Chapter 20 Availability
Violet
She doesn’t leave.
She stays planted at my desk like the marble belongs to her, fingers curled against the edge, nails tapping in sharp, irritated beats.
Before she can speak again, a man hurries in behind her.
Mid-thirties. Tailored suit that’s trying too hard. Tablet clutched to his chest like a shield.
“Councilwoman,” he says quietly, strained. “We should probably—”
“Shut up,” she snaps without even turning around.
He winces. “Ma’am, please. Mr. Ashcroft isn’t available and—”
“I did not ask for your opinion,” she cuts in. “Stand there and look useful.”
The man flushes, murmuring, “I’m sorry,” to no one in particular, before stepping back like he’s been slapped.
She refocuses on me.
“I’m not asking again,” Councilwoman Hargrove says sharply. “I want to see Mr. Ashcroft. Now.”
“Mr. Ashcroft is unavailable at the moment,” I reply evenly.
Her jaw tightens. “I said I want to see him.”
“And I said he’s unavailable,” I repeat.
The assistant shifts behind her, clearly uncomfortable. “Ma’am, maybe we can reschedule—”
“I said shut up,” she snaps again, louder this time.
The word echoes.
A few heads turn.
Phones start to come out.
“This is obstruction,” she says, pointing a manicured finger at me. “Do you have any idea who you’re speaking to?”
“Yes,” I reply calmly. “And that doesn’t change my answer.”
Her voice rises. “You are deliberately interfering with my access.”
“I’m doing my job.”
She straightens, eyes flashing. “People like you don’t last long when they forget their place.”
I don’t move.
I glance past her, deliberately at the phones now clearly recording.
“Councilwoman,” I say quietly, “I wouldn’t recommend making threats.”
She follows my gaze, finally noticing what she should have clocked earlier.
Phones.
Cameras.
Witnesses.
“Put those away!” she barks. “All of you. This is inappropriate.”
“No, it isn’t,” I reply. “This is private property. Recording is permitted.”
Her assistant swallows hard. “Ma’am… the building policy—”
She whirls on him. “Are you against me now?”
“No, no of course not,” he stammers. “I’m just saying there are posted notices—”
“He doesn’t need to explain,” I say. “Recording is clearly posted at every entrance. The building owner permits it.”
Her face pales.
“You can’t allow this,” she says weakly.
“I don’t have to allow it,” I reply. “It’s already allowed.”
She tries again, voice rising. “This is harassment!”
“That’s not what harassment is,” I say gently. “This is you being told no.”
She leans closer, breath sharp, voice low and ugly. “I can ruin you.”
I meet her eyes. “You’re welcome to try.”
That’s when she snaps.
“This is outrageous!” she yells. “You will regret this.”
“That won’t be necessary.”
The voice comes from behind her.
Rowan steps into the lobby like gravity rearranges itself around him.
She doesn’t even try to recover her composure.
The moment Rowan appears, Councilwoman Hargrove straightens like a switch has flipped, fury melting into something sharper. Hungrier.
“Mr. Ashcroft,” she says, smoothing her jacket. “Thank you. I’ve been trying to reach you all morning.”
Rowan stops a few feet from my desk, posture relaxed, eyes cool. “So I’ve been told.”
Her assistant hovers behind her, pale and sweating, clutching his tablet like it might save him.
“I need a word,” Hargrove continues. “In private.”
Rowan glances at his watch.
I know that gesture. Everyone in this building does. It means you’re already on borrowed time.
“I’m on my way out,” he says calmly. “So it’s either now, here or in about six months when an opening appears.”
Her smile tightens. “Surely we can—”
“No,” Rowan cuts in. “Now or not at all.”
The lobby goes still.
Phones remain raised. No one lowers them.
Hargrove hesitates for half a second too long, then exhales sharply. “Fine.”
She leans in, lowering her voice but not enough.
“I’m entering my reelection cycle,” she says. “And I’d like your support.”
Silence.
Not the awkward kind.
The heavy kind.
The kind that makes people stop breathing.
Rowan doesn’t respond immediately. He studies her like she’s a document he’s already decided not to sign.
“My support,” he repeats.
“Yes,” she says quickly. “Your endorsement. Financial backing. A public appearance, perhaps. Your name carries weight in this city.”
Her assistant nods frantically behind her, like he’s afraid not agreeing might get him fired on the spot.
Rowan’s gaze flicks briefly to me.
Just a glance.
Then back to her.
“And you thought the correct approach,” he says evenly, “was to harass my staff.”
Her jaw tightens. “Your receptionist—”
“My assistant,” Rowan corrects, voice sharp. “And yes. That matters.”
Hargrove scoffs. “She kept me from you.”
“She followed instructions.”
“She embarrassed me.”
“You embarrassed yourself,” Rowan replies.
A few people nearby suck in quiet breaths.
The councilwoman’s smile cracks again. “This could be mutually beneficial.”
Rowan tilts his head slightly. “Explain.”
She straightens, regaining some confidence. “I’m in a position to help your upcoming developments. Permits. Zoning. Expediency.”
Rowan considers that for a beat.
Then: “No.”
The word lands flat. Absolute.
Hargrove blinks. “No?”
“I don’t back candidates who mistake access for entitlement,” Rowan says. “And I don’t negotiate with people who threaten my employees.”
Her face flushes. “You’re making a mistake.”
Rowan’s expression doesn’t change. “No. You did.”
The assistant behind her looks like he might faint.
“This isn’t over,” Hargrove says again, weaker this time.
Rowan steps closer, not invading, just enough to make the point land.
“It is,” he says. “And for future reference, if you want my attention—” He glances at me deliberately. “—you go through her.”
The room goes dead silent.
Hargrove stiffens.
Then she turns sharply, heels cracking against marble as she storms toward the exit.
Her assistant scrambles after her, whispering apologies to no one.
Rowan turns to me.
“Back to work,” he says.
“Yes, Mr. Ashcroft.”
He walks away.
I sit there, hands steady on the keyboard, heart pounding hard enough I can hear it in my ears.
Hold it together.
Just until lunch.
Then I can lock myself in the bathroom, cry it out, wash my face, and come back like nothing happened.
Because that’s the job.
And right now, it’s the only thing keeping me standing.