The Second Ending: A Modern Austen Persuasion Improvisation (Austen Echoes Book 3), page 1
THE SECOND ENDING
A MODERN PERSUASION IMPROVISATION
AUSTEN ECHOES
BOOK THREE
RIANA EVERLY
CONTENTS
Introduction
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Also by Riana Everly
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
The Second Ending, Copyright © 2023 Riana Everly
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
WARNING DISCLAIMER: This collection is suited for Adults 18+ only. Stories contain sexual situations and adult language. All characters depicted are of legal age.
Book Cover Design ©The Cover Fling
INTRODUCTION
A trio of musical delights as Eglinton Echoes meets with Jane Austen to entrance and entertain!
These musical re-imaginings of Pride and Prejudice, Emma and Persuasion will have you cheering the characters on as they pull you into their world and into their hearts.
What would Jane do? Find out in this heart-warming series, available exclusively from Romance Cafe Publishing.
CHAPTER 1
SURPRISES
Early September
Ashleigh Lynch did not like surprises.
Surprises never ended well. Someone got insulted, or hurt, or all sorts of bad memories were formed or resurrected. Far better to know in advance, to be prepared. To be able to run away.
The man sitting across the table from her right now was just such a surprise, and all she wanted to do was run.
It hadn’t seemed like it would be bad when she started on this case. Her friend and fellow-choir member had asked for her assistance with a community project, and as a lawyer who dedicated her life to helping the little guy, she had agreed at once.
Her friend, Masako, had four young children who enjoyed playing on the fields behind their school, where it met the parkland by the small ravine that ran through that part of Toronto. Then, overnight, fencing had appeared around the area with large signs announcing that the land was being developed into a condominium complex with three large towers.
“We thought it was public land,” Masako had exclaimed the first time they met about the issue, shaking her head in disbelief. “We didn’t know if it was part of the school or the park, but we never had the first indication it was private. And now someone’s buying it. Can you help us? It’s where all the neighbourhood kids play.”
The whole situation had seemed odd. If the land was privately owned, it was almost unthinkable that it had been open for kids to play on for who knew how many years. The liability issues alone would have given Ashleigh cold sweats. What sort of negligent owner would allow that? He must be mad.
“I’ll look into it,” Ashleigh had assured her friend. “There might be some irregularities somewhere. But I’m not sure there’s a lot I can do if it’s a legal sale.”
“Can we at least go public with our concerns? Take it to the papers, or hold a press conference? ‘Big Bad Developer Threatens Innocent Children’, or something like that. The media would eat it up.”
A press conference. Oh, God, no.
“Er, I’ll help with the legal stuff, as much as I can,” Ashleigh had hedged, “but I can’t go in front of a microphone. I’ll crumble and ruin everything for you.”
Masako had stared at her. This diminutive woman had the energy and determination of a divinely-inspired army. She would, Ashleigh considered, have made a phenomenal suffragette, had she been born a century earlier. She managed her young and busy family with a flair that made it look easy, had a small but growing line of clothing designed for non-standard sizes, ran a boutique in Yorkville, one of Toronto’s most elite shopping areas, and was one of the strongest singers in the Eglinton Echoes, a first-rate concert choir. Ashleigh’s dread of speaking in public must seem unfathomable to someone like her.
“But you’re in front of an audience every time we perform,” Masako had replied after a moment. “The thought of singing in public is what gives most people nightmares, and you manage that beautifully. Just talking to a bunch of reporters is easy—”
“Please, no. I really can’t. I did once, but not anymore. I’ll stay in the background and help from there. Okay?”
“Uh, sure. If that’s what you want, although you’d be way better than you think. You just need more confidence.”
Ashleigh had sighed. “No. I can’t think on my feet. It’s really not my strength.” She’d had confidence once. Her family had dealt with that pretty quickly. But this was no time to sink into old regrets. The kids needed her. She’d do this for the kids.
That had been several weeks ago. In the interim, Ashleigh had carved out time from her main job at a small law firm to dedicate to Masako’s Field, as she had mentally termed this new case. There was little enough to go on. The sale to the developer, it seemed, was not yet finalised, which made the fencing and signs a bit premature. Still, if the land was owned by someone, they could do what they wanted with it, in this regard at least. The identity of the owner was also a bit of a puzzle, because while it seemed that everything was all above board and in order, the land was registered to a shell company, and even with her connections, Ashleigh couldn’t find exactly who held the current title to the plot in question.
That left her with two options to present to Masako. The first was to take it to City Hall as a zoning issue. With a school and a city park abutting the property on two sides, surely putting up three large condo towers would be problematic, at best. There might be something she could do here, especially if she found the right people. Presumably the buyer already had assurances that they could go ahead with their plans, but the media fuss might change that.
The second option was to approach the developer and try to convince them to give up the project for… reasons. She would think of some. She hoped. The media storm that Masako hoped to stir up might be the key to making them think of other locations. It was a possibility.
Masako leapt at both options.
And that was how Ashleigh came to be sitting in a small meeting room at Laconia Development Corporation’s rather swanky offices just east of Yonge Street when the worst mistake of her life walked through the door.
Marcus Fredericks was in no mood for this meeting. Some foolish do-gooder had demanded a half hour of his very precious time, on behalf of some community group with no money and not a logical thought in their heads, about this project that was ready to get off the ground.
God, he had seven other things he needed to be doing now—preferably yesterday—and he needed to prepare for the meeting with one of his financial backers. Not sit and tell a group of parents that the land in question had not been theirs, was not theirs, and would never be theirs, and that he could do what he wanted with it.
A germ of discontent gnawed at him. It wasn’t his either. Not yet. That sale was nearing completion, but the owner was being a nuisance. Whoever he was. Because—and this was another little niggle of uncertainty—he had no idea who actually did own the land. Everything was being handled through lawyers and agents and a shell company several layers deep, and there was something about the whole affair that didn’t sit completely right with him. But it was close enough, and once the sale went through, it wouldn’t matter anymore.
But now, this meeting. The last thing he needed.
It had been a bad day. There had been a power outage on his street the night before, which meant the coffee maker didn’t make his coffee. He’d been in a hurry, and so had picked up a cup on his way into the office, but had spilled it on his jacket when someone walked into him as he left the elevator. He could have asked his EA to get him another cup, but that wasn’t her job, and he wasn’t going to treat her like an old-fashioned secretary when she was a highly skilled professional.
Then the photocopier had jammed, and the email he needed from his lawyer hadn’t come through, and then… oh, it had been one thing after another. And now this meeting. The last thing in the world he needed.
He pushed through the door to confront his opposition and send him packing, and—
He stopped short.
He’d been wrong. This meeting was not the last thing in the world he needed. The last thing
Shelley, his EA, who had walked in a moment before, turned to him with a professional smile. “Marcus, good, you’re here. This is A—”
“Ashleigh Lynch.” His voice was as dead and flat as his heart.
Across from him, Ashleigh looked like she’d been struck by a bus.
“Then you must know—” Shelley began, turning to Ashleigh.
“Marcus Fredericks.” Ashleigh sounded like he felt.
“I’m not sure this is a good idea…” Marcus blurted out, but his words were cut short by the tiny Japanese lady who sat at Ashleigh’s side.
“Masako Matsuzawa.” She rose and held out a hand. Out of instinct, he shook it.
She might be short, but this lady was not the sort to take no for an answer, and she commanded the meeting without the smile leaving her face. Her voice was low and steady, with just the barest hint of an accent, and full of silk-lined steel. She must have no problem controlling her children, Marcus mused.
She didn’t give him time to think. “Thank you, Mr. Fredericks. I know your time is valuable. Now, we have a few things to discuss, mostly about why you should abandon this ill-conceived condominium project of yours. I’ve got this document to look at, unless you’d prefer me to go through it in PowerPoint. No? Fine. Let’s begin.”
“So, you know him. Since when?” Masako asked as they walked out of the building half an hour later. Masako had dominated the conversation, for which Ashleigh was eternally grateful. Seeing Marcus again had been exactly the sort of surprise she detested, and it had left her reeling.
“We knew each other several years ago.”
Eight. Eight long years. She had kept count, and had regretted every one. But her voice must have been steady, because Masako didn’t blink.
“Business associates? He seemed surprised to see you.”
“Er, something like that. We, uh, didn’t part on the best of terms.”
“Bad deal, eh?”
The worst.
“He’s handsome enough, if you like that type,” Masako continued. “I’m not usually keen on the dark, bearded sort, but in his case, I’ll make an exception. Don’t tell my husband.” She laughed at her own joke.
Ashleigh had met Masako’s husband only a couple of times, but his image sprang readily to mind. He was a blond giant, a Viking next to his diminutive Japanese wife. They were a study in contrasts, and made a striking couple.
“I don’t think Lars has to worry,” Ashleigh returned, happy to divert the conversation away from Marcus. “What did you think of the meeting?”
Masako exhaled sharply as she strode down the street towards the subway station, Ashleigh all but running to keep up with her. “His head is in a block of cement. It’s all about the money for that type. Can’t he see that there are kids’ lives at stake? Well, not exactly their lives, but their childhood. For all the lamenting that people do over kids growing up with their noses in their tablets, he should be celebrating that there’s a field that so many kids use just to run around and play. But no, there’s no profit in that. Shameful! They should leave it as it is.”
“But…” Ashleigh panted as she tried to match her friend’s stride, “now that the land is for sale, if they don’t buy and develop it, someone else will. I hate to say it, but I can’t see this ending the way you’d like.”
Her friend stopped in her tracks and glared at her, before deflating. “Sorry. I’m not angry at you. You’re just seeing this through disinterested eyes, which is what I want. You’re right. What do we do?”
They walked on for a few steps before Ashleigh replied. There was only one viable way forward. It was one that she hated, that she could hardly bear to think of, but for the kids, she’d somehow manage. “I think we need to negotiate. We need to draw up a plan and meet with Marcus Fredericks again and see if we can find some middle ground.”
And condemn herself to endless hours in the company of a man she’d never imagined she would see again.
CHAPTER 2
ASHLEIGH
Ashleigh twisted the key in the lock to her front door with more force than it should have taken. She should put a drop of lubricant oil in there, since the lock was more tired than it might be. Just like her home.
Just like her.
She pushed the door open and stumbled inside, closing it behind her with her hip. She dropped the key into the small bowl on the table by the entrance and then walked the two steps needed to drop her satchel onto the threadbare couch. Kicking off her shoes, she followed the path of her satchel and soon lay, half-sprawled, across the old piece of furniture.
She hardly noticed the imperfections now. She’d been renting this space, the first floor of a house north of the Danforth, for a while, and she was used to its less-than-terrific condition. The couch had been new once, but that was long before she got it from a friend who was clearing out some old furniture. The upholstery could do with replacing, even though the frame and style were good. Likewise, the paint that should have seen a fresh coat three or four years ago, and the curtains that hadn’t been in fashion for three decades and that clashed with the couch. But they, too, had been free, and she hadn’t had the financial resources to refuse them.
Fine, that had been eight years ago, and she could scrape together enough money now to give the place a facelift, but what was the point? No one came over, and she was past caring.
There were, really, only two things she cared about anymore. One was her job. Taking all those legal aid cases was not a ticket to fame and fortune, but helping vulnerable people who had almost no hope left gave her life meaning, and she put far more hours into her clients’ cases than her salary reflected.
The second was her music. She lived for her choir, that one bright spot of joy and colour in an otherwise drab existence. Every Thursday night between September and June, the Eglinton Echoes met to rehearse whatever repertoire was on the next concert, and every Thursday night, Ashleigh was there to sing her heart out. It was the one time she allowed her spirit its freedom, unchaining it from the box where she usually kept it locked away. Nice and safe, safe from being hurt.
She loved music and always had. She had taken piano lessons as a kid, had played the oboe in her high school band, and had been convinced by an enthusiastic music teacher to join the choir. The first time she opened her mouth, the music teacher’s jaw had dropped, and Ashleigh found herself auditioning for a rather exclusive vocal coach whom the music teacher knew. Because Ashleigh Lynch could sing.
Under her instructor’s guidance, her pretty voice grew rich and beautiful, and her range expanded until she could hit all but the highest notes that were left to the coloraturas, as well as a good stretch of alto territory. Her timbre was best suited for soprano or high mezzo, and that was where she focused her musical energy.
Her father had narrowed his eyes in distrust, but indulged her. “Foolish business, this music stuff. Useless waste of time. But it doesn’t hurt anyone, so fine. Trust you to make such an odd choice.” That had been his opinion, until it came time for Ashleigh to go to university.
Ashleigh wanted to study music. Walter Lynch had refused.
“Absolutely not. I’m paying for it, and I won’t agree to a useless degree like that. You’ve got a brain, child, and you’ll use it, or you won’t see a penny from me. You always make the most foolish decisions. If you can’t choose properly for yourself, I’ll do it for you.” He had planted himself in front of the dining room table, feet apart, fists on his hips, jaw thrust forward.
She’d been seventeen then, a whole lifetime ago, and she’d been easily swayed.
Her mother was no better.
“Really, Ashleigh, you need to think more than a year ahead. You’re a smart girl. Look at your grades, all through school. High honours, all the way. You don’t want to throw that away on something like music. That’s not a career. You did so well in your school’s debating club, you’d be a terrific lawyer. Let’s look at all the options open to people with law degrees. You can still sing at home, you know. Or do what Penelope did,” referring to her older sister, who had married a rich man right out of high school. “She’s already on the board of the cricket club, and they want her at the Maple Leaf Women’s Society as well.”
