Reaching for my glass, I say, “And how do you propose we do that?”
He smiles. Holy shit. Holy freaking shit. When Ashton Scott smiles the world lights up. And my butterflies go into overdrive. Extending his hand, he says, “Hi, I’m Ashton Scott. I’m thirty-two, a property developer, and I travel a lot with work. In my spare time I play golf, sail, watch motor racing and visit art galleries.”
My heart beats a little faster. For the first time since I met him five days ago, Ashton looks a little unsure of himself. He’s maintaining a confident expression on his face, and his body language is strong, but there’s a new tone in his voice—vulnerability.
I shake his hand and return his smile. “Hi, I’m Lorelei Winters. I’m twenty-eight and began my own business two years ago when I inherited my grandmother’s money. Before that, I was studying business part-time while selling travel with Flight Centre. I love anything outdoors—skiing and surfing are my favourites. Making art is my therapy. When the world gets all too much, I lock myself away and paint. And travel is my ultimate goal. I’ve spent a lot of time in the States and have seen a little of Europe. One day I want to be able to work from anywhere so I can travel anywhere, anytime.”
He listens with complete focus and his eyes sparkle with obvious interest. “Did you finish your degree?”
“No, I wasn’t loving it. I always would have preferred to be doing rather than learning theory. My guess at the time was that I could learn on the job just as well as I could learn on paper.”
“And now? Do you still believe that?”
I take a sip of wine. “To a certain point, yes. But I’m now figuring out that while I’ll learn on the job, it can be a painful lesson. I wonder if learning some more theory first might shorten the learning curve I’m facing now.”
“I never studied business. I was like you and impatient to get out there and do. So straight out of school I went to work for a property developer, and I spent five years learning everything I could from him. Those years were invaluable, because not only did I learn from a highly successful developer, I networked and made contacts that still benefit me to this day. My parents were angry with me for not going to uni, but as far as I’m concerned, I could have spent years studying and not walked away with half the knowledge and contacts I did from five years of on-the-job experience.”
“See that’s exactly what I think. I probably should have found someone to work for and learn from before I threw money and time into my own business, though.”
He shakes his head. “Not necessarily. I would have done the exact same thing as
you if I’d had the money behind me. I spent five years saving, and the only reason I was able to eventually get a foot in the industry was thanks to my friend, Jack, who backed me with cash.”
I frown. “Your family didn’t help you get started?” Ashton’s family is one of the wealthiest in Australia.
He scowls. “My father is a cold man and refused to help me because I didn’t go to university. And then when I chose a developer to work with, who he didn’t approve of, it just cemented his refusal to have anything to do with my work. We’d always had a hard relationship while I was growing up, but this was a slap in the face.”
I’m surprised he's so open with me, but I like his honesty. My heart hurts at the thought of his father treating him that way. “He must be so proud of you now, though.”
“I wouldn’t know what he thinks. We hardly talk these days. In fact, the last time I saw him was a good six months ago, and that was only because we ran into each other at a charity gala. A year ago, I decided I’d had enough of him and the way he treats his children, so I stopped intentionally seeing him.”
“What does that actually mean?” I can’t imagine choosing not to see a parent. When you grow up not knowing who one of them is and losing the other at a young age, you spend a lot of time envying those who have both in their life.
“It means no family dinners, no Christmas together, no holidays together. I refuse to put myself in any situation where he can try and destroy my belief in myself.” His voice wavers and I can feel his pain. I can also see it in his eyes. They’ve lost their sparkle while he’s been talking about his father.
I’m not sure what makes me do it, because it’s not something I blurt out to people I’ve just met, but I share a piece of my soul with him. “I don’t know who my father is, and my mother died when I was eight. I grew up with my grandmother. I can’t imagine what it’s like having a parent who doesn’t build you up because my grandmother dedicated her life to helping me become an independent woman with a good dose of self-belief.”
The sparkle returns to his eyes and he smiles again. “From the little I’ve seen this week, it appears she succeeded.”
When Ashton Scott switches off his inner asshole, he’s the kind of man who could charm every woman in sight without breaking a sweat. I’ve heard mixed things about him. Some say he’s a player. Others mention the long-term relationship he ended last year, noting that his ex still pines for him. They believe this shows he’s a good guy. I always prefer to form my own opinion of people, so I’m withholding judgement. It would seem, though, that my earlier assessment of him might have been a little hasty if this new side he’s showing me is anything to go by.
I drink the rest of my wine and decide to see how far I can push him to open up. “Tell me one of your favourite childhood memories.”
He refills my glass as he speaks. I’m impressed that he doesn’t hesitate to share the memory with me. “I was fourteen and on holiday with my mother and sister in France. Family holidays usually consisted of the three of us visiting some exotic beach destination. My mother would spend most of it by the pool with a cocktail while Alessandra took me exploring. This particular holiday, though, we went to France for three weeks and did a lot of sightseeing. Mum didn’t spend it drinking—she spent it with us. But on one of the days we were in Paris, she was ill, so Alessandra and I spent the day on the Metro and saw many parts of the city we probably wouldn’t have if Mum had been with us. To this day, Paris is one of my favourite cities in the world. Every time I visit, I’m reminded of that day.” He leans forward and says, “Tell me one of your favourite memories. I want to know what a beautiful woman like you remembers from her childhood.”
I take a longer sip of wine. He’s making me nervous. Because as much as he thinks he’s looking at a self-confident woman, I feel out of my depth with a man like him. A man who is so at ease in his own skin and who knows exactly what he wants and believes he will always get it. “I was nine and with my grandmother while she was visiting the Willow Street property. She liked to check in weekly with the business owners and make sure they were doing okay. If they were struggling for money or anything, she’d do her best to help them out. Anyway, it was a year after my mother had died and I was still feeling lost. I mean, my grandmother did everything she could for me, but sometimes you need someone outside your family to get you through. I don’t know if that makes sense to you, but it seems to be how some of the pivotal moments in my life transpire. So, while she was with one of the shop owners, I wandered into the newest shop there. It was a furniture store and the man who owned it, Victor, spent hours restoring the furniture before selling it. I didn’t spend that much time with him over the years, but the time we did have was some of the most important in my life. That particular day, he invited me in and showed me how to sand a wooden table. We sat there for an hour sanding and talking. It was the first time since my mother’s death I remember not feeling so lost. He didn’t know my history, so he didn’t look at me with sad eyes like everyone else in my life did. We talked about the world. He’d done a lot of travelling, and he told me stories that made me want to see the world. Victor’s the person who gave me the travel bug.”
Ashton has been listening intently to everything I’ve said, but now he’s staring at me like he’s seen a ghost. The waitress interrupts us before I can ask him why. By the time we’ve given her our orders, he’s recovered and watches me with warm eyes rather than that haunted expression.
“What’s the next trip you have planned?” he asks, and we lose ourselves in a long conversation about travel destinations.
I manage to consume three-quarters of the bottle of Moscato during lunch. For a woman who doesn’t really drink, this is not good, and I can’t believe I’ve done this again in the space of a week. I’m more than tipsy—I’m on my way to being plastered. Wine goes straight to my head. When I asked Ashton to get me a Moscato, I didn’t mean a whole bottle. But my nerves got the better of me and I just kept sipping.
The bathroom is calling and as I excuse myself and stand, Ashton eyes my wobbly state and looks at me with concern. He also stands and says, “Are you okay to get there by yourself?”
“Absolutely,” I say as I wave him away, full of fake alcohol-induced confidence.
The concern in his eyes doesn’t ease. “I’ll get the bill while you’re gone and then I’ll take you home.”