Chapter Four: The Aftermath

Yennifer did not remember how she made it out of the bathroom.

One second, she was staring at George Ashford, as if her soul had left her body. The next, she was in the hallway, moving too fast with her face hot enough to melt ice, and her heart hammering so hard it hurt.

“Fuck, Fuck, Fuuckk,” she whispered again, the words cracking on the way out.

She pressed both hands over her mouth and kept walking.

Not that she knew where she was going; she didn't, but she knew she wanted something, and that was distance. Distance from the shower. Distance from George Ashford, his body and distance from her thoughts, if possible

She turned a corner too sharply and nearly ran into a man carrying a tray of drinks. He swore, she apologized, and kept moving before her knees gave out.

Oh my God, she had seen him naked. She had seen George Freaking Ashford naked.

Her heart flipped as heat rushed back up her neck. She could still hear his voice, could still see the sharp, guarded look in his eyes before she fled. The memory alone was enough to make her want to fold in half and disappear into the floor.

Then, worse than the memory, came the thought of the interview.

Her interview.

The very thing she had been prepping for for days, the thing she had built her whole morning around, was now attached to the man she had just seen naked.

“Oh, you have got to be kidding me,” she muttered, dragging both hands down her face.

Stepping out of the hallway, she looked around, wild-eyed, and found the concourse still packed. Nobody seemed to have noticed her complete emotional collapse, which was good, but she was damn sure Chloe was going to have a field day when she heard this.

Yennifer inhaled slowly, straightened her coat and forced her face into something resembling calm because if she was going to survive this night, she needed to stop looking like she’d seen a ghost.

“Yennifer!”

Chloe shouted as she waved at her from the end of the hall, eyes narrowing as she took in Yennifer’s expression. “Why do you look like you’ve just committed a crime?”

Yennifer opened her mouth but closed it.

Then said, her voice barely above a whisper, “We need to leave.”

Chloe blinked. “What happened?” “Nothing,” Yennifer replied, gently pushing Chloe towards the door. That answer was obviously a lie, and they both knew it. Chloe stared at how she bit her lower lip and nervously twisted her fingers before she softly asked, “Yen, are you okay?”

Yennifer let out a strangled laugh that sounded more like a sob, her eyes tearing up as she blinked it away. “I should be.”

Yennifer looked past her, anywhere but at Chloe’s face, biting her lower lip as she nervously continued, “I opened the wrong door while looking for the restroom.” “Okayyy”, Chloe suspiciously replied 

Yennifer’s cheeks burned so fiercely she almost bloomed. “And there was a shower.”

Chloe stared at her, “And?” Yennifer stared at the floor, wishing the floor would open beneath her.

The silence that followed was so deep and awful that she could swear everyone in the arena kept quiet just to hear her humiliation. Somewhere far away, George Ashford was probably still standing in that bathroom, looking disgustingly composed and probably not thinking about her mortification, which made it worse. 

“And I walked in on George Ashford in the shower.”

Chloe made a sound halfway between a gasp and a choke. “You did not!!”

“I did not know it was him in the shower!” she cried out.

Chloe’s hand flew to her mouth. “Oh, my God.”

Yennifer dropped her hands and looked at her with pure despair. “I'm so screwed.”

___

On the other side of the hallway, George Ashford stood exactly where Yennifer had left him.

Several seconds had passed, yet he still stared at the bathroom door where she'd just disappeared through. His jaw clenched so tightly.

“What the hell was that?”

He'd dealt with fans before, the overexcited ones, the persistent ones, the crazy ones and a few who had somehow managed to get past security

But never here, never in his private bathroom. His eyes narrowed toward the door.

The only question swimming in his head was how she had gotten past his security and into his bathroom. 

He thought as he reached for the robe hanging on the rack just slightly beside the shower and slipped it on, his movements precise despite the irritation he felt.

Pressing a hand against the bridge of his nose, he muttered, “Unbelievable.”

Just then the image of her flashed through his mind. Her wide eyes, her horrified expression.The way she'd covered her face as though she'd accidentally walked in on a sex scene and not his bathroom.

He thought to himself, she obviously was one of those fans that pretended to have opened the wrong door, but yet the way she had looked, she hadn't looked like a crazy fan but rather genuinely terrified. He had to stop thinking about it cause it's seeming to bother him more than it should have.

A knock sounded against the bathroom door “Sir?”

Security Finally. George opened the door and saw two guards standing outside.

“Where have you been?” The question was quiet but cold, and neither of the men answered immediately.

“ I was securing the east corridor, sir,” one replied “Sorry, sir, I had to quickly use the restroom”, said the other, but George’s look turned cold

“And yet someone walked right into my bathroom.”

This caused the guards to exchange glances.

“We'll check the cameras immediately.”

His voice dropped, turning icier. “ I want a file on her, find out everything about her, who she is, where she works, how she got in here, I want everything.”

“Yes, sir.” The guards nodded and hurried away 

George closed the door and began to dress up, but for some reason, his mind kept playing the look on her face 

Those wide eyes, the panic in them and the way she'd looked at him as though he'd been the one who walked in on her showering 

He frowned; something about it didn't feel right, but he pushed the thought aside.

---

By the time George stepped out of the bathroom, it was all about work. The incident had been pushed to the back of his mind, and his personal assistant Mark was waiting beside the car.

On approaching, Mark started going off about his itinerary. “Your grandmother called twice. She wants you to call her back tonight.”

George got into the car. “And your father? He wants to speak with you tomorrow morning before the meeting with the shareholders.”

George sighed. “Of course he does.”

“And there was also a call from Lady Penelope, who called to congratulate you on yet another win.”

His expression gave off nothing; he replied, “Hmm…anything else?”

“No, Sir. I've sorted the urgent ones.” “Good.”

George muttered as he leaned back against the seat as the car pulled away from the arena.

And for the first time all evening, he allowed himself to breathe as he quietly stared out through the window as if taking in life again.

Hours later, George sat behind his desk at home, finishing the last of his work. Being a hockey player and a CEO comes with a lot. His tie had been loosened, and his sleeves rolled to his elbows.

Just then, a knock sounded. “Come in,” and Mark entered carrying a thin folder.

“The information you requested on the woman from the arena.”

George looked up and took the file, reading out quietly, “Yennifer Winterbourne, Twenty-five.”

George opened the folder and his eyes scanned through the information in it. His fingers stopped just as he had turned the page, her employment information.

Journalist at Languard Media House.

“Interesting”, He commented as he kept scanning. Just as he was about to turn to another page, his eyes narrowed as he looked at her assignment.

Dragging his hand through his hair, he read the line again.

“Assigned to secure an exclusive interview with George Ashford.”

Silence filled the room as George slowly leaned back in his chair and Mark, already knowing what was running wild in his boss's head, could only nervously tap his foot on the Persian rug.

The memory came rushing back to George's mind

The bathroom, her scream, those horrified eyes and the way she ran. So this was all an act, the thought.

He unconsciously tapped his pen against the desk as he thought of how bad he felt after she ran out, like he had ruined her innocence, and yet it's been all an act to get close to him, because of an interview?

A slow, dangerous smirk curled at the corner of his mouth, not from amusement but from something sharper. Like a predator ready to strike.

Glancing down at the file again, George stared at her name for another moment before a quiet, humorless chuckle escaped him.

“Yennifer Winterbourne.” He stopped tapping his pen.

“Let's see how badly you want that interview.”