Caught Between the Ashford Brothers

Chapter 15

Julian

I was looking through the report the new intern from the marketing department, Iris Sinclair, had submitted during the meeting earlier today when Camille's call came in. It was around 10 pm, and I knew she wasn't home yet. If she were, she would have been disturbing me by now and preventing me from doing anything productive at all.

I should really send her back home.

"Julian..." She said with a slightly slurred voice when I picked up the call. Loud music was playing in the background on the line and I could hear various chattering of people and curse words that told me she was at the club... again.

I took off the glasses I was wearing – only for work and occasionally at home – and sat up in my seat, exasperated.

"What is it, Camille?"

"Can you come pick me up? I can't seem to find a ride home."

"Why? What happened to the ride you took there?"

"I... It was a different one." She scoffed. "You don't expect me to have told the driver to wait till I was finished partying before he brought me back home again, did you?"

Of course not. That's not what I meant. "I meant what happened to the ride app you used to get there. Uber, InDrive, one of them must still be working by this time."

"Maybe... I don't know... they're just not working on my end, and my phone is about to die. Can you just come pick me up... Please?"

I sighed and picked up my glasses again. "No. I'm quite busy."

"What? Doing what?! Looking through those f*****g reports from work for the hundredth time?!" Her voice was filled with disbelief.

"Yeah. Exactly." She scoffed just as I was about to cut the call. "So if I die now or something happens to me, you think you'll walk away from this with a free conscience. What are you going to tell my dad?!"

I placed the phone back against my ear again. "I think he'll be more appalled by what you've been doing than your death."

"Julian!" I winced as she screamed into the line. Ugh!

"Fine, but this will be the last... What?" I tore the phone away from my ear to see that she had cut the call on me.

That brat.

I dropped my glasses again and stood up from behind my desk with a stretch. Something must have happened again with her date for me to be the one picking her up.

****

An hour and ten minutes later after leaving my apartment in Manhattan, I arrived in Jamaica, Queens, where Camille's location share had pinpointed the club was. Its name was District 8, and I only found it after driving around the area for a while.

Okay. Now all I had to do was call her to tell her I'm outside; then we can get out of here.

Hey! It’s Camille. I can’t get to the phone right now. I’m either out, asleep, or ignoring responsibilities. Leave a message and I’ll call you when I resurface.

I groaned exasperatedly, already dialling her number again. She had better pick up this time because I wasn't about to start arguing with some bouncers that I'm not a straight guy trying to ruin a club for lesbians.

She didn't pick. And also didn't call back even after I waited for a few minutes.

Ugh!

I glanced at the entrance. I was going to have to go in and also argue with the bouncers.

"Hi..." I said to one of the tall, burly guys on getting to the entrance, and he trained his intimidating gaze on me. "I'm here to..."

He moved to the side. Huh? I c****d my head to the side. "I...I can go in?"

He c****d his head now. "Yes or would you rather stay outside?"

Oh, okay. What was going on? Was this how they roll in Jamaica, Queens? Great. At least for me.

I didn't need a second invite to get it moving inside the club before the guys would change their minds and once I got in, I kind of understood why they had let me in. This wasn't a lesbian club. It was in fact the straightest club I've ever had to pick Camille from, considering the number of guys that were in the room and the number of girls that were actually paired up with these guys.

Uh... What the f**k was she doing here?

I started searching around the space with my eyes. The huge dancing floor that had quite a lot of sweaty bodies on it, the occupied booths along the side of the walls, the bar, and the wide podium where the DJ was blasting some kind of foreign music – she was nowhere to be found.

I stopped by the bar and ran a hand through my hair. What exactly was this girl's problem? First, she asked me to come pick her up an hour away from Manhattan while I was busy doing something productive and now, she's nowhere to be found?

I took out my phone to check the location again. Maybe I had got the place wrong or...

Nope. This was the place. District 8. It was even displayed within the bar too with some neon lights.

I glanced around the place again, pondering what to do when a thought suddenly popped into my head. Maybe I should show the bartenders her photo. I know it would probably not work since they saw a lot of people in one night, not to talk of the fact that Camille definitely looked different from the PR photo I had of her on my phone, but it was worth the try, no?

I pulled up the photo, glanced at the bartenders at the counter who were pretty busy attending to some customers and signalled one of the guys who seemed to be free at the moment. He moved to my side and flashed me a pleasant smile. "What can I get you?"

"Uhm... Nothing. I actually need your help. Have you seen this lady tonight? She called me to pick her up but I can't seem to find her anywhere."

He peered at the photo on the phone. "Uh... No. I don't think so but I could ask my colleagues."

He did just that and after asking the line of bartenders, who said the same thing, he came back to me with a resigned expression. "I'm sorry none of them have seen her or recognised her. Have you checked the restrooms? It's likely that she went there, you know..."

I perked up slightly. Right, why didn't I think of that? I collected my phone from him, told him a quick thank you and booked it in the direction he had pointed the restrooms to be in.

I got there within seconds and faced another problem. How was I meant to go into the ladies' restroom? It was clearly stated on the door beside the men's bathroom that men kept going into.

I paced in front of the place, pondering what to do. Maybe I should go in? I mean, there was no line in front of the place nor has any lady gone in in the past few minutes. I'll just go in, call out her name outside each stall and get out of there.

Simple.

I didn't make it very far though because as I was about to run in, eyes darting around, I felt my body collide with a lady who was coming out right there and then. I winced and tried to break her fall as her body tumbled backwards.

I succeeded with that at the very least, my hands wrapping around her waist---

Wait. Is this not…

The lady seemed surprised to see me too but in a more dazed fashion. She was obviously drunk and tried to touch my face. I reared my head back, confused.

What is she doing?

She brought her face close to mine and stared into my eyes, hers unfocused but searching. "Jaxon?" I felt my whole body freeze at the mention of that name. What?

"No." She chuckled and shook her head. "There's no way." Then she placed her hand over her mouth with another wave of surprise. "Oh my God, is it... Eh..." She pulled away from my arms and laughed again. "There's no way."

She slapped her hand against her forehead and proceeded to stumble away, still laughing.

What the f**k?!

****

Almost immediately after the lady stumbled away from sight, the restroom door opened again to reveal Camille, who looked happy the moment she saw me.

"Julian!" I frowned, remembering just what I've gone through to pick her up.

"Why weren't you picking up your phone?" I asked as she wrapped her arms around mine. She used her other hand to take out her phone from her bag. "Sorry. I turned it off for a bit to save energy." She beamed up at me, definitely drunk.

"Let's get out of here."

On our way back to Manhattan, I would have gone out of my way to ask Camille why she had gone to a normal club instead of her usual L-club, as she liked to call it, if I hadn't been so preoccupied with thoughts of the lady I'd just met in the bar.

Iris Sinclair. The new intern.

She had looked so different from her normal tight bun, buttoned-up shirt and professional look. She had looked...

I cleared my throat and glanced out the window even though my car's rooftop was fully opened this time around. Camille had requested it.

Then there was the name she had said. Jaxon. My twin brother – or maybe I'd heard wrong because there was just no...

Wait. Was this why she had accosted me that first day with her blazer suit and everything?? The memories came rushing back now, including those couple moments I'd seen her staring at me not-so-subtly.

I'd thought nothing of it then; I mean, I get stares all the time but now…

“Are you even listening?!” I glanced at Camille, who had been blabbing on about how her date had claimed to be bi but had actually been more into men because she had left her for a man since we left the club and I sighed. “Yeah?”

She fake-pouted. "You’re not." I sighed again as she turned away from me and placed her head against her car window’s edge. “I’m not telling you anything again.”

Okay, we need to get that alcohol out of her system. If not, I'll be the one to face the brunt of it. I cleared my throat. “Should we get ice cream?"

She perked up immediately and turned to me with a bright smile, her grievances forgotten. “Yes!” I shook my head in disbelief.