CHAPTER 2: Ghosts of the Past
1018 Words
The Astoria Grand resembled anything that had been hewn out of some other century--all smooth facades, high windows, and a fading gold-leaf marquee. She got out of the town car that Carter Designs had sent and looked up at the building with a twisted expression of both wonder and bitterness.
The previous time she was here, she was nineteen. Her papa had brought her to a charity dinner that was given by the leading hoteliers of the city. And he had termed it the future. She recalled his proud appearance as he walked by her side, shaking hands with men who would subsequently give out witnesses against him.
The doorman did not know her today. There was no bowing or smiling. She was not a Monroe anymore—not the one that counted.
The first floor was bare in the interior: the lobby was without furniture. It had been a sitting place with velvet covering, but now there were construction tarps over it. Chandeliers were taken off, and columns were put out in the open. There was dust in the air like a memory.
She held the strap of the bag tighter and approached the makeshift reception desk, where a young assistant was glancing at a clipboard.
She said, “Ava Monroe. Exterior consultant, to be oriented.”
The girl peeped up. “Oh. You’re expected. Behind you, elevator. Executive lounge. Eighteenth floor.”
Ava said thanks and walked away. She shook as she pushed the button. When the elevator doors opened, and she stepped into the elevator, she could see herself in the mirror. She appeared to be cool and professional. Nobody could have an idea of the storm that was raging in her chest.
Every floor went by with a hum. Twelve… thirteen… fourteen… hmm…
Remembrances, unbidden, thronged upon her mind. That charity ball was one of the last good dates that eventually went to hell. She had been to a dinner in champagne silk, laughed with her father, and flashed a glance across the ballroom to the young man, neat in approved fashion, with storm-colored eyes. Jace Wellington. He and she had hardly talked that night, but the electricity between them had not been lost on anyone.
Well, what did she expect to become of the same boy way back then that would have everything with him that she would hate later on?
The elevator rang.
The executive lounge was smooth and minimalistic in its style. It was all dark wood, matte brass, and the windows that reached the floor and poured natural light into the room. Ava made a small sound with her heels when she walked out.
Conversations were heard at the other end of the room. Around a corner she went— and halted.
And there he was.
At the very extreme of the conference region, he was standing, with his head bent down over a blueprint overlying the table, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows. His figure was higher, wider than he was in her memory. The features of his countenance are clearer. But the power—so coldly commanding—was still the same.
And he looked up.
They stared into their eyes.
This was like there was a change in gravity.
He flinched not; once only he blinked. “Ava.”
She took a breath. “Hello, Jace.”
Silence stretched. It was the last time they had talked, and she had said to him he was never again to come within sight of her. The last they had seen one another, it must have been in a courtroom aisle, where she stood pictured with her mother in one hand clutched, and her father-in-law testifying against her in the other.
With slow steps, Jace went around the table. “I had not expected to have to see you here. Trust me,” she said, her voice composed, the feeling is the same.
A momentary glow touched his countenance, regret? Amusement? It disappeared as speedily as could be named.
“It is the interior contract you are here about?” Jace said.
She nodded. “I was brought in by Carter Designs. I did not know that this is what your family was doing.”
“We just kept that hush-hush,” he answered. “Obvious reasons, as I say.”
His eyes could not be read, but she met his gaze. She would not give in. Not now. Not face-to-face.
“Well, we will have to be professionals, won't we?” she said, and raised her chin.
He examined her. “You know, Ava, I have always been impressed with your work. That is what has not changed.”
She nearly made a snort of contempt. “The family flair in surprising people is not yours either.”
Scarcely had the time to reply when the door opened, and a project coordinator entered with a clipboard in hand. “Mr. Wellington, Ms. Monroe, you can start the briefing now.”
Ava did not move.
This was the crux of the matter. Her opportunity to take her career back, her name. To be walking where she had been thrown out of, and to have her stamp.
She looked at Jace one more time — straight, proud.
“So, let us begin,” she said.
Muttering to herself, Ava said, "What if this is all a trap?" as she twisted in her seat and turned her eyes out to gaze over the gray city.
Ava's phone vibrated.
New Message: “We must see each other. It has to do with your father.’
She could not breathe.
From: Jace.
When they made their way to the meeting room with the coordinator leading the way, Ava could feel her heart racing. He was like a man walking on a minefield. And there was the boy that she had loved once, in the middle of it all, a man now no longer with the lack of ability to make or break everything.
Much worse she had weathered. And here was no place to crumble.
This is not the case this time.
Not again.
- Writer
