The Ceo Daddy Next Door

Ashley nodded, untangling herself from confusing thoughts about Marcus. “Yes. Of course.” She collected a stack of papers on her desk, turned to a clean page on a legal pad and picked up a pen. It was time to get to work. There were several final details to discuss for the Manhattan Matchmaker premiere party.

“So? Do I dare ask what happened with your building board meeting last night?” Grace took a chair opposite Ashley’s desk, resting her laptop on her knees. Grace had been a champion of Ashley’s show from the very beginning, and they’d become good friends over the three years they’d worked together.

“They decided that one more complaint from the Tower of London and I have to hire a new contractor.”

Grace winced. “Ouch. Harsh.”

“Tell me about it.” The uneasy feeling in her stomach returned. Marcus had too much control over the one thing in her life that was strictly hers. “Bottom line? He hates me. That’s pretty clear by now, and I can’t get past the idea that it’s about more than the mess in the hall.”

“I can’t fathom anyone hating you, Ash. It sounds to me like he’s just an uptight guy. He shook your hand after a date. Who does that?”

“Don’t remind me.” Yet another piece of evidence supporting her supposition. Marcus simply disliked her. “Let’s just get to work. I have a million things to do before the party Thursday night. The people over at Peter Richie are going to strangle me if I don’t show up for my final dress fitting this afternoon.”

Grace shook her head in dismay. “Ash. Peter Richie is one of the hottest designers on the planet, he’s giving you a dress for your party and you still haven’t shown up for your final fitting? It’s two days away.”

“I know. I’m terrible.” The truth was that she’d been avoiding it. Peter had been gracious and generous, but she was keenly aware that the Manhattan Matchmaker had been afforded the luxury, not the real Ashley George. A designer making a couture gown for her? Ludicrous. The real Ashley had grown up with dresses her mother had made.

Grace opened up her laptop. “If you haven’t dealt with your dress, I don’t even want to guess the status of you finding a date.”

Ashley’s lips twisted into a tight bunch. She’d been hoping the network would forget they’d made the request for her to find a date for the premiere party. “They’re still insisting on this?”

“Yes. The premiere is a network function to publicize your show. And don’t forget they still haven’t given you an answer on the new show you pitched to them. You do not want to be anything less than a woman who says yes.”

“They’re just fixated on this because of those stupid gossip website photos.”

“The image of you buying ice cream and a candy bar on a Saturday night did not help your image. And that affects the ratings.”

“That was three weeks ago and I had the world’s worst PMS. It has nothing to do with not having a boyfriend.” Although if she’d had a boyfriend, she could have sent him out for the ice cream. “I hate the fact that anyone cares about this.”

Grace began tapping away at her laptop. “And not just a little. You know it’s the most popular topic on the Manhattan Matchmaker message boards. Your fans want to see you happy. They want to know that the woman who finds true love for everyone else can find it for herself. And the last time I checked, Ash, you live on this kind of attention.”

Actually, Ashley didn’t live on that kind of attention. She existed on it. She made money because of it. After she’d watched her parents struggle for years, working tirelessly and never getting ahead, it was nice to know she’d broken that particular family tradition.

Ashley sucked in a deep breath. “You’re going to have to set me up with someone or call a male escort service. I have no prospects.”

“No way. Word will get out if I try to arrange something. I can just see it in the papers.” With a dramatic sweep of both hands, Grace made a nightmare materialize. “The Manhattan Matchmaker Can’t Find Her Own Match.”

“Hey. That’s not fair. You know I’m intentionally taking a break from men.”

“And my grandmother would say that you fall off the horse, you need to get right back on it.”

“Yeah, well, my saddle is out of commission. I haven’t even been on a real date since James broke up with me.”

Grace’s eyes flickered in a way that made Ashley squirm. “That’s not true. The Tower of London? You’ve been on a date with him.”

It felt as though Ashley’s heart had seized up in her chest. “No. That was not a date. It was a disaster.”

“He asked you out. That counts as a date.” Grace scooted forward in her seat, her eyes brimming with entirely too much excitement. “Just think. If you get him to come to the party, it’ll be that much harder for him to complain about your apartment.”

“What about ‘familiarity breeds contempt’?”

“Now you’re just making excuses. What’s his real name again? Marcus...” She glanced down at her computer and began typing.

“Chambers,” Ashley grumbled. How exactly was this going to work? Oh, wait. It wouldn’t. Marcus would say no, and that would make every hallway encounter excruciatingly miserable.

“Here he is.” Grace nodded as she looked at her laptop screen, her eyes scanning back and forth. “Chambers Gin...famous British family...divorce.” She looked up. “Divorce?”

“Yes. I told you that. Remember? He has a baby. Lila. I don’t really know much other than his wife came from a prestigious family, too, and whatever happened between the two of them, she took off six weeks after the baby was born.” Ashley rubbed her forehead. “It’s all online if you read enough.”

“I take it you’ve read it all.”

“Pretty much. What can I say? I was curious. A ridiculously hot guy moves in across the hall, a girl Googles him.”

“His wife leaves him and the baby six weeks after she’s born? Whatever broke them up had to have been bad.”

“Or it’d been brewing for a long time. The reason for the divorce was listed as ‘irretrievable breakdown.’ I guess that’s what they call irreconcilable differences in the UK.”

“Yeah, but a mother leaving her child?”

“I know. It’s awful.”

Grace returned her vision to the screen. “Financial markets... Cambridge University...”

“Will you just give this up? He’s never going to agree to go with me to that party, anyway.”

“Shush. I’m reading. Rowing team...yada yada yada. Oh. My. God.” She clamped her hand over her mouth. Her eyes were as big as hubcaps when she looked up at Ashley.

She found it.

“He’s in a calendar. Britain’s most eligible bachelors.”

“Oh yeah. That. Sorta funny, isn’t it? I mean, Mr. November? I’d give him crap about it if I wasn’t trying to keep him calm.”

“So you’ve seen the pictures?”

She shrugged it off, pretending to busy herself with her pen and pad. “It’s not like I bought one of the calendars.” Of course she hadn’t. It was sold out.

“I can’t believe you didn’t tell me about this. We just hit the mother lode. This is perfect. You invite the hot British gin maker and I get to write the world’s most amazing press release. This might end up being the pinnacle of my career.”

“Oh please. It’s a calendar to raise money for a children’s hospital. They do it every year. I doubt it’s a big deal.”

“Uh, the picture of him with no shirt? I can guarantee people will care about that. A lot of people.”

Grace got up from her chair, set her computer on Ashley’s desk and flipped it around. They were both confronted with one of Britain’s most eligible bachelors and his splendid physique. “You told me he was handsome, but you really undersold it. Look at his abs. And those shoulders.”

Ashley shook her head, wishing she could erase the image of Marcus’s incredible torso, the one lovingly embossed on her brain. Is it stuffy in here? “You’re making a big deal out of nothing. That photo is probably airbrushed like crazy.” With the computer on her desk, it was impossible to avoid shirtless, sweaty Marcus, standing on shore next to the River Thames after a rowing race, smiling no less. “And I mean, he might look hot, but ignore that. He can be insufferable if he wants to be.”

“I could put up with a whole lot of insufferable for a guy with abs like that.” Grace returned to her seat, thankfully removing the influence of the pictures. “The network is going to be over the moon when I tell them you’re bringing one of Britain’s most eligible bachelors to the premiere party.”

“Hold on a second. I haven’t even asked him. Were you not listening earlier? He hates me. Hates. Me.”

Grace didn’t react to Ashley’s words, instead looking at her laptop screen. “It says here that he’s responsible for the US launch of a whole new brand of gin for his family’s distillery. That’s not an inexpensive proposition. We can help him with that. Every entrepreneur loves free publicity.”

And at what cost? Ashley’s pride, that’s what. The matchmaker truly couldn’t find her own match. After her heart and her pride were destroyed by James, her avoidance of men was intentional, but temporary. At no point had it meant that she wasn’t still hoping Mr. Right would turn up. Now she had to resort to bribing Mr. Not-Right-At-All, just to appease the network and save face.

“So, what are you waiting for? Call him. I’ll wait until you’re done before I start writing the press release.”

It’d been high school since Ashley had asked out a guy, and that hadn’t gone well. Suddenly her hands were clammy. She certainly wasn’t afraid of Marcus. But she was afraid he’d say no.

* * *

“I don’t need to tell you the gravity of the situation.” Marcus’s father’s voice was unusually cold. It was the tinny overseas connection on speakerphone, Marcus hoped. He couldn’t stand the thought of his normally cheerful dad being so gravely unhappy. “If we can’t get this endeavor of yours off the ground, the ramifications will be great. It’s not just the loss of expected growth. It’s the money we’ve put into it, as well. It has to work.”

Yes, it does. Marcus looked across the conference table at his sister, Joanna, the head of marketing for Chambers Gin. The worry was so plain on her face it broke his heart. “We’ll turn a corner,” Marcus said. “By the time we host the media night at the new distillery, we’ll be on our way.”

“I don’t want you to think I don’t trust you or your vision, Marcus. I absolutely do,” his father continued. “It’s just that the entire family’s livelihood is on the line. I don’t want to get in so far over our heads that we’re all left with nothing. That’s not the legacy I hoped to leave behind, and it’s definitely not the future I want for my children or my grandchild.”

“I’ll make it work, Dad. I don’t want you to worry about it.” Leave the worrying to me.

A pregnant pause filled the room. “Okay, son. I trust you. I’ve got some calls to return, but I’ll speak with you and JoJo on Friday, right?”

“Yes. Friday. Speak to you then.”

“Bye, Dad.” Joanna pressed the end button on the phone in the center of the conference table. “He’s so stressed. I don’t think I’ve ever heard him so stressed.”

Marcus tapped his pen on the all-too-thin stack of orders for the US gin, Chambers No. 9. “It’s not like we can blame him. We aren’t even close on our projections.” Marcus ran his hand through his hair and turned to stare out the office window overlooking the New York City skyline. And to think he’d been so sure they could capture the imagination of US consumers. They’d come nowhere close. He had the expertise to revive the family business, and he’d dip into his personal financial accounts if needed, but his resources did have their limits. That meant the clock was ticking. Chambers No. 9 needed a big boost, as quickly as possible.

When his father had swallowed his pride and admitted he needed help saving Chambers Gin, Marcus had let his adoration for his father and his deep devotion for his family lead the way. Leaving a highly successful and lucrative job as a European securities trader behind, he’d accepted this new challenge, no questions asked. He’d insisted only that his father trust him on this one point—they had to expand into the massive US market, and that meant launching a new artisan gin. Chambers No. 9. Cocktail culture had become big business, and there was a niche to be filled with carefully crafted spirits. Bold expansion was the only way. Go big or go home, as the Americans loved to say.

“We’re just off to a slow start,” he said, steeling himself. They would get out of this, and he would lead the way. He wouldn’t let anyone down. “Distribution is getting better every day, and we’re making inroads. It’s just going to take longer than we’d hoped. People don’t change their drinking habits overnight.”

“They do if there’s a reason to. Like a big piece of media attention or a celebrity endorsement. Something that could go viral.”

“The media plan is solid and very aggressive. We just got confirmation that International Spirits wants to interview me and put it on the cover. That’s big.”

Joanna closed her eyes, rested her head on her shoulder and unleashed a snore. “I’m sorry. Did you say something? I was so bored by the thought of International Spirits magazine that I fell asleep.”

“Hey, that’s a big coup, and it’s an important player in our industry. Oscar Pruitt is a very influential journalist. Dad’s been courting him for years.”

“It’s not going to set the world on fire. We need to find something for people to get excited about. Really excited. Something unexpected. Something sexy.”

Marcus sat back in his chair. Viral videos, memes and celebrities were not at all what he’d envisioned for Chambers No. 9, but he could be onboard with sexy and unexpected. “You’re right. Tell you what. We’ll do some brainstorming with the rest of the marketing team tomorrow. Perhaps we just need to get a bit more creative.”

Marcus’s phone lit up with a text. The message was from Ashley, their first interaction since the night before, when she’d grabbed his arm and managed to annoy him with her nonsense about hiding.

Busy? I need to ask you a question.

He tapped out a reply. What is it? The last thing he wanted was Ashley springing a surprise on him, like asking if her contractor could start running saws at five a.m. tomorrow.

An invitation. May I call? Ashley replied.

“Who are you texting?” Joanna asked nonchalantly. At twenty-eight, she might’ve been three years younger than him, but she could be a mother hen. She’d certainly kept close tabs on him since things went south with his marriage.

“My neighbor. Ms. George. Something about an invitation.”

“An invitation? From Ashley George? Have you two patched things up? Whatever it is, you should say yes.” Joanna sounded entirely too optimistic for his taste. And pushy. Joanna hadn’t even tried to disguise her hope that Marcus would jump into the dating pool with both feet, starting with Ashley. She was, after all, the toast of the entire city, drop-dead gorgeous and, conveniently enough, right across the hall.

Ashley also wasn’t a real option. He’d learned that on their date. Their conversation sent up red flag after red flag, culminating with the story of how she and her last boyfriend had broken up because she wasn’t ready to have children. That had prompted him to ask for the check and give her nothing more than a handshake at the end of the night. It wasn’t like he’d been on the verge of proposing marriage, but he had no business spending time with a woman who didn’t share his vision for a relationship. He and Lila were a package deal. No getting around that.

And there was great urgency to his situation. Lila would soon be old enough to remember growing up without a mum. His mother was one of the most important people in his life. He wasn’t about to let Lila go without. Watching that would be even worse than seeing Chambers Gin go belly-up. “No patching anything up for me and Ms. George. We’re doing our best to tolerate each other.” He looked down at his phone again. How he despised texting. Dialing Ashley’s number, he shooed Joanna away, but she shook her head, making it clear she was staying.

“Is there a problem, Ms. George?” he asked when she answered.

“No. And please, call me Ashley.”

He sat back in his seat, avoiding eye contact with his sister. “What can I do for you?”

Joanna pulled out a pad of paper and wrote furiously. She shoved it across the table and thumped it with her finger. Be nice!

“I’m calling with a business proposition.”

He’d been bracing for bad news about her apartment project. Business was indeed the last thing he’d expected to be brought up. “Go on.”

“Before I say anything, you have to promise me that you won’t breathe a word of this to anyone.”

Now she really had his curiosity piqued. A secret? “I don’t like making promises I’m not certain I can keep.”

She huffed on the other end of the line. “You relish any opportunity to be a pain in my side, don’t you? Look, I understand you’re expanding Chambers Gin in the States. The network is throwing a big party for the premiere of my new season. They’d like to offer you a sponsorship spot that night, at no cost to your company aside from providing your new gin for the guests. Your logo will be everywhere. The guest list is chock-full of celebrities, and they’ll all be drinking your gin. The network publicists can work their magic for you.”

“Why would you do that for me? And why would I need to keep that a secret?”

She grumbled, “I’m getting to that part. I need you to come to the party. With me. As my date.”

For a moment, Marcus wasn’t entirely sure of what she’d just said. “I only date women I’m serious about. Because of Lila.”

“Then it’s perfect, because I don’t date at all right now. And I’m not talking about anything more than you taking me to the party and pretending you like me. The network wants me on the arm of a handsome man, I’m not seeing anyone, and you’re literally the last man I’ve been on a date with.”

The part of him that warred with her over her apartment wanted to snicker that he was her only option, but the situation also genuinely struck him as a bit sad. “I’m not entirely sure that Manhattan Matchmaker and Chambers Gin is the right match. I don’t see the correlation between the two brands.”

“You want to appeal to young, hip customers? My demographic is all about young and hip.”

“And Mrs. White.”

“She’s a lot hipper than you.”

“That’s up for debate.” He was making her angry, which didn’t entirely bother him. Nothing like some good verbal sparring with a beautiful woman to get the blood pumping.

“Well? Will you? Just think of what this could do for your business.”

She might have been right about that. He and Joanna had been discussing exactly that, and judging by the look on his sister’s face, she’d pop off at him if he said no to this. “Yes. I’ll do it.”

“You will?”

“Yes, I will. Please don’t tell me you’re angry with me for saying yes.”

“No. Not angry. Just surprised, that’s all. You fight me on everything.”

It’s easier to convince myself I’m not so damn drawn to you. “I won’t lie. Chambers Gin could use the help. The American market is a big mountain to conquer.”

“Okay, then. It’s Thursday night. Eight o’clock. I’ll have a car for us at seven thirty.”

“I’ll come round your place at seven-fifteen.”

“I’m capable of meeting you at the elevator, you know.”

“Ashley, I’m a gentleman. A gentleman always picks a lady up for a date.”

Three

Ashley hardly recognized the woman in the mirror. Same face as hers, same hair and nose. Same eyes. But this was the familiar wrapped up in an entirely new and very expensive package. Poised on a pedestal, she twisted from side to side, admiring the sublime lines of the gown designed for her by Peter Richie. Designed for her. Since the Manhattan Matchmaker ride had started, there had been countless times when she’d wondered whether she was awake or dreaming. Today was just another to add to the list.

Peter shook his head slowly as if he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. “Absolutely. Stunning.”

He planted both hands at his waist, studying her. A woman with a mouth full of straight pins kneeled at Ashley’s feet, adjusting the hem of the gown.

Ashley wrestled with her innate need to deflect attention from herself. “The dress is beautiful. You’re absolutely right. Thank you so much for doing this. You have no idea how much I appreciate it.” She glanced down, only to catch the woman rolling her eyes. Had she said something stupid? Was it uncool to be thankful? She wasn’t entirely sure what she was supposed to say in this situation other than thank you. Her mother had always been emphatic when she was growing up: “No one will ever fault you for having good manners.”

Peter let out a deep belly laugh. “No, doll. Not the dress. You. You’re stunning. All eyes are going to be glued to you at that party.”

Ashley swallowed, or at least attempted to. It was hard to get past the lump in her throat. The thought of all eyes glued to her made her exponentially more nervous about the party. Those gatherings were difficult—everyone vying for a piece of her, but it was always a bit superficial. Lots of compliments and praise, but not much in the way of real conversation. No, it was all “keep doing what you’re doing” and “we just want more.” How much more of this was there? One day the world would tire of the Manhattan Matchmaker. It happened to everyone who ended up in the spotlight as she had, and when it ended, it always seemed to end badly. Tastes changed. Fads came and went. She didn’t want to be reduced to that, but someday she would. In some ways, it would be a big relief, but it would mean that her fabulous ride was over.

People assumed that since she was on TV, she’d wanted the limelight. That wasn’t the case for her at all. Her confidence in what she was doing and in her ability to do it were unwavering, but it was the other piece of the puzzle that gave her problems. She didn’t want her face on the sides of buses. She wanted to match people. She wanted the world to believe in true love. In a world where there was so much bad, she wanted people to remember that there was good.

“I’ll be sure to tell everyone that all of the credit for the world’s most perfect dress goes to you,” Ashley said to Peter.

“Keep talking like that and I’ll keep you in party dresses forever.” He winked at Ashley then held out his hand to help her step off the pedestal. “You’re done, sweetie. The girls will have your dress ready by the end of the day. We’ll have it sent to your apartment.”

“Oh no. Send it to my office, please. I’m in the middle of a huge apartment project, and it’s a total mess.”

Ashley left Peter Richie’s design studio in the Garment District and opted to walk along 8th Avenue to her building on the Upper West Side. She probably wouldn’t make it all the way in heels, but she’d try. It was too beautiful a spring day to not enjoy the splendor of the city. Sporting her biggest Jackie O sunglasses and with her hair tucked up in a hat to avoid being spotted on the street, she set out on her way.

What was left of the afternoon sun peeked between the buildings, the late-April air warming her enough to make her shed her cardigan, draping it over her arm. South Carolina would always be home, but she couldn’t see herself living anywhere but New York for the foreseeable future. The city was simply too much fun, brimming with its own kind of beauty. Sure, it could also be a very lonely place, but changing that, one couple at a time, was her charge. There was love to be found in the city that never sleeps. And she was just the girl to give it a push.

After a good twenty blocks, her feet had had all they could take, and she hailed a cab. It didn’t take long before they were stuck in rush hour traffic, so she took the chance to call her mom.

“Hello, sugarplum,” her mother answered.

As welcome as the sun she’d soaked up along her walk, Vivian George’s sugary South Carolina accent was all Ashley needed to shake off the vestiges of her stressful day and feel much more like herself. “Hey, Mama.” Her voice cracked simply out of happiness. If she closed her eyes, she could smell her mother’s cooking and remember exactly what it was like to grow up in a house where there might have been little money to pay the bills, but love made it seem as if they wanted for nothing.