January, 2014

It was so fucking cold that Ingrid got the sudden urge to turn her husband's grave into a bonfire pit. Of course Jacob Jeremiah 'Jack' Astor II had chosen the coldest month on record to jump from a bridge into the Hudson River. In death, such as in life, he favoured superlatives and his ex-wife had seen to it that his funeral was no exception.

His actual widow, on the other hand, had long run out of fucks to give.

Ingrid sometimes imagined Jack landing headfirst onto a lump of ice, his neck breaking on impact and his body tilting sideways in slow-motion, like a cartoon character's. The coroner had disproved that notion, though. Jack, chock-full of cocaine, hadn't broken his neck, but it'd been hard to tell whether he'd drowned or frozen to death first.

One thing was for sure – his lungs had taken in enough Hudson water to prove that his corpse hadn't just been dumped there. The river had killed him, not something – or someone – else. Thankfully, the cops had come to the same conclusion in the end.

Ingrid sunk her fists into the deep pockets of her coat. A horde of black-clad mourners had gathered round the grave, taking up more space than she would have liked. She felt out of place in this sad, sympathetic congregation. Guilty that she, despite her best efforts, could muster up no sorrow. Not even for show.

Jack's ex-wife and her children, however, looked absolutely gutted. Ingrid caught the tearful eye of twenty-year-old Jacob Jr and quickly averted her gaze. The little bastard had had the nerve to try to get into her pants while his father's remains awaited to be released from the morgue's refrigerator. Excruciating grief, he'd cited, and as she'd pushed him off, it'd been all Ingrid could do not to slap him to shit.

After what seemed like freezing fucking forever, the crowd began to clear and Ingrid stood still on the edge of her husband's final resting place, until everyone had trickled away. The ex-wife spared her one last glare, before she walked off with her kids.

Ingrid removed her warm hands from her pockets. She exhaled clouds of steam as she breathed, lifting her left hand up to her face. Her fingers shivered, except not from the cold. A single teardrop escaped from the corner of her eye. Gulping, she worked the golden wedding band off her ring finger and tossed it on top of the casket. It clattered into the depths of the grave and when silence settled again, she turned on her heel and strode away.

In her wake, the gravediggers began to shovel dirt into the hole they'd dredged up.

September, 2017

The flight from London to New York was long, but The Brennan Company had splurged on premium tickets for all five passengers: CEO Ian E. Brennan, Brexit taskforce duo, Ingrid Astor and Priyanka Mallick, Ian's assistant, Yvonne, and the driver-slash-bodyguard, Murphy, who had ultimately decided to join the expedition. They landed at JFK in the afternoon, sore, sleepy and starving.

Amidst the crowd gathered at the arrivals gate, Ian quickly spotted his daughter's fiery hair and called out to her. "Caitlin! Over here!"

They pushed their luggage along and the girl ran towards them, launching herself into her father's arms. He lifted her off her feet and spun her around. Caitlin gave a quick shriek.

"Oh, daddy!"

"Hey, pumpkin. Goodness." Ian cupped his daughter's face and kissed her forehead. "I missed you so much."

He surveyed her from head to toe, tried to pinpoint the exact changes she'd undergone in the past year, and failed. Keeping her close to him in a half-hug, he turned around and introduced her to the gang.

"You've all probably guessed, this is my daughter Caitlin."

Smiles all around. Caitlin waved hello.

"Cait, you remember Murphy and Yvonne."

The girl gave them a hug each.

"This is Priyanka..."

The women shook hands before closing in for kisses and an embrace.

"...and this is Ingrid."

The ritual was repeated, except the encounter lasted a fraction of a second longer.

"Right," Caitlin finally said. "I got us two cars, like you asked, dad. They're waiting for us."

Father and daughter were inseparable on the way to the chauffeured cars. Yvonne got into the passenger seat of one of two black vehicles, with Ian and Caitlin in the back. Murphy took the front seat in the other one, with Pri and Ingrid sharing the backseat.

The Brennan Company owned a townhouse in New York, with all en-suite bedrooms, which was normally rented out on short-term leases when unused. Ian had had it cleared once his taskforce scheme came to fruition, ready to accommodate him and his team for the duration of their stay. Murphy asked for modest quarters in a remote corner of the house, so as not to impose too much. Yvonne had her own room on the first floor, which she always used. This time she had Priyanka as her neighbour.

On the second floor, but on the opposite side of the house from the first-floor bedrooms, Ingrid and Ian had adjoining rooms. The connecting door, however, was locked and Ian reassured Ingrid that she had nothing to worry about, since the keys were safely stored.

The house had a spacious ground floor kitchen and living area, a well-stocked library and study on the third floor and former servants' dwellings, well modernised, on the fourth floor. Murphy chose for himself one of the two bedrooms up there.

It was evening by the time they all settled in and reconvened in the living room for dinner. Caitlin ordered pizzas for the lot of them, while Ian and Murphy went out to buy wine and beers. The fridges would have to be stocked in the morning, with more than just the breakfast essentials Caitlin had picked up.

"It's lovely to see the two of you like that," Pri nodded over her glass of wine at Cait and Ian huddled close together on the sofa. The Aussie lass had crossed her legs on the floor with a small box of pizza in her lap. "You're a lucky girl, Caitlin, that your dad doesn't want to be on Facebook."

Everybody laughed.

Caitlin glanced at her father. "Yeah, I do believe we've spared each other quite a lot of social media embarrassment."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Ian protested.

More laughter.

"Oh, speaking of which." Pri reached for her phone. "Why don't we add you?"

"Sure." Caitlin mirrored the older woman's movements. "I'm Caitlin Brennan." She spelled out her first name to avoid any confusion. "Gotcha. Priyanka Mallick, right?"

"Yup, that's me."

"And... Ingrid?" Caitlin turned to face the woman in question as the friend request popped up in her notifications.

"And that's me," Ingrid smiled, sipping her wine, then cleared her throat. "Well, I don't know about you all, but I can hardly keep my eyes open. If you don't mind, I think I'm going to turn in."

Yvonne replied with a yawn from across the low, sprawling coffee table and it spread round fast.

"We probably all should," Ian called it and stood up from the sofa. He stooped to get the pizza box from Pri and help her to her feet.

"Thank you," she muttered into her glass.

Ingrid picked up a couple of glasses and empty wine bottles and trudged into the kitchen. Steps followed and soon the mess from the living room was transferred to the sink and the breakfast bar.

"So many stairs!" Priyanka complained as they began the climb towards the bedrooms.

Ingrid chuckled. "You've only got to climb a flight of stairs. Murphy over there has to go all the way up to the fourth floor. Why isn't there an elevator in here?"

Ian shrugged. "Not the sort of thing people thought about building into their houses when this was made."

"Still." Priyanka huffed and puffed with every step. "Well, this is us." She took Yvonne's hand and led her towards the bedrooms. "Good night, everybody." They took a bow and walked away giggling.

Ingrid wished everyone goodnight and went into her room when they reached the second floor. She didn't want to stand around, intruding on the Brennans' family moment – Caitlin was to stay over that one night, in the spare bedroom on the fourth floor.

She was halfway through sorting out her sleepwear, though, when she heard a lock turn. It was the connecting door. Her head whipped around just as the mechanical noise was replaced by knuckles hitting wood. Ingrid walked over. She reached for the knob and twisted it. Slowly pulled the door open.

Edgar – as Ian was known to Ingrid when he meant a different kind of business entirely – stood grinning before her, leaning into the doorjamb. His hand came up to eye-level and dangled a set of keys.

Ingrid raised an eyebrow at him. "Safely stored, huh?"

He straightened up. "They were, until I un-stored them. This is your key." He dropped it into Ingrid's palm and she closed her fist around it. "In case you ever want to lock me out."

"Right. Well, goodnight. I'll see you tomorrow."

"Goodnight, Ingrid."

Briefly, he looked as if he was about to kiss her, but then thought better of it and stepped back into his own room, closing his door on the moment.

*

Nathaniel Brennan, some American second cousin a-billion-times-removed of Ian's, functioned as their gateway into and liaison with the NYC corporate class. He held down the North American front of the Brennan liquor business and helped them settle into their office.

Much like its Berlin headquarters, The Brennan Co. occupied only a couple of storeys in the office building, a massive inner-city skyscraper. In comparison, they owned nearly half of their London base.

"Y'all lemme know if there's anything else you need," Nathaniel winked at Ingrid and Priyanka as they collectively dumped their stuff on the table besides Ian's desk.

"Thanks, Nate." Ian shook his cousin's hand and saw him off. "Well, ladies – what do you think?"

The meeting table that would serve the two women as workspace accommodated eight chairs and was perpendicularly positioned to Ian's desk, stood some way off, closer to the windows that made up the whole left-hand wall. Behind the large desk, a generous bookshelf had been framed into the concrete, with spotlights trailed on the ceiling above it.

Tucked into an alcove across the room from the desk was a long, wide sofa and twinned opposing armchairs around the three sides of a coffee table. A potted palm tree stood behind one armchair by the window and a hidden door to the right of the entrance led into a tiny en-suite bathroom, fully equipped.

"It's definitely an upgrade," Pri commented.

Ingrid raised an eyebrow. "You think?"

The women high-fived and strolled in sync over to the sofa, where they flopped down and hoisted their feet up on the coffee table, sans high-heels.

Ian laughed. "Can I get you ladies anything? Sparkling waters, maybe, with a hint of lime?"

"Oui, garçon," Ingrid replied, snapping her fingers, "merci beaucoup."

"Can we add some croissants to that order?" Priyanka put in and the women giggled.

Ian shook his head. "Alright, I'll let you bask in it and go get us some coffees. But when I'm back," he clapped his hands, "it's on. We've got a lot of work to do."

"Aye, aye, cap'n!" Ingrid saluted, slumped in the sofa.

"I'll have a cappuccino, please," Pri announced.

"What about you?" Ian asked Ingrid.

Ingrid thought about it and grinned as a clever idea occurred to her.

"What the hell – make it an americano!"

a/n:

disclaimer: this story contains sex, drugs, sex on drugs, alcohol, swearing, some violence, controversial topics/opinions, plenty of tv/movie references and many lady gaga songs. if you're particularly sensitive or easily offended, this is not the story for you, sorry.

before you continue, may i recommend the ingrid prequels: 

Whiskey Latte (new adult novella)
Vodka Espresso (adult novel)
[not essential to understanding this novel, but i do believe they would enhance your reading experience here 🤷‍♀️]

or the ingrid spin-offs (unrelated to the main storyline):
Wasted (adult short story)
Experiment (new adult novella)
[featuring characters by Norwood515]

cheers
🌃🍷🌉

song of the chapter: americano by lady gaga

https://youtu.be/fHGKG9dyTKI