In Your Arms

In Your Arms

Prologue

Ashton Pennington

              My father’s eyes were filled with anger as those five words came out my mouth. I dropped out of school. This wasn't our plan that we had chosen. I just went against our plan, and I'm not sure he could ever forgive me.

              “Why would you do that, Ashton?” My mother, who never looked any less than perfect, asked. I'm sure she didn't care that I dropped out. The only thing she worried about was that I was going to make her look bad in front of her friends. Ashton “The Screw Up” Pennington did it again, what a shocker.

              “I wasn't happy.” I admit timidly.

              “You left because you weren't happy?” My mother sounded disgusted, and I just kept looking at her green eyes.

              We don't look one bit alike. She has to wear heels to make her at least 5'4, and I was almost 5'6 without heels. She has platinum blonde hair and I have dark chocolate brown hair, she has green eyes and I have gray eyes. My father and I, we also don't look alike much. He has brown eyes, has brown hair (the only similarity), and even our faces have no similarities.

              They claim that I look just like my maternal great grandmother who was an actress in the thirties or something like that. They also don't have any pictures of her, which makes me think that I was probably adopted or kidnapped most of the time.

              “I don't know what you want me to say.” I shrug, and my father breaks his silence against me.

              His voice booms. “You need to leave.” My mother and I look at him.

              “What?” I was in disbelief.

              “Pack your things, and get out. No daughter of mine will drop out of college because they aren't happy.” I was shocked.

              “Dad-” He raised his hand to shut me up.

              I wasn't their only daughter, there was Megan, too. She dropped out two months before graduation, and married the richest guy she could find. Why was I being punished for a decision I thought was so right?

              “You have until your twenty first birthday to accomplish something, or I'll take away your trust fund. You will be living middle class for the rest of your life, and I will not help you, so don't come crying back to me.”

              A year and a half to make something of myself? How was I supposed to do that? I forced myself to stay home this summer so I could really think about what I wanted, but how could I make a choice about who I wanted to be when I could barely decide what I wanted to drink at Starbucks, somewhere I went to everyday?

              “You won't be living here, moping around, while you decide who you want to be. My mother is sick, and you're going to stay at her place and maintain it. Also, you're going to get a job because you'll need one if you don't meet my expectations.”

              “You've got to be kidding, right?” I've never lived anywhere else other than Chicago, and yes I traveled a lot, but even then, I didn't stay longer than a week because I got severely home sick. Also, I've never worked a day in my life.

              My grandmother lived in New York, New York, that's where my dad grew up, and I've never even met her once. I knew that she was rich, old money rich, and that she was in a retirement home because my father did not want to take her in. I think she has Alzheimer’s, I've heard my parents talk about her a lot lately.

              “No, I'm not kidding you. I suggest you start packing now because I cannot stand to look at you right now.” I had to admit that my fathers words hurt, and tears were threatening to fall. “Out of my sight!”

              I rolled my hands into fists and I went upstairs to my room. Once I was in the vicinity of my room, I started to cry, knowing that he wouldn't hear me.

              I knew that I'd get in trouble for deciding not to come back for my third year, but I couldn't believe he was giving me until I was twenty one to prove myself. That was less than a year and half, not enough time.

              What would I even do? He babied me since I was a baby, I never have had to lift a finger. I was the rich girl stereotype, I'd be eaten alive out in the real world. I was never prepared.

              So what? I'd rather live in New York than here, in New York he won't be able to control my every move. I can do what I want, and when I want to do it. I had friends there...but I'd never be able to afford their lifestyle again. I would be alone with my Alzheimer’s diseased grandmother.

              I packed only the necessities, and truly only the necessities. If this didn't work out, I couldn't be walking around with twenty thousand dollar jewelry hanging around my neck letting myself be ignorant. I also I didn't need people to rob me on the streets.

              One of the luxuries I let myself pack was the kindle I got a year ago. It had hundreds of books I hadn't read, but wanted to read, and they were already downloaded there because I always got an urge to buy books when I got sad or bored, which was a lot when I wasn't traveling.

              “Ashton?” my younger brother, Mathew, came into my room timidly, I always yelled at him for coming in at all. We were three years apart, and we always fought, but we did have those moments where we could get along.

              “Yes?” I would be nice, I might not see him for the next year and a half, or maybe not for a long time. Who knows? I couldn't leave on bad terms with him, too.

              “Where are you going?” He is sixteen, and he's grown into such a wonderful young man already. I know dad want him taking over the family business, and I know that Matty will be the one who actually does what he wants because Matty loves the family business. We own thousands of bakeries and catering companies around the world, Pennington Pastries.

              “To go live with grandma for awhile.”

              “You've never even met her.” I shrug.

              “Dad's idea, not mine.”

              “I heard. Why did you drop out of school?” How could I tell my brother what really happened when I couldn't even admit it to myself? I was living in denial.

              “I really don't know what I want to do with my life. I want to be everything, and I feel overwhelmed. Dad's right, I need this time to realize what I really want to do.” I know my father wanted me to admit that I was wrong in dropping out, and go back to school. I don't want to be wrong, I truly believe it was right.

              “Well, I think this could be a good idea. Maybe school really isn't for you. Look at all those successful people who dropped out of college, Bill Gates...Steve Jobs.” I smile.

              “Yeah, just maybe I'll create multi-billion business in a year and a half. Maybe dad will forgive me then.” I shake my head. “I'll be fine, this is growing up I have to do. I made the decision, and now I'm dealing with the consequences.” I zip up the last bag.

Braxton Wright

              I pressed public on the latest post I've written, and my best friend, Charles, starts ringing me on the phone. He lives in America, rarely ever get to talk other than texting because of the time difference.

              “Hello?” I close my laptop and grab my jacket.

              I've got a late dinner with a Russian woman I met at a bar last night. I usually never go out with the same woman twice, unless they impress me. She definitely did some impressing last night. I was excited to see what she would bring tonight.

              “Mate. You'll never believe who I just convinced to make a deal with you.” A few months back I wrote a book; Charles' literary agency took interest in me, and suggested it. I did as told, I didn't think it was that great, but they said they could work with it. Mentioned something about insight, I think.

              “Kind of in a hurry. If this is another-”

              “It's not a joke, mate.”

              “Go on. Tell me who you got.”

              “Eager publishing.” My jaw dropped.

              “You're talking about-”

              “Yes. The most lucrative publishing company that rarely, and by rarely I mean never, makes deals with bloggers. They read what you wrote, and they want it.”

              “They do?”

              “Once they read it, they only had one thing to ask.”

              “What is that?”

              “How fast can you get here to sign on?” This was crazy. Signing with a publisher? I never really expected that to happen...at all!

              “Expect me on the first plane to New York City.” I smiled.

Chapter 1

3 months later....

Ashton Pennington

              I hauled the last of the groceries into the elevator and pressed for the doors to close, but here's the thing about living in my grandmothers building...everything takes a while since everyone and everything is so old.

              "Hold the door!" I hear Mr. Clancy's English accent and I put my hand against the door just in case it chooses to close faster than usual.

              The old man runs in, for eighty he doesn't seem to look it or act it. He tips his hat at me and I smile. This was our usual greeting.

              "Morning, Mr. Clancy." I press the third floor for him.

              "Morning Ashton, I see you went grocery shopping." I look at my six bags and nod.

              "For the last few days I've been surviving on whatever the recreation center had, I finally got the day off to spoil myself before heading back to the recreation center."

              I volunteered at a recreation center and offered dance classes. That was everyday for the past two months after I leave my job. I work as a receptionist for a doctor during the week...well my grandmothers Alzheimer's doctor. It's mostly having to call patients to remind them they have an appointment and sending taxis to bring them to the office and back.

              "Buying groceries isn't spoiling yourself, love."

              I shrug. "When that's all I can afford to do, it is spoiling myself. I got myself some chocolate ice cream this time."              

              Well, I don't mention that whatever I have left over, I make sure to save. I get paid pretty good, fifteen dollars an hour and I work five days a week, no weekends, 8 hours a day. Boy do those hours drag. I'm just glad I don't have to pay for rent since I am staying at my grandmothers so I can save for the future.

              "Oh, love. You deserve a nice young man taking care of you." It was kind of obvious that everyone here knew I was basically disowned by my father. Word spreads fast in the rich world. I never really escaped this world, my grandmother was a really big part of it and still is even though she's in a nursing home. I know she has Mr. Clancy informing her all about me.

              "I can take care of myself, Mr. Clancy. I've been doing a great job." I haven't caved yet, and hopefully I won't. I've really gotten into interior designing, but I rarely have time to look into what classes I have to take and find internships to apply for.

              "I didn't mean to offend you, I was trying to open up the conversation so I can talk to you about my grandson whose coming to live with me for a few days."

              "I didn't know you had a grandson." Granddaughters yes, grandson no. He's only mentioned them in passing, we only ever see each other on the elevator since my grandmother lives in the penthouse here.

              "I do, he's my youngest daughters only son. He's coming to live with me while he tries to get situated here for his new job. At least that's what they keep telling me, I'm sure his mother has asked him to check on me." He chuckles and I laugh.

              "Parents, they always have a motive."

              "We mean well, love." He taps my head, something he does often even though I'm taller than his shriveled self.

              "I know so tell me about your grandson."

              "Twenty eight, and he runs some blog on the internet."

              "What blog, maybe I know it." A guy who runs a blog. Hmm, rare, but interesting. The door opens to Mr. Clancy's floor.

              "Something vulgar. I believe it's called, 'it's not you, it's actually her'" I laugh.

              "You're joking right?" That was a blog bashing women run by some stuck up English guy who thought that we were the ones with the problems.

              "Not at all. So you've heard of it?"

              "I've read it, sorry but that is vulgar." He chuckles.

              "Well, maybe he needs someone to teach him a lesson." I smiled as the doors began to close.

              "I'll see you around, Mr. Clancy." The doors closed.

              The lift was slow, but it finally came to a stop at the penthouse. I was in shock when I first walked into the museum. That's what I called it, a museum, because it was. My grandmother had every accomplishment of every family member on her wall, even mine. She knew who I was when I visited her, but she didn't say much to me because the nurse says that she gets confused very easily especially so late at night.