"No."

"Excuse me?" Catriona's eyes snapped up to stare at him, clearly surprised at what she heard. "You're willing to throw everything away for that bitch? Ten years of hard work, all for a heroin addict?"

"That's what this is really all about, isn't it, Catriona? You don't need to have me draped over your shoulder, although I'm sure it would help your career to be seen with me," said Ashe, his eyes narrowing. He'd done the same dance himself when he'd started his rounds in Hollywood years earlier, when Collette would pair him with the hottest actress or celebrity in town for a movie premiere, a gallery opening, or a lunch date at The Ivy. "This is about Riley."

"I don't even want to know her name," said Catriona, her face hardening. "It's a mutually beneficial relationship that I want."

"Which I do not want," Ashe interrupted. "Not now, not ever."

"But she's a nobody," Catriona spluttered. "Do you honestly expect me to believe that you'd give up your whole career for her?"

"I'm leaving now, Catriona. Goodnight," said Ashe, walking past her to the elevator. Sammi's appearance began to make sense, prompted, he was certain, by Catriona. He wondered what would have happened if Catriona hadn't threatened him. If she had patiently gone through the normal channels of managers and publicists, would he have agreed to be seen with her? The answer would still have been no, but he was certain that their personal relationship wouldn't have been so acrimonious.

"I made you, Asher Seán Hunter," she seethed. Ashe stopped halfway to the elevator but didn't turn to look at her. Her voice echoed through the lobby as Terence discreetly got up from his chair and slipped into the small office next to his desk.

"You were nobody when I met you," Catriona continued, her voice filled with contempt, all sweetness gone. "Look at you now: so good at acting that you've managed to convince everyone, including yourself, that you're someone you're really not. They think you're a posh British actor, an Eton or Harrow type, when underneath you're just a simple country boy hungry for fame. I knew you before you were famous, when you were a nobody dagging sheep and shoveling manure, speaking with an accent that betrayed you for the country boy you were. Without me, you'd still be speaking like that," she said, shaking her head in disbelief as Ashe turned to face her. "You'd be nothing without me."

"You're right," said Ashe, his face betraying no emotion. "I'm nothing—but only for as long as I'm with you."

Catriona's brow furrowed, though her smile remained intact.

"But I'm not with you anymore, Cat." He turned back toward the elevator, then stopped as if remembering something. "I hope your photographer got all the pictures he needs to accompany that piece of paper you're so intent in leaking to the public. Just think long and hard before you do, because I won't be the only one who'll go down. Maybe both our careers and reputations will recover or maybe they won't, but if we both go down it will be interesting to find out which of us will be able to get up again—won't it?"

Catriona stared at him for a few moments, her triumphant smile replaced by a look of uncertainty. Ashe had sown seeds of doubt in her mind. Everyone's ammunition of late had been seeds, cast about with precision, even his.

"You're a fool, Ashe. No woman is worth losing your career," Catriona said as Ashe pressed the button for the elevator, the doors sliding open in front of him.

Ashe nodded, turning his head to face her. "Nor is any man. Goodnight, Miss Marks."

As the elevator doors closed, Catriona was still staring at him as if rooted to the floor. Behind her, past the glass doors of the building he called home, a familiar face became visible as the dark windows of a car were lowered: Collette Williams.

Ashe closed his eyes as the elevator made its way up. He wondered if Collette had known this was going to happen. Had it all been her idea, too? Collette was the woman who'd helped him gain fame in Hollywood. She had guided him through the parties and dinners, arranged for him to be seen and noticed by the powerful men and women behind the production companies and studios. She was a powerful manager with three other stars under her wing, even after he and Gareth had left her upon learning that she'd been involved in kicking Riley out of the apartment she'd shared with Gareth three years earlier, bilking Clint out of eighty thousand dollars in the process.

Would she really involve herself in his downfall? If he lost all the movie deals that she'd helped him acquire, wouldn't Collette lose her customary fifteen per cent as well?

Collette was the least of his worries. Ashe didn't know if Catriona would go through with her threat of leaking their contract to the media, but he suddenly realized that he didn't care anymore. For the last five years, he'd pushed her to the back of his mind, keeping himself busy with every new venture that came, every audition and read-through, and every screenplay he could get his hands on or write himself. He'd worked hard at getting where he was now, showed up on time to every job and remained as professional as possible. He'd paid his dues. Sometimes the thought nagged at him that it was Hazel who had paid for his rise to fame. Wild child or not, she'd been his responsibility.

If he had to pay a higher price this time for his decision to put Riley above his career and the team of people who maintained it, then he'd live with the consequences of that decision.

He hoped that Riley would choose to remain at his side.

* * *

The next morning Ashe slept in, awoken only by the ringing of his phone at noon. It was a video call, one he'd expected. Wiping the sleep from his eyes he answered the phone, propping it up on his bedside table.

"Gran' morning, li'l monkey," he said softly, his voice shifting to his natural accent as he yawned and lay back on his pillow. Behind Rowan he could see his parents sitting by the dining table, waving to him, and beside her was Will Emerson, Rowan's father.

"Tell me about your day, poppet," said Ashe. "Are you going to the park?"

Rowan would turn five in a few months' time and had been scheduled to visit Ashe in New York in March. That had now been pushed back to April and changed to Paris. Ashe and Riley would meet herself and Will there shortly after Coriolanus made its final curtain call.

His niece was precocious, talkative and looked so like her mother it was uncanny. The mere thought of Rowan always reminded Ashe of what really counted in his life, making him realize how a life in the limelight made it easy to be distracted by things that didn't matter, like fame. All that was an illusion, he thought, unlike the child who was now gesturing wildly with her little hands and laughing.

She began telling him about her day, her singsong voice a delight to his ears. For the next few minutes Ashe happily listened to her, laughing at her stories about friends whom she'd met at the park, or at the supermarket when Gran would take her along. Then she asked about Riley and told him to thank her for the snow globe she had received in the post, featuring the Manhattan skyline. She named the landmarks in one breath: Statue of Liberty, Chrysler Building, Empire State Building and the Brooklyn Bridge. It was her favorite new toy, she told him.

After a few minutes, Will cautioned her that they would be late meeting her friends at the park. She blew him kisses which Ashe playfully caught with his hand, said goodbye and moved away from the screen. Only his father and mother remained, sitting at the end of the table. They used to make these calls on the computer, but Ashe had given them the latest smartphone and upgraded their WiFi setting to the best that Reeth had to offer, and they'd become used to propping it up somewhere around the house and talking to him as they prepared tea or whatever it was they were doing.

Sometimes they'd forget that he wasn't physically there, that it was a video call, and he'd have to remind them to move in front of the camera to where he could see them. They were always busy, just like Ashe, though their work and motivation differed. That was the thing about generations: everything changed, but at the same time it remained the same.

The mood changed after Rowan left. The absence of the child's laughter reminded Ashe that there were other things which had to be discussed. He had rung them just before he went to bed after his meeting with Catriona, although it was then around five in the morning in Yorkshire. He hadn't wanted them to be taken by surprise if Catriona fulfilled her threat.

Ashe had found his father in the kitchen making a pot of tea. His mother had still been asleep. Looking at her now, her hands clasped tightly on the table in front of her and her expression serious, told Ashe more about her reaction to his news than she was willing to say.

"I told your mum what we talked about, lad, about the choices you made a long time ago," said his father. "It's your life, and we don't judge you. We never have."

When Ashe had brought Hazel home from Club Fet five years earlier, he'd helped her change her clothes from the sweltering leather maid's outfit into one of his own tracksuits. She'd been so high she couldn't sit up straight in the passenger seat, her head lolling from side to side from the effect of the drugs. He knew that he'd have to explain to his parents what had happened and how he'd been involved. It was his fault really, he'd told his father while his mother was having tea with friends in Swaledale. It was his fault, because he should have known what Catriona was capable of.

Although his father knew, they'd said nothing to his mother about Ashe's involvement in the BDSM lifestyle. The previous night, however, Ashe had realized it was no longer possible to keep this knowledge from the woman who had raised him to love the arts, who'd nurtured his love for the theater by driving him all the way to London to see plays while his father stayed at the farm.

"What about Rowan?" Ashe asked. He was out of bed by this time, dressed in a pair of sweatpants and a T-shirt. Walking into his office he sat down, propping his phone on the desk.

His mother shrugged. "She'll hear nowt, at least for now. Maybe when she's older, if it still matters."

"And Will?"

"He already knew, because of Hazel," she said. "But it's your private business, son, this thing you had with Catriona, and there's no sense in beating yourself up because you and your dad didn't tell me sooner. It was for the best, I think. I don't understand these things."

"I'm sorry, Mum."

"No need to apologize. You know that whatever you decide to do, we stand behind you. We always have."

"Aye," his father nodded. "Lance told us he'll always stand by you. He came home with you that night, remember? Ben will too, I'm sure of't."

"I haven't spoken to them yet," Ashe said. "I sent them a text before I went to bed and told them we'd talk in the morning."

"But first there's the play," said his mother. "That's what's important right now. Do your best and let them judge you for that, not for what you do when the lights are out. That's no one's business but your own."

"That contract will sell papers," said Ashe, smiling wryly.

"Then let it," replied his mother. "It changes nowt. You'll still be you, no matter what. You know the drill, son: show up on time and be professional."

"Thank you," said Ashe, sighing as he ran his fingers through his hair.

"No need to thank us. Neither time nor brass can change thee lad, 'cos you're Yorkshire born and bred," said his father, chuckling. "We didn't raise you to be anything you're not."

"Take care of Riley," said his mother. "You have that lass's heart. Don't let her get hurt."

"I won't," Ashe said.

"Break a leg tonight," his father told him, grinning before his expression turned serious. "Show them what you're made of, lad. You're from Yorkshire, after all, and you're tough. Nowt can change that. Even Hazel knew that."