on the left. The hallway is far from fancy. There’s no carpet, just ugly, cracked floor tiles. The walls are painted a disturbingly bright white. Let me put it this way. If there’d been the smell of boiled cabbage in the air, I’d be hard pushed not to imagine it belongs in a third-rate hospital or a prison. But I guess if you’re homeless, then this would seem like heaven.

  The door to Ashley’s office is ajar and I tap on it, then step into the tiny room. It has a threadbare brown carpet and the same brilliant white walls. They must have gotten the paint cheap in a job lot or something. Not only on Ashley’s desk but all around her on the floor is stacked with files and papers and I honestly cringe at the sight of it. I’m a minimalist. I hate mess and excess. How can she work in that kind of chaos?

  She is on the phone and waves me towards the lone chair opposite her.

  I take a moment to study her.

  She is twenty-seven, but she looks more like a teenage boy. Petite, thin, seemingly flat chested and around five foot three at a guess. NOT my type at all. I’m a simple man, I go for chesty, blonde girls with mile-long legs. Ashley looks so thin I imagine a good hard fucking would break her in half, something I tend to avoid in women. I don’t want to take a woman to bed only to have to hold back in case I hurt her. Anyway, we won’t be fucking so that’s a relief.

  Also, her dark brown hair is in what I think is called a pixie cut. I instantly hate it. The style is unflattering and not in the least bit feminine. Admittedly, some women can pull off short hair. Unfortunately for Ashley, she’s not one of them.

  I take in her face. She has lost her glasses which is a good thing. She has full red lips and warm brown eyes, and granted, she’s not completely unattractive, but would it kill her to wear a bit of makeup? It’s like she has no interest in how she presents herself to the outside world, which for me, is a major turn off.

  She’s wearing a blouse that looks a little bit too big for her, and I know without even having to look that she will be wearing shapeless trousers and sensible shoes. Maybe she thinks by trying to look masculine, people will see past her small, delicate frame and think she’s a force to be reckoned with. However, with the way she has started yelling into the phone, I don’t think she needs to dress like that to be taken seriously.

  “Just get it done,” she snaps and hangs up the phone.

  I move to the chair she had indicated and pick up a stack of papers from it. I look around for somewhere to put them, but of course, there is nowhere. Giving up on finding any empty space, I sit down and put the papers on my lap.

  She looks at me properly for the first time since I came into her office. If she recognizes me, she doesn’t let on. She smiles, and her eyes light up, making her look almost radiant.

  Okay, so maybe she’s not totally masculine.

  “I swear the red tape in this country gets more ridiculous every day,” she condemns. “It’s like the government wants kids to feel hopeless. Anyway, what can I do for you?”

  “I’m here to fix your computer,” I say.

  “Excuse me?” Ashley asks, with a slight frown. “I think you might have the wrong building. Our computers are fine.”

  “They work properly?” I quiz.

  She nods.

  “Ah! I gave you the benefit of the doubt and assumed they were broken when you ignored all of my emails. I guess you’re just rude.”

  “I’m rude?” Ashley snaps. “I think you’ll find it’s considered rude to barge into someone’s office then sit and check them out like they were a piece of meat hanging in a butcher’s shop.”

  I can’t help it, the words trip out of me, before I can hold them back, “Oh honey, you wish.”

  She blushes bright red, and clears her throat. “Actually, I wish you’d just leave. I can’t believe Rachel let you in here with that dumb story.”

  I assume Rachel is blondie. “I didn’t tell her that story,” I say. “I just asked for your office.”

  Ashley rolls her eyes with irritation. Obviously, there’s no love lost there. “So, I assume you’re here to tell me what your emails say rather than just moan about me ignoring them? Although, I must warn you, if I ignored your emails, they obviously weren’t interesting enough for me to want to respond to them, so you’re probably not going to like my response.”

  I grin charmingly. “And here I was thinking you were just playing hard to get.”

  She frowns darkly.

  I get to the point, “I emailed you to invite you to lunch.”

  “That was you?” Ashley asks, her frown deepening ominously. “The charming email demanding I present myself at some pretentious restaurant to discuss a mutual interest?”

  Clearly, she’s using the word charming sarcastically, but I decide to play along. She’s easy to fluster, and it’s turning out to be kind of fun watching her become more and more incredulous. If she doesn’t watch it, she might pop right in front of me. “I’m glad you thought it was charming. Personally, in hindsight, I think it was a little arrogant, but now we’re back to you being rude. You clearly got my email and ignored it. Even if you didn’t want lunch, would it have been so hard to send back a quick ‘no, thank you’?” I pause.

  Well, she doesn’t disappoint. She blushes bright red. Another reason she should make the effort and wear a little makeup, her emotions are too easy to read. “Of course, I ignored it,” she huffs. “I don’t take well to being ordered around by anyone, least of all a total stranger.”

  “I’m not a total stranger, but that’s not the point. You do realize now that because of your stubbornness, we’re going to have to eat lunch in this neighborhood, a place I can only describe as unsavory.”

  She laughs then, a confident, gorgeous laugh. “Oh honey, if you scare that easily, then I was right to ignore your email.”

  This catches me by surprise. I expected her to maybe take offense at my observation, but I thought she would try to defend her choice of getting an office in the middle of a slum. Instead, she’s judging me. Someone with that haircut judging me is just—well, wrong. Something about this girl just rubs me the wrong way. From the moment I laid eyes on her, I’ve been doing and saying things I would never normally dream of saying to a girl. “I didn’t say I was scared. I just don’t fancy eating somewhere where the cleanest guests are probably the rats in the kitchen,” I shoot back.

  I know I’ve gone too far when Ashley’s face clouds with real anger.

  “Get out of my office,” she shouts.

  I’ve come this far, I might as well keep going now. I shake my head and smile.

  “It wasn’t a request,” she adds. “Get out and don’t come back here. Oh, and by the way, you’re far too old for that preppy schoolboy outfit.”

  Despite myself, I can’t help but glance down at my khaki slacks and shirt. It’s neither preppy, nor school boy. “I’m not about to take fashion advice from someone who looks like she dumpster dives for her clothes.”
r />   “Oh, you’re one of them,” Ashley leers, nodding to herself.

  She doesn’t elaborate, and although I know I am playing right into her hands, I have to ask, “One of what?”

  “One of them who will wear anything with a designer label. Because if Ralph Lauren or Gucci tells them it’s acceptable, then it must be. I think the word for that is clone,” she finishes with great satisfaction.

  I don’t know whether to be angry that she thinks I actually have no style of my own, or impressed because she is so feisty.

  Before I decide, she smiles sweetly at me. “This meeting is over. Have a good day.” She flips open a file sitting in front of her, dismissing me. Very likely, she has no idea which file it even is.

  It’s a dismissal tactic I’ve used several times myself over the years, but I’m not one to be dismissed. “So you’re not interested in hearing about the proposition I have for you?” I ask coolly.

  Ashley glances up from the file and shakes her head. “Nope. I have zero interest in anything you have to say.”

  I shrug my shoulders and stand up. “It always strikes me as a shame when people running charities let their emotions get in the way of what could amount to a sizable donation of sorts, but never mind. There are plenty of charities who could use the money.”

  “Wait,” Ashley calls as I turn away.

  I turn back, one eyebrow raised.

  She swallows hard and tries to smile. “Donation? I guess I could spare five minutes.”

  Just then, something odd happens inside me. I want to make it hard for her. I want to see her beg me to rip her ugly skirt off, open her legs, and fuck her hard on her desk. Jesus! Where the fuck did that come from? The stress must have gotten to me. I am literally going insane. Slightly disorientated by the unwanted images inside my head, I sit back down. I rub the back of my neck to compose myself, then meet her eyes. “I told you earlier I’m not a total stranger, and that’s true.” I extend my hand over the desk.

  Ashley takes it, eyeing me somewhat warily.

  “I’m Finn Jagger, Arthur Jagger’s grandson.”

  Her eyes widen slightly as she releases my hand.

  I go on, “And you’re the granddaughter of Walter Winters, my grandfather’s business partner, correct?”

  Startled and confused, she nods. “Yes, but I haven’t spoken to my family in years. Not since I decided I didn’t want to marry a monkey in a suit.”

  I shift uncomfortably in my chair. This is going to be even harder than I thought.

  “It’s funny,” she carries on, “how I was the golden child of my family until I decided I wanted to do something worthwhile with my life,” she admits, bitterly. She catches herself revealing too much, and gives her head a little shake.

  I decide to gloss over the moment and try to take away a little of her discomfort. “It’s okay. Some people just aren’t cut out to marry into the corporate world. It’s hard. It takes a tough woman to put her needs after her family,” I say.

  Her face clouds again.

  I realize I’ve said the wrong thing again, although it was unintentional this time. I was actually trying to sympathize with her because I wouldn’t want to give up my precious time to care for others either.

  “You sound just like my grandfather. He didn’t get it either.”

  “Get what?” I ask.

  “That this isn’t easier,” she replies.

  Before I can even open my mouth to reply she goes into a passionate rant, “You think it’s hard to be married to some rich guy? Then try sitting here with a fifteen-year old boy who has run away from his abusive father and been on the streets for six months. Try making that kid, who has been shat on by everyone in his life who was meant to help him, trust you. Try making that kid see that you’re not like the rest of them. That you’re not going to throw him away like trash. Try making that poor kid see his worth. Then you’ll know how hard this choice is compared to being the pampered wife of a rich man.”

  I swallow hard, uncomfortable suddenly. Ashley is turning out to be someone very different from who I thought she would be. “I-I couldn’t do that,” I say honestly.

  She raises an eyebrow, waiting for the punchline.

  I shake my head. “I’m serious, Ashley. I talk in facts and figures. I wouldn’t know where to start with a kid like that.”

  She sizes me up for a moment, and she must see that I’m not patronizing her because she relaxes slightly. “So what? You looked my charity up and decided to appease some of your corporate guilt by throwing money my way?” She pauses and smiles, a genuine smile. “Not that I’m above easing your guilt in that way.”

  I find myself returning her genuine smile. “It’s a little bit more complicated than that. It seems that somewhere along the way, before your grandfather sold his shares to mine, they decided we would be good together.”

  Ashley frowns.

  I rush on before she can interrupt and close me down completely. Like what I would have done if someone came to me with that ridiculous story, “My grandpa passed away a couple of weeks ago and …”

  “I’m really sorry for your loss,” Ashley murmurs.

  I nod and go on quickly, “I’m here about a clause in his will. To get his shares in his company, a company I have spent the last three years of my life pouring everything I have into, I have to marry you.”

  Ashley stares at me for a few seconds then throws her head back and laughs.

  It’s not the reaction I’m expecting at all, so I just sit here in silence, watching her for a moment.

  She sees the way I’m watching her and the laughter dies in her throat. “Oh, my God, you’re serious, aren’t you?” She asks incredulously.

  I nod grimly.

  She shakes her head at me. “This is just typical of my grandfather. He dangles a bit of money in front of you and expects you to sell your soul for it.”

  “Marrying wouldn’t exactly be selling your soul.”

  “Wouldn’t it?” She asks archly.

  “Maybe it wasn’t your grandfather. Maybe my grandpa thought you could change me, make me do something good with my life. Join you in the charity business.” Even as I say it, I know it’s not true. I don’t know exactly what he wants to achieve except make my life awkward, but he definitely wouldn’t want me to sell out and go into the nonprofit sector. I know what he thought of those guys.

  “You really believe that?” Ashley asks, her head tilted to one side.

  I shake my head.

  She smiles again. “Good. Then you’re not as stupid as I thought. I still don’t know why you’re here though. Are you thinking that giving some sort of a donation will be a way of getting the last laugh over your grandpa?”

  I shake my head slowly, trying to work out how to word this.

  Ashley’s jaw drops. “What? You’re actually considering marrying a complete stranger to get his company!” She gapes at me like I’m crazy.

  Maybe I am, this might just be the most insane idea I have ever considered.

  Her jaw drops even further. “And you’re thinking I might consider it too. Fucking hell, is this a… proposal?”

  “I am considering it,” I say cautiously. “But it’s not a proposal in the way you think it is. It’ll be a business arrangement. I would donate a huge, very huge initial sum of money to the charity, then we’ll draw up some sort of contract so the charity gets a percentage of the profits each month. We can really make this work for both of us.”

  She’s still staring at me like I’m insane. “God, Finn. Are you hearing yourself? This… this arrangement of yours is completely, utterly, and totally preposterous. Let me save you some time. Don’t bother working out any details, or drawing up any contracts, and certainly don’t even think about buying a tux, or roping in a best man. There is no way in hell I’m letting my grandfather map out my future for me in this way. The answer is never.”

  “Hang on—”

  “There are no buts or hang ons with this one,” Ashley cu
ts me off. “This is a firm no for me. I don’t care how much money is in it for me the answer is no. No. No!”

  I hold up my hand. “I can see that you are feeling very emotional about this. But remember your life need not change in the slightest bit. The only change will be a marriage certificate, which you can put away in a dark cupboard and forget about. You don’t even need to see me. After a very short while, we can initiate divorce proceedings. Think how many of those fifteen year boys you can save with all that money.”

  She takes a deep breath. “I don’t want to sound horrible or anything, but let me make this crystal clear for you. I would rather be buried alive than marry someone like you.”

  “I dread to think what you would have said if you were trying to be horrible.” Weirdly, I’m kind of impressed she didn’t lay down for the money. I don’t know a single woman who would have said no to me and my extremely generous proposal.

  I stand. Not because I’ve given up, but because I know I need a different strategy.

  “Believe it or not Ashley, the idea of being married to someone as stubborn as you isn’t exactly my dream either. But I can see the benefit of it for both of us.” I fish into my pocket and pull out one of my business cards. “Here is my card. Just in case you decide to start putting the charity before your own personal prejudices.”

  I hold the card out.

  She takes it and looks at it.

  For a second, I think she might be starting to reconsider the idea.

  Ashley looks over it and then she drops it into the waste paper basket. “Goodbye, Finn.”

  3

  Finn

  I run on my treadmill, faster than a jog, but slower than an all-out sprint. My gaze is turned toward the window. From this high up, I feel almost as if I’m flying. Except for the fact, my lungs are burning and the muscles in my legs are aching, which ruins the illusion. But even so.

  My favorite time to work out is early evening in the winter with the rain lashing down outside, and lightning forking through the sky. It’s a far cry from this workout. It’s mid-afternoon and the sun is shining. I’m feeling restless and frustrated, running almost always gets me focused, at least it used to.