Page 3 of Pure Abandon

The last six weeks have been a continuous back-and-forth between us on the issue. Doors were slammed and the couch was slept on—not by me. It would have ended sooner, but Gabriel was called away on business half the time. He might be a successful attorney but this is one jury he was unable to sway. I’ve made too many consolations in this marriage. I am ready to take back my life.

We made amends and he promised he wouldn’t give me a hard time about it.

Gabriel places his arms around my waist and pulls me into him. “I just always pictured you home, taking care of Jack. And maybe having another…” he says with a twinkle in his eye.

I step back and put my hand up in a stop motion. “Hold on there, cowboy. First, one baby at a time. And second, Carmen is an amazing nanny. She came highly recommended and her credentials are impeccable.”

“She better be. She’s costing an arm and a leg.” He frowns, and I know he doesn’t get it.

I’m just glad he’s going along with it.

Stepping back into him, I put my hand on his face and lower his chin so our eyes are level. My voice is soft yet steady. “She will be. I promise. And besides, you hate your job. Maybe someday I’ll be able to support you and you can be the one to stay home.”

Gabriel lets out a soft sigh of defeat, but I can sense the wheels turning in his head. “How about we make a deal?” His navy eyes light up.

I eye him quizzically but let him continue.

“One year from today, we reopen the discussion. If our family is suffering or if this career is going nowhere, you come back home.” He holds up his pinky finger in front of his face, looking for me to seal the promise. “Deal?”

I wrap my finger around his and kiss our two fingers that are intertwined with each other.

“Deal.” I promise. “As long as you promise me one thing.”

Gabriel raises his eyebrow.

I widen my eyes so he knows I mean business. “No more talk. We can’t keep having the same discussion. No more arguing. You are giving me one year. Deal?”

Gabriel kisses our pinkies and releases our hands. “Good. Because in a year, I’ll be partner and you won’t have a need to work,” he says confidently.

I cringe at the idea.

“Chinese food for dinner?” I ask, heading out of the bathroom and through our bedroom.

“Don’t have to ask me twice.” He’s fastening his watch as he follows me down the hallway.

We make our way downstairs to the kitchen, where Carmen is feeding Jackson.

“Don’t forget you have to pick up milk on your way home.” I grab my purse from the counter.

“Okay. Good luck. Have fun. I love you,” Gabriel says, picking up his suitcase from the floor by the front door..

“You too.” I give him a swift kiss and then turn on my heel and face Jackson sitting in his highchair with a face full of oatmeal.

“And you too.” I give my little man a big kiss and head out the door with a stomach full of nerves.

Asher-Marks Communications is located in the Asher Building, a tall, glass skyscraper in midtown Manhattan. The two-story lobby of the building is intimidating with glass panel windows. Steel bars run across the vast space. Black granite lines the elevator banks and the walls behind the security desk.

“Seven Nation Army” by the White Stripes plays in my head. It’s my inner fight song, the one I play during a good workout and I sing to myself when I need a boost. The beat pounds in my head as I move forward.

The name ASHER is emblazoned on top of an omega symbol on the far wall above the security desk. Omega is the emblem of greatness. It’s ironic that a place with an insignia meaning the end is the place I’m hoping to find a new beginning.

The Asher name is well known in the city. Not as recognized as, say, Trump or Lauren. There is no reality show or clothing line. No high-profile divorces or runs for public office. Edward Asher is a renowned developer and financier. Over the past fifty years, he’s become one of the most powerful people in New York City. He is a prominent real estate investor and is a major stockholder in various companies, many of which have been relocated to this building. His name can be seen in hospital wings, college buildings, and minor league stadiums, all for donating insane amounts of money. Asher-Marks Communications is one of the Asher businesses, but I doubt I’ll ever see him step foot in the office.

“Kathryn Grayson for Malory Dean.”

The security for the building is tight, with a guard posted at every entrance and two more behind the desk. Not to mention one at the elevator bank, checking IDs and visitor’s passes.

I hand over my ID. The guard behind the desk eyes me, probably making sure I’m not a terrorist, before taking my picture with a small camera stationed on the counter.