Chapter 43 Let's Just Call It Quits
Damian had his connections everywhere. Even if she did leak those secrets, they'd be squashed, and he'd turn the tables on her.
It wouldn't work.
She was just bluffing.
Tired of arguing, the shouts inside the room dwindled. Ashley grabbed a bottle of who-knows-what, poured it to the brim of her glass, and lifted it in a toast to Damian with a cut-all-ties attitude, "Damian, I've wasted three years on you. I was young, full of energy, and passion to spare. Now, I'm twenty-six with no more time or energy to waste. I’ve got to bring my parents back, support myself, and... here's to your ‘care’ these past three years, to the painful lessons you've given me, to helping me face reality, and to growing up from a little girl to a grown woman. From now on, let's go our separate ways and never cross paths again. Let's forget each other."
With that, she tipped her head back and emptied her glass in one go.
The fiery taste was intense, scorching its way to her chest, nearly searing her throat.
Damian glanced at the bottle, 43% ABV whiskey.
Ashley drained her glass, swirling it until not a drop was left. She wanted to make her final statement while sober, "Damian, I genuinely wish you and Trinity, or whichever lady you're with, a lifetime of happiness and many children."
"A fond wish," Damian remarked.
Ashley staggered to her feet, “That's that, goodbye."
It was a farewell filled with ceremony, and quite clear. She trusted Damian's comprehension enough to know he'd get the message.
She couldn't recall how she left, or how she stumbled into the adjacent private room.
Leaning against the wall as she entered the safer haven, Ashley's tension dissipated, the room doubled in her vision, "Burp..."
Amelia dashed over to her, gently tapping her flushed, feverish face, “Where've you been? You reek of booze. How much did you drink?"
Ashley waved her hand weakly, her head spinning. Even the slightest touch felt like the world was toppling over, “Let me rest a minute, catch my breath."
Anger rising within him, Harold supported Ashley to prevent her from falling, resisting the need to scold her, saying, "You! Never mind... We're taking you home. When you're sober, we can speak."
Amelia was at a loss as well. Didn't Ashley say she was going to the restroom? She disappeared for ages without her phone, and now she's returned in this state. What the heck happened in between?
"Her legs are like jelly. She's not going to make it with just a shoulder to lean on. Pick her up; I'll hit the elevator."
Without missing a beat, Harold swept Ashley into his arms as she belched, a pungent wave of alcohol filling the air, “Oh my stars, my lady, please swear off drinking from now on."
Amelia, carrying both of their purses, pressed the elevator button, muttering under her breath, "Her tolerance is terrible, out cold after just one drink. Doesn't she know her own limits, trying to play the big shot!"
Harold looked down at the pale face nestled in his arms, torn between scolding her and his concern, “We'll ask her about it tomorrow when she wakes up. She wouldn't harm herself like this if it weren't for something else."
A vital question struck Amelia, "Where does she live?"
That stumped Harold. He knew Damian provided a place for her at Henry Larson Villa, but he wasn't sure about the exact apartment, “Should we take her to your place?"
"No, that won't work. My apartment is from the company I work with, and the agent can barge in anytime. Let's go to your place; it's spacious, and nobody will pry on us."
---
The aftereffects of a hangover felt worse than a fever. Ashley's head was splitting, and she felt like ramming her head against a wall, “Water..."
Amelia, hearing the commotion, poured her some water, and despite her complaints, the concern came first, “Take it slow. Harold's still asleep; he won't condone you."
Ashley rubbed her temples vigorously, "Where am I?"
Wearing an oversized men's T-shirt that covered her upper body and left her long, slender legs on display, Amelia responded, "Harold's place. You had too much to drink last night."
Ashley pounded her head with her fists. The hangover was rough, her brain felt like it was being drilled into, “I swear I used to hold my liquor better. It must've been really strong."
"Cut the crap," Amelia retorted, “I could tell it was whiskey the moment you burped. Barely over 40%. Just admit you can't handle your drink."
Ashley, too dazed and drained to argue, genuinely believed her tolerance wasn't that bad; otherwise, she wouldn't have dared challenge Damian, “Shush, don't shout. My head's pounding."
Amelia wouldn't have any of it, “Spill it. Where did you go last night? Who did you meet?"
Ashley looked down, her voice trailing off into a non-committal grunt, “Uh..."
With a theatrical eye roll, Amelia teased, "That’s the same face you made last time you had a row with Damian. Not him again?”
Blinking innocently, Ashley's eyes mimicked the guiltless expression of a kitten, “You know me too well, Amelia. I knew there was a reason I loved you."
Amelia cupped Ashley’s flushed cheeks, her concern flaring, “He got you drunk? Damn it, what kind of person does that!”
Shaking her head with a painful wince, Ashley insisted, “I drank on my own accord. You should've seen me yesterday; I was so bold and commanding. I told him that from now on, we're strangers; we're out of each other's hair for good. And he agreed.”
Amelia could believe the first part. Despite being a lawyer, Ashley had her share of foolish acts over Damian, tearfully declaring a clean break one day, then bubbly about a lifelong commitment the next. Emotionally, she was like a switch, going from unaffected to deeply attached in a heartbeat.
As for Damian's agreement, Amelia snorted inwardly, "How exactly did he agree? Said ‘okay’ to humor you? Wished you a bright future?"
Trying to recollect, Ashley pondered what Damian had retorted after her bold declaration.
She drew a blank.
Amelia scoffed, "I bet he didn’t even care to acknowledge you. Why show off to him anyway? Can we just not touch anything related to him from now on? Avoid his circles? Stand our ground? Or better yet, just let me build up some muscle, and I'll take him on myself! Even if I can’t take him out, I can at least leave him badly hurt!"
Amelia had fantasized about taking out Damian more times than she could count, especially when Ashley’s tears were involved. If it weren’t for her apprehension about dragging her parents into it or retaliations from the Hearst family, she'd have swung a bat at him.
Still lost in thought, Ashley muttered, “Right, I’ll remember that. Lead a good life, steer clear of Damian.”
Patting her disheveled hair, Amelia's heart felt heavy, “Even if Damian was perfect in every other way, his indifference to you should be enough reason for you to not waste a single tear. Find someone who truly loves and cares about you, someone to share your life heart-to-heart. Anything less is just settling.”
Ashley hugged Amelia, nuzzling into her chest, “Amelia, you're amazing. You're my mentor. Next time I go off the rails, call me out; I swear, I’ll learn from it.”
“Ladies, breakfast is ready. Time to get up and eat, okay?"
Harold’s voice carried through the door.
With a soft chuckle, Amelia whispered, “Honestly, Harold’s a catch. He’s so attentive and down-to-earth.”
Ashley lifted her head with a mischievous glint, “Why don't you two get together? And when you have kids, I’ll be the coolest godmother.”
Amelia firmly shook her head, "He's a good man, and I'm not good for him. I won't bring him down."
Ashley gently tugged at her arm, soothingly saying, "Everyone has a past, Amelia. We've got to keep moving forward."
Amelia shrugged off the sentiment with a chuckle, "Hey, don't change the subject."
After a quick clean-up, the two headed to the dining room, immediately greeted by the tantalizing aroma of the dishes that brought their senses to life.
Amelia pulled out a chair and exclaimed, "Oh my god, Harold, look at you go! Apple pie, cornbread, baked beans, macaroni and cheese, and smoothies and juice. Nice touch!
Harold, clad in a T-shirt and baggy shorts, his slippers shuffling across the floor, hair uncombed with a strand sticking up, was a stark contrast to the pristine three-piece suits he typically donned, a side of him only revealed in their company, "Don’t flatter me, Amelia. Every time you start with compliments, I know a critic’s coming. I’m good."
Amelia laughed heartily, "A sharp knife needs constant sharpening. Keep that in mind."
Harold didn't bother with her banter and picked up a smartphone from the couch to hand it to Ashley, "It's been buzzing all morning."
Ashley asked absentmindedly while biting on her fork, "Who is it?"
Harold glanced at Amelia uncertainly, "You know, that person."
"Who?"
Harold gestured discreetly, "That person!"
An exasperated Amelia burst out, "Come on, spill it!"
Ashley, unlocking the phone, suddenly froze, her expression rigid.
