His Absolute Insistence: A Scandalous Billionaire Love Story (Jessika, #2)

by du Lys, Cerys

  The garlic bread sitting in the stove filled my apartment with wonderful smells. Everything smelled nice, actually. The tomato sauce, spiced with herbs and thick hunks of ground hamburg. Not exactly meatballs, but I thought it looked satisfying. That, mixed with the melted garlic and butter on the crusty Italian bread sounded wonderful to me. I made dessert, too, but that was a surprise for later.

  Everything was nice. Everything would be nice.

  Someone knocked on the door and I jumped, startled. I dropped the stirring spoon onto the kitchen floor, splattering remnants of tomato sauce across the tiles. I bent to pick up the spoon, then tossed it into the sink.

  "Who is it?" I said. Probably just Asher. Maybe Asher and Jeremy. Jeremy said he'd leave us be, but if Asher had a lot of things with him, Jeremy would offer a helping hand, I thought.

  No one answered. After a couple of seconds, someone knocked again.

  I froze, worrying. I didn't know why, though. They probably didn't hear me, that's all. I snatched a paper towel from a roll on the counter and wiped up the splattered sauce from the floor quick, then tossed it into the trash. Hurrying to the door, I unlocked it and opened it to let Asher in.

  That was the plan, at least. When I opened the door, the hallway was empty. My heart thumped heavy in my chest and I swallowed hard.

  Why? Why was I worried? And what was I worried about? It was just... just an accident. Yes. I reassured myself of that. Tentative, just in case, I stepped partway into the apartment building hallway and looked to the left, then the right.

  Nothing. No one.

  I saw a flash of something out of the corner of my eye and turned fast to look at it. It vanished as soon as that, though. I kept staring. A similar flash blinded me momentarily, but after a second I realized it was just a natural glare. One of the windows from the stairwell to the side reflected the late afternoon sun at the end of the hallway. Every so often a tree outside rustled in the wind and sent the sunlight poking farther down the hall and closer to me.

  Nothing crazy. Nothing scary or bothersome. Just the sun, and a window, a tree, the hallway. I was alone, by myself. No one was here.

  I rushed back into my apartment and slammed the door shut hard. My fingers jumped to the lock and I locked the door fast. A few spots of sauce lay pooled on the kitchen floor, but I ignored them. I went to each of my windows and checked the locks, then pulled the shades shut. The apartment grew dark, darker but not dark enough. The window shades weren't the best and small slivers of sunlight snuck through.

  I did this for the living room and the bedroom. There were no windows in the bathroom or the little kitchen alcove.

  I sat on the bed, my whole body shaking. Why? Why did I feel this way? My heart pumped, thick and pounding against my chest and my stomach felt like it wanted to leap out of my body. My skin grew cold and I shivered. The tiny hairs on my arms stood on end.

  A knock sounded on the front door.

  No! No, I... no! I refused. I didn't know who it was. This was a cruel joke. Whoever it was, whoever found it funny, well... they didn't know me and I didn't know them, and maybe it was just for fun and amusement, playful and silly, but it wasn't. It hurt. My heart beat faster and faster and my body curled in on itself, my arms clutched tight to my chest and my chin moved close towards my knees.

  What if they could get in here, though? What if they broke in? They could smell it, I realized. The food. I couldn't hide, not really. They must know someone's here. How could they not? The telltale scent of Italian herbs gave me away. I locked the door, right? I closed all of the windows, made sure they were latched, I shut the shades, I...

  "Jessika?" I heard Asher's voice, both too soft and too loud, muffled and coming through the front door to my apartment. "Are you there?"

  I started crying. I didn't even know why I was crying. I cried and I scrambled off the bed, nearly stumbling to the floor. I half-crawled and half-stumbled towards the bedroom door, then out it into the tiny hallway leading to the kitchen, and somehow I made it to the front door of my apartment. Nervous, shaking fingers unlocked the door and I grabbed the knob and pulled it open.

  Please, I thought, begging with my mind and myself and life and everything. Please, just let that be Asher and please don't let it be a mistake or a trick, and please don't let the hallway be empty. Tears streamed down my cheeks, crashing against the front of my dress. I opened the door more, revealing the hallway to me, and my apartment to...

  Asher. Yes, it was him. He stood there, smiling, but as soon as he saw me crying, he stopped. His face contorted into some rendition of anguish and unknown pain. He ran to me and grabbed me, wrapping his arms around my waist and squeezing me into a tight embrace. The door closed behind us and he locked it with one steady hand while he held me with the other.

  He didn't know where anything was, he didn't know anything about my apartment, but it didn't matter. He held me tight and picked me up. I wrapped my legs around his waist and my hands around his neck and he put his arms around me and rested his hands on my rear, squeezing me close. We walked like that—or, he did, carrying me—towards the little hallway and then my bedroom.

  He carried me to the side of the bed, then he knelt atop it, still holding me in his arms. We moved like that, he and I together, until we were in the middle of the bed. Asher let himself fall softly to the side, his head and mine landing gently on a pillow. He held me tight in his arms and I curled my body against him and onto him, nuzzling as close to him as I could.

  "What's wrong?" he asked, whispering into my ear. His lips touched stray strands of my hair, kissing my earlobe with a gentle wisp of a peck.

  "I don't know," I said. I didn't. I still didn't know. "Jeremy left and everything was fine but then I heard a knock on the door and I thought it was you or him or both of you. I called out and asked but no one answered, then someone knocked again so I figured you hadn't heard me. I went to go answer and no one was there. It scared me. I don't know why. It's silly, really. I feel so stupid for being scared about something like that. It was probably just a mistake or a joke. Someone in the building's child going around knocking on all the doors for the fun of it, then laughing after, you know? That's probably what it was."

  "It's alright," Asher said to me, his soothing words brushing softly against my senses, his voice tingling in my ear, breath caressing against my neck. "It was probably nothing, but everything's been so difficult the last few days that even nothing can be disturbing. You aren't stupid, Jessika. Things are a little stressful, that's all."

  "A little?" I asked, choking on a laugh.

  "Maybe they're a lot stressful," he said, grinning. "I'm here now, though. Everything will be fine. Dinner smells amazing. Did you cook it by yourself?"

  "Jeremy helped. He went to the store and bought everything, and he helped me prepare it, but I did the cooking part. I like cooking, Asher. I haven't been able to cook much, because everything is busy and you have people who cook for you, but I like it."

  "Do you want to cook sometimes? I thought it was easier to have someone else cook for us, but if you want to do it, we can figure something out. I'm sure the kitchen staff would be more than happy to help you, or you can do it on your own if you want, too."

  "I can't do that," I said. "It's their job. I don't want them to feel useless. I don't want to take their jobs away from them."

  Asher shrugged, blowing a puff of air between his lips. "I'm not going to fire them. They can cook for the rest of the house, and you can cook for us."

  "I'm not a good cook. I used minced garlic from a jar. Jeremy said they'd hate that. They'd want to use fresh organic cloves of garlic or something. I'm sure it's good," I said, hasty. "I mean, I'm sure they've gone to a culinary institute for all this and they know what they're doing, but I just like simple stuff sometimes. I can't force my way into the kitchen and make us macaroni and cheese for dinner."

  "Why not?" he asked. He said it so seriously that I started to doubt my understanding of the world.r />
  "Well... it's strange. I don't want fancy macaroni and cheese. Sometimes I just want it from a box. With sliced up hot dogs and a glass of chocolate milk to go with it."

  Asher smiled and kissed my cheek. "Sounds great. When are we having that? Should I help or do you want to do it on your own?"

  "You're being too nice," I said. "I bet you don't even like hot dogs or macaroni and cheese."

  "What are you talking about? Those are my favorites. I love them."

  "Are you lying to me?"

  He kissed my cheek again, lingering slightly. I tilted my head to the side so that my lips touched against his.

  "Maybe it's not my favorite, but I do like it," he said. "I'm easy to please. If you sit me down and put a plate in front of me, I'll eat whatever's on it."

  "Alright," I said. Smiling, feeling shy all of a sudden because I somehow felt like I'd learned something new and special about my husband, I kissed him.

  He kissed me back, soft and nice. We lay like that, together, lips touching and kissing. This wasn't frantic or even overly sexual. It was just us, simple intimacy, a friendship of sorts, but more than that, too. I was Asher's wife and he was my husband. I loved him. I wanted sex and closeness and I wanted to explore his body and let him explore mine. I wanted all of that, but I wanted him to be my friend, too. I needed it so desperately that it hurt.

  I didn't feel cold anymore. I felt nice. Warm and soft and cozy, wrapped up in Asher's arms while we lay cuddled on my bed, kissing. I hadn't used this bed in forever, and maybe it wasn't a very good bed. It creaked every time either of us moved more than a tiny bit, the noise rocking through the room, sounding louder than it was.

  Asher kissed me once more and I kissed him back. Then I said, "You can make the chocolate milk."

  "Hm?" His lips brushed against mine and he touched the tip of his nose to my nose, too.

  "I'll make the macaroni and cheese with hot dogs and you can make the chocolate milk," I said.

  He smirked. "I get the important task, I see."

  "Chocolate milk is serious business, Asher. If you mess it up, I won't forgive you."

  "Of course not," he said with false formality. "I wouldn't dare."

  "Good," I said.

  "Can I tell you something?" he asked.

  "Yes, what?"

  "I'm starving."

  I smiled, sheepish, and looked away from him. "Can I tell you something, too?"

  "What?" he asked.

  "I'm starving, too. Do you want to go eat? I made a lot of food. I think the pasta is done. It might be overdone now. There's more, though. I can make more if it's not good."

  "I love mushy pasta," Asher said. "Maybe we should go check on it, though. I love pasta when it's not mushy, too."

  "Alright," I said. "Thank you for being here. I feel a lot better now. Thank you for not being angry about this place, too. I'm sorry I kept it a secret from you."

  Asher smiled and sat up, then he helped me up, too. "It's not a bad secret, Jessika. There's a difference there. Secrets can be good and bad. This is more of a good one, almost like a surprise, right?"

  "Maybe," I said, skeptical. "Asher, I... I just don't know if I would have told you about this if everything hadn't happened like it did. I didn't keep my apartment for any particular reason, though, I promise. I didn't plan on leaving you."

  "I know," he said. "I trust you. I don't expect you to tell me everything all the time, Jessika. You told me when you knew it was important. I think that's what's most important here, too."

  "Do you keep secrets from me?" I asked.

  "I'm sure I have a few secrets. I haven't kept them from you specifically, but I'm sure there's things about me that you don't know."

  "I don't like that," I said, pretending to pout. "I want to know everything."

  "Everything?" he asked, grinning. "That's a lot to ask."

  "Everything," I repeated. I jumped on him and squeezed him in a hug and he hugged me back. "Asher, I love you so much."

  "I love you, too," he said, his arms wrapped tightly around me. "Let's go eat. We can try and see about talking about everything while we do. How's that sound?"

  "Maybe we can do it in pieces," I said. "Maybe I can learn more about you every day and you can learn more about me, too. I think that would be nice."

  He smiled. "I think so, too."

  ***

  Asher and I talked during dinner and it was nice. We always talked during dinner, but usually we ate at the mansion. The dining room there was more like a large dining hall, and while we only used a small part of the table, it extended much further down the room than I thought was normal. Part of the dining room in the mansion was for mingling and talking, either before or after dinner. And, we ran the risk of having people intrude on us every night, too.

  They didn't mean to and I understood that, but it didn't make it any less awkward for me sometimes. How was I supposed to have an intimate conversation with my husband if one of the cooks might come in at any moment and bring us more food? I asked about that once, though in a slightly less antagonistic way. I just asked if maybe they could bring all of the food at once so they didn't have to keep bringing it throughout the meal. I didn't think it was too much to ask, and I asked Asher, not the kitchen staff.

  He asked them later and the head chef balked, stating that to do that would mean leaving the food unattended and cooling on the dining hall table. The food wouldn't taste nearly as good if they did that. Perfection, ruined. And for what? It wasn't a problem, he reassured Asher, and then me. Oh, no, they didn't mind doing it at all. Bringing out platters and trays of food throughout our meal was definitely agreeable to their preferences.

  I sort of understood. They had some sort of obsession with cooking and food, and that was fine. Before I started writing more, I would read all the time. I used to have my own book review blog, too. It wasn't anything special—just a little hole in the wall site on the internet where I talked about the books I'd read—but I enjoyed it and I wanted to make it the best I could. So maybe it was like that for the kitchen staff, too, except more professional. That didn't really help me, though.

  Here, though, in my apartment with all of the food prepared, with just me and Asher, it was different. The kitchen stood just off to the right of the front door, if it could even be called that. More like a hallway than a room. An island type of counter (or perhaps a peninsula? I wasn't sure if that was an actual type), connected to the far wall, vaguely separated the kitchen area from the living room. I owned a cheap couch that split off the majority of the living room from an area I liked to call my dining room. In actuality, the living room and dining room were one and the same if not for the couch acting as a divider.

  And... that was it. It was just a small circle table and four chairs. Asher and I sat next to each other, close to the peninsula counter. I put the prepared food on the counter so we could grab it easily from the table if we needed more. Then we ate our food. Quiet, companionable, talking about this or that. Nothing in particular. I got to pretend that this was normal, that maybe life was always like this. Maybe I didn't work for some billion dollar company in the startup literature segment, and maybe Asher wasn't some billionaire CEO tourism tycoon.

  I could be a secretary, instead, working in an office. And Asher might be... I didn't know. Construction worker? Possibly too dirty. Police officer? Who knew?

  I didn't really want to be a secretary, and I loved being a writer. I didn't want Asher to be anything different, either. It was just nice to think that maybe we were normal now, instead of excessive or extraordinary. No one would care if someone found a sex tape between a secretary and a police officer. No one would light those people's house on fire, or break into the secretary's office and leave crude notes on her computer. They could just live and be.

  That was us right now; Asher and I. We were ourselves. We were living and being.

  "I almost," he said in between a bite of garlic bread smeared in pasta sauce. "I almost became a
photographer instead of taking over Landseer Enterprises when my father died."

  "Really?" I asked. "Why? I know you love photography, but..."

  He shrugged. "I don't know. I can't imagine it now, actually. It seems stupid to even think about it. I do believe people should follow their dreams, though. That's actually why I thought about it, but I changed my mind because I wasn't sure if it was really a dream or just a temporary fascination. Well, that and it would have been stupid not to take over the company. I could have inherited shares from the business and lived a great life, but it would have been different."

  "Hm?" I asked, inquiring softly.

  "I had—" He paused, both to think and to take a bite of pasta. "I think I had a revelation, almost. I enjoyed taking pictures, but a large part of that enjoyment came from setting up the scene. Sometimes it's intense and exhilarating. There's a part of me that just wants to create settings all the time. Taking pictures is an afterthought, almost. It's the natural progression of creating a scene. Once you've made it, you don't want to lose it, right? That's when you take a picture, so you can have it forever and you can share it with everyone. You can relive the moment."

  I smiled, caught up in his excitement.

  "Not every picture is for everyone. Some are private." He said this while touching my arm lightly, running his fingers from my elbow to my wrist. "Every picture I've taken is one I want to keep forever, though. It's almost magical in a way. They're memories, but more than that, too. Sometimes they're just ideas of what might exist, or maybe fantasies, but in the picture it all seems real."

  I nodded and smiled, then took a bite of my food. Asher's hand still lay on my arm, so I moved slightly to take his hand in mine. We sat there, smiling and looking into each other's eyes, warm food and happy thoughts between us.

  "Can I ask you something about some of your pictures?" I asked. "Specific ones. You might get mad. I'm just curious, though. I don't, um..."

  He nodded, and then he read my mind. "It's about the first ones I took of you, isn't it?"

  I nodded, too, but said nothing.