PISSED DIDN’T EVEN DESCRIBE my emotions. My anger overruled my fear as I boarded my flight to Vancouver. Take off? No issue. I was too busy stewing over how I had woken up alone in Max’s hotel room.
He left a note. A fucking note.
I pulled it out for the tenth time: Had fun. Hope you get back to Vancouver okay. Max.
What the actual fuck.
Anger flowed through my veins like molten metal. Raging, glowing, bubbling and boiling. Burning away my hurt and my pain.
How could he?
How could he, after everything we had experienced together, walk away without even saying goodbye? I knew he didn’t want to see me in Vancouver, but to not say goodbye?
The most frustrating part was I had no outlet for my fury because he was gone. He had disappeared out of my life.
And for that, I think I hated him.
WHEN I WALKED off the plane, both of my parents waited in the airport lobby with concerned expressions on their faces.
“Hi,” I hugged them both. “How are you guys?”
Their eyes met briefly before they focused their attention back to me.
Dad cleared his throat. “How was your flight?”
“Fine.”
Mom touched my face. “Darling, are you okay?”
My eyes were clear. And my face was devoid of expression. A mask to cover how I was feeling. “Yes.”
I realized Dad was standing in the airport at 2 PM on a workday. Dad never left work in the middle of the day. In fact, this might be the first time.
“Why are you two here?” I asked, glancing between the two.
“Sweetheart,” Mom turned to Dad for support. “You survived a plane crash.”
“I know.” I also had the most life-altering night with a man who blew my mind and then snuck out while I slept. Ask me which event made me more upset.
“We thought you’d need support.” Her eyes searched my face.
I shrugged. “I’m fine. They recovered my purse and my phone, but my suitcase is toast.”
Mom covered her mouth with her hand, tears filling her eyes. “Oh, my poor baby.”
“It’s fine, Mom. I’m fine. I’m just tired.”
“That’s my girl. You’re a true Ashford.” Dad spoke with pride in his voice. When I did something spectacular, he liked to remind me I was an Ashford.
I decided not to tell him I blacked out before we crashed.
“So, should we go?”
My parents did not know what to make of me. My entire childhood, I could not fly. My parents had sent me to hypnotherapy. They had medicated me and when that failed, canceled their share of overseas family vacations because I became too hysterical to get on any flight. It was only when I left for New York that I had been willing to step on a plane. So, it was understandable that they didn’t understand my reaction or lack of reaction to surviving a plane crash.
I didn’t understand it either. I guess when you survive your greatest fear and live to tell about it, it becomes a non-issue. Besides, I had more pressing issues to work through.
MY PARENTS WANTED to talk about the plane crash, but they didn’t understand what I had experienced and I had no desire to explain it to them. The only person I knew who understood what that had felt like was Max. I wished that I could commiserate with him or talk to him. That night I annoyed myself, because instead of sleeping, I spent my time thinking about him.
Did he think about me?
He had warned me he didn’t want to take our friendship past last night. I had thought I had understood what that meant, but I hadn’t anticipated how bad it’d make me feel.
Worse, I wanted more. More than he wanted to give me. I wanted more of his kisses. I wanted another orgasm. I wanted to go back to lying on the bed and watching a movie with him. I wanted the chance to ask him more questions. Who was he? Where had he gone? What was his story? Did he feel alone arriving in Vancouver by himself?
Max could be anywhere. And I didn’t even know his last name.
THE NEXT MORNING, bright and early, I showed up at the breakfast table. Dad sat at the end of the dining room table reading the sports section of the newspaper and Mom made notes in her diary.
“You’re up,” she exclaimed, so happy to see me. I gave her a quick hug.
Dad folded the newspaper down to inspect me. “Good morning.”
“Good morning.”
“So, I’ve been thinking about your role this year, Rory,” Dad spoke with authority.
“Darling, give the girl a chance to breathe,” Mom admonished. “She only arrived home yesterday.”
“No,” I interrupted. I wanted the distraction. I wanted to stop thinking about Max. I also decided that I wanted to get this year over with. The sooner I started my internship, the sooner I could get on with my life. “I would like to begin as soon as possible. Why not today?”
Even my father, who was the king of maintaining a stone face, couldn’t keep the surprise off his face. “That’s great.”
“I’d like to work in the media department. I would like to use my skills as an artist, maybe work with the graphic designer. I could help with the website, learn the ropes from the bottom up.”
My plan was solid. This could set me up with some strong working skills for when I entered the real working world. It would also put relevant work experience on my CV.
“Nonsense,” he scoffed. “You’re being groomed to take over for me. You’ll start as my right hand.”
Fuck. Me.
“Dad. Can we talk about this?”
“We just did.” His eyes narrowed at my hoodie and jeans. “I’m leaving in 30 minutes, so borrow clothes from your mother. Business professional.”
I knew that tone of voice. It was his CEO voice. The do-not-fucking-cross-me voice.
Good thing Mom had two walk-in closets bursting at the seams with designer threads. And lucky for me, we were the same size. I was partial to jeans and t-shirts, but my mom had impeccable taste in clothes.
Mom gave me a worried look.
I responded with a tight smile. “Mind if I go shopping in your closet?”
DAD and I sat in the back of the car while his driver drove the car through the early morning Vancouver traffic. Dad talked on his phone and I stared out of the window. Only 365 more days of this. I could do it. This was payment for my four years in New York. I would be a good employee for the duration of the year, but the moment I finished this internship, I would break out of this cage and be free.
I glanced down at the black, fitted dress I had borrowed. It had capped-sleeves, a round neckline and came to a stop above my knee. Black and white splashed Louboutin spike heels, a slim platinum watch and big diamond stud earrings finished my look. I had pinned my hair to the nape of my neck and my make-up was subtle. I was dressed like a well-heeled businesswoman.
The car pulled up in front of the Aurora Stadium. The huge hockey arena was as familiar as our family home. I had grown up in this stadium. Mom used to brag that before the age of five, I had attended over 200 hockey games. When I was a baby, they had set a crib up in our deluxe family viewing box, because she never wanted to miss a game and she never wanted to miss my bedtime. I grew up in the world of hockey and I knew it like the back of my hand. But that didn’t mean I wanted to live and die here. I wanted to explore the world and what it offered me, and it frustrated me that my future was pre-ordained.
Dad was the owner and GM of the Vancouver Wolves NHL hockey team. He also owned the stadium and even named it after me. Aurora was my legal name, but only granny called me Aurora. Dad dabbled in other business ventures, but this team, this franchise, was his baby.
We got out of the car and I worked to keep up with Dad’s long strides in my tight skirt. The second we got out of the car, he dumped information on me. Player stats. Contracts. Negotiations. This shit bored me stiff, but I forced myself to listen and take note.
I had made a promise to him. I would make him proud this year. But in a year, I would walk away with a clear conscience. I would give this job my all and then no one could accuse me of not trying. But damn, it would be one long year.
We walked through the stadium concord and up to the corporate offices.
“I have a surprise for you.” Dad held the door open for me.
Uh oh. “What kind of surprise?”
We walked past a series of desks and offices towards his office. His office had a window view of the world outside and a full glass view of the rink below. He paused at the office next to his and ushered me in. This office faced down onto the stadium. Someone had furnished the office with a gorgeous oak desk, matching bookshelves, a leather couch, and the matching chairs.
I peered at him in question. “Whose office is this?”
“Yours,” he grandly gestured with his arm.
Oh shit. Stepping into a position I was under-qualified for, was blatant nepotism. Taking the second-best office in the house would increase the size of the target on my back.
“I don’t deserve this office,” I protested. “I haven’t earned it.”
“You were born into this position. You don’t have to earn anything.”
My father watched my reaction, and I realized that this was my surprise. He thought this would make me happy. I took a deep breath and realized that I could do this job one of two ways. Fight him every step of the way and we’d both be miserable, or I could work with him and make this year a great father-daughter year.
I choose the latter. “I love it, dad. This is amazing.”
His smile was huge. “I’ve been waiting for this day since you were born.”
No pressure. I swallowed. “Well, I hope to make you proud this year.”
He winked. “I know you will.”
