Page 4 of Last Knight (Knights Through Time #7)

Of course Mitch was already seated in Harry’s office, the two of them laughing and joking. She pasted on a friendly smile as she strode into the immense corner office decorated in old-world elegance and oozing money.

“Ashley, nice of you to join us this morning.” Mitch ran a hand through his hair. The kiss-up had obviously been here since dawn, beaten her in yet again. She’d have to step up her game; that was three times this month.

“Harry was telling me the news.”

“News?”

He smirked at her. “Leadership has to tighten budgets. One junior executive has to go. Our little trip to London will decide who gets promoted and who gets canned.”

She nodded at them both and lied through her teeth. “That’s a great idea. Though wouldn’t it make more sense to find something else for the loser? The firm puts a great deal of resources into training. Seems a shame to lose the knowledge.”

Harry smiled at her as if she wasn’t especially bright. “Women never want to make the hard choices. No, the loser will be packing up their desk and finding another job. I have goals to meet and I intend to exceed them. Leadership is watching.”

“Works for me,” Mitch said.

As Harry’s assistant interrupted to tell him he had a call, Mitch and Ashley walked out together. In the hallway, he moved into her personal space. His breath was hot against her neck and she caught the scent of coffee and doughnuts.

“No one likes a manly woman. Don’t you know by now? Harry likes the dumb model type. Look at all the assistants. Guess we both know who’s going to be packing up when we get back.”

Ashley stepped on his foot with her heel, pressing down hard.

“Damn, that hurt. You did that on purpose.” Mitch scowled at her.

She paused in the doorway to her office. “You and Harry may be part of the good old boys’ club, but I’ve worked hard to get where I am and there’s no way you’re taking this promotion from me. I’ve earned it.”

“Game on, then. May the best man win.”

She ignored him as she sat down and opened up the laptop, instead focusing on the day’s tasks.

Before she knew it, the office was deserted, leaving Ashley and a few stragglers furiously typing away, blue light reflected on their faces.

The sound of a vacuum droned from down the hall.

She changed into a sweater dress and boots, hung her suit on the door, and left a note for her assistant to have it dry-cleaned while she was gone.

Cashmere coat belted tight, chunky scarf in place, she was prepared to wait for a cab, but it was her night, as there was one in front of the building.

“JFK.” Plenty of time to make the eleven o’clock flight.

Or so she thought.

“Doesn’t it figure.” She stared at the departures board in dismay as fellow travelers grumbled around her.

In the time it took to get to the airport, the flight had been delayed.

Hungry and irritable, she found a restaurant, only to discover everyone else had the same idea.

Her dismay grew as she listened to the wait times at two other places.

This was the downside of New York: everyone was used to getting what they wanted at all hours of the day and night.

Not wanting fast food, she tried one last place where she could sit down, relax, and enjoy a glass of wine.

As she was contemplating asking a group of businessmen if she could join them, a man managed to make himself heard above the din of the crowd.

It was a cultured voice, one you knew came from the East Coast, with a lineage of horses, servants, a house on the Vineyard, and Ivy League schools. Mitch.

“Over here, dude. You can join me.”

Suspicious, but grateful, she sat down, ignoring the dude .

He called her dude or bro or fella all the time, trying to make some kind of stupid point.

Usually she ignored him; sometimes she responded at his level, calling him sugar, honey, girl, and chick.

Immature, but it usually made her feel better.

“Thanks. Can you believe we’ve been delayed two hours?”

“There’s a storm overseas. I had the office call ahead so they know we’ll be arriving late.”

The server stopped at their table, looking as frazzled as Ashley felt. After ordering, she sat back, people-watching. There were lots of business travelers and a few families with kids asleep at the table. Where were they all going?

Mitch talked about himself and what he was going to do with all the money from his promotion while she mainly nodded and enjoyed her dinner.

Otherwise she was afraid she would end up screaming and having a full-blown tantrum in the middle of the restaurant.

No, she would do what she always did. Work three times as hard as he did.

At the end of the trip, she’d be the one laughing when Harry had to grudgingly concede she was the better person for the job.

Mitch wiped his mouth and placed the white napkin to the side of his plate.

“Listen to me. I’ve been talking about myself all through dinner. So where are you from? I don’t think I’ve ever asked. ”

“Buckhead.”

Mitch’s eyes rose. “Nice area. Had a friend at school from there. Maybe you know the family. The Winstons?”

She shook her head. “No. But then again, I was always studying. Didn’t have much time to make friends.”

He pursed his lips but didn’t say anything, instead scratching his chin as he looked out over the restaurant. It was dimly lit and outrageously overpriced, but she was grateful for the warm meal and a chance to relax.

The cologne Mitch was wearing made her nose itch. Abruptly he turned to her and said, “You know, it’s strange how much you remind me of a guy I knew at school.”

“Really? Why strange?”

And just like that, she knew she’d made a mistake. Had seen that look on his face in meetings, the look of a shark ready to devour the helpless fish as it tried to swim away.

“The guy I knew had a huge chip on his shoulder. Scholarship student. Solid middle class; you know the type. Hated the kids with the latest phone, clothes, or sports car. He drove some old clunker we nicknamed the boat. Had a basic phone and generic laptop. Some old TV in his room. Think he was from some no-name town in the middle of nowhere. You know the type, always trying to pretend he was something he wasn’t. ”

Ashley’s insides felt as cold as the snow outside. Her nails dug into her palms so deeply she was surprised she hadn’t drawn blood. But he couldn’t see her hands under the table, and outwardly she plastered on her most serene smile and tilted her head up at him.

“I’m not sure what you mean, but I know the type. Every school has them, don’t you think?”

He was interrupted from answering by the server bringing their check. Mitch reached for it. “I’ll put this one on my expense report. You take the next one.”

When she stood, the tablecloth caught on her belt, sending the wineglasses falling. Mitch caught the glasses before they hit the floor.

“Oops, tired, I guess. I’ll see you on the plane. I’ve got a few things to catch up on. Thanks again for sharing your table.” And without waiting for an answer, she briskly walked out of the restaurant, forcing herself not to run for the ladies’ room and hide until it was time to board.

For one awful moment, she thought he’d found out her most shameful secret. But it was just Mitch being his horrible self, bluffing to see what she might confess. And there was no way Ashley would ever tell the truth about where she came from. Not to him or anyone else. Not ever.