Monica walks in just as I’m about to head upstairs for a much needed, soothing bath. Unfortunately, she hasn’t quit. And she still has a nasty habit of walking in here without knocking like she owns the place. I have no idea how Asher can tolerate it, but other than our conversation a long time ago about how it’s not a good idea to fire her yet, I still haven’t heard him comment on it.
“Get ready. You’ll be leaving with Asher in an hour for a charity event,” she says before heading to the door without a goodbye.
I frown. Asher left with a suitcase a few hours ago. He’s supposed to be on a plane to Dubai. Over the past month, Asher has traveled to Los Angeles, Hong Kong, London, the Bahamas and, now, Dubai. Well, I guess not, since we’re headed to a charity event.
“Wait!” I shout as Monica’s hand connects with the doorknob.
She pauses, but she doesn’t turn around, causing me to wonder if she picked that up from Asher.
I frown at her back. “What’s the charity event?”
“A polo match,” she says tritely.
Then, she’s gone, much to my delight. I still don’t like her, mostly because she’s always so rude to me. I’d like to say that I usually go the high road around her, but I’m usually rude right back to her. I can’t help it.
It’s like watching Here Comes Honey Boo Boo. I know it’s ridiculous, but I can’t help but pay attention when it’s on, just like I can’t help but give Monica a taste of her own medicine when she’s around. I’m playing with fire with someone who has the ability to light a match on my cushy new life, but I lack the willpower to stop myself.
And this new life of mine definitely is cushy.
I absolutely love it here.
I learned quickly that Asher has to be very hands on with the real estate division of his company, which is why he’s always traveling and meeting with foreign dignitaries and real estate moguls. His interest in real estate makes sense, since he followed through on his word and magically got me out of my ironclad leasing contract.
I even got a full refund, which miraculously included money back for the month that I actually had lived in Vaserley Hall. I didn’t think he could do it, because my housing was paid by my financial aid package and my lease had a nonrefundable clause, but he did the impossible. I have twenty-three thousand dollars in financial aid money sitting pretty in my bank account to attest to that.
That money means I don’t have to work at the coffee shop, where Minka and her friends always hang out, ever again, so I quit permanently. Before the check, I was just on unpaid leave, but now I’m never going back. And I’m one thousand percent okay with that. The life of unemployment means I have a lot more time to enjoy my youth, time even my coursework, which I still do at home, doesn’t fill up.
It turns out I don’t have to worry about being bored, because Aimee, Tommy and Eduardo come over all the time. Xavier has even become a friend of mine. Now, I have four whole friends! That’s more than I’ve had in a long time.
So, I’m pretty proud of myself.
As I stand in the closet, I consider consulting Tommy for clothing help, but I don’t want to bother him on a weekend. If I ask Aimee, she’ll just tell me to wear the tightest, shortest dress I can find.
Aimee and I still meet up a few times a week, mostly at the penthouse, and whenever she sees me, she’ll squeal over my outfit and ask me why I’m not dressing to seduce Asher. I usually ignore her, because while Asher is insanely attractive and I often wonder what it would be like to go all the way with him, I don’t want to ruin the tentative friendship we have going on—yes, we’re actually friends.
I think.
Sort of.
So, maybe that means I have four and a half friends?
I shower, blow dry my hair, and put on makeup, keeping it light. Thanks to Eduardo’s lessons, I know that polo is mostly played in an indoor arena during the New York winters, even during the tail end of winter.
So, I pick out a white fitted dress and a fashionable light grey coat to wear over it. I add a pink statement necklace and nude Louboutins to the outfit. Stepping back, I look at my reflection in the mirror. Tommy and Eduardo would be proud.
And then I wait, realizing I still have another fifteen minutes before I have to leave. I pull out the binder with the questionnaires from months ago, anxious about what I might have to know about Asher for tonight. I have all my flashcards memorized by now, but I’m still nervous.
After all, this will be the first time in a long time that we’ve gone out together. On top of that, it’s the first time we’ll be in front of his coworkers after we announced our engagement… which is starting to be less and less believable with each passing day.
I skim through the binder, everything looking familiar until I encounter a bump in one of the binder’s pockets. I didn’t notice it before, but now, there are lines indented into the binder material from being stretched by the folded piece of paper for a long duration of time.
I take it out and read through it. It’s an activity worksheet for getting fake couples used to intimacy in public. My best guess is Monica folded the paper up and hid it here before she gave us the binders. She clearly doesn’t want us touching, let alone kissing like this activity suggests.
I’m still staring at the paper when Asher comes in.
“What’s that?” he asks.
I study him. He’s already dressed for the match in fitted white dress pants, a white dress shirt and a tailored, navy blue sports blazer. There’s a white pocket square sticking out of the coat pocket. The casual polo outfit is at odds with the tenseness of his face.
I put the paper down on the bed and cautiously approach him. “What’s wrong?”
He hesitates, as if debating whether or not he wants to tell me, before he says, “I’m pissed.”
I can’t help but smile. “I can see that. What are you pissed off about?”
“I was on the jet headed to Dubai when I got a call from Monica, informing me that Black Enterprises bought a tent at the charity match today.”
“Okay…” I say, not seeing what is wrong with that.
Charity’s a good thing, right?
Asher’s company is pretty well-known for donating to a lot of causes. Before I met him, I thought it was just PR to distract from his reputation as a mobster, but now I know that he does it because of the way he was raised. He told me one night that Vincent’s generosity helped him escape a grim life, and he hopes he can do the same for someone else. I have never been more attracted to him than I was that night.
“I had to reroute the flight, wasting my time, the pilot’s time, the flight crew’s time and a lot of fuel. We had to drop the fuel into the ocean.” At my sharp look, he says, “It’s standard operating procedure. The fuel evaporates before it hits the ocean. No sea life is harmed in the process, Steve-O. Don’t go climbing any cranes now.”
I roll my eyes at his reference to Steve-O’s SeaWorld protest. “So you’re this mad about wasting time and fuel?”
I know him well enough to know there’s more to it. It takes a lot for him to show his anger.
He exhales. “No, I’m mad because I depend on my staff, on Monica, to keep an eye on things that I don’t have the time to do myself. That includes knowing well in advance when René goes behind my back, buys a tent at a charity event, and invites everyone on the board except me.”
Oh.
He’s mad that René might have gotten an opportunity to further his anti-Asher agenda, and Monica almost missed it. But that doesn’t seem like it’s all of it either. He already expects René to do something like this…
But Monica?
He wouldn’t hire her if she isn’t good at her job. Her slip up must have taken him by surprise. It’s no wonder she was so angry earlier when she informed me about the event.
I study him, looking for a reaction. “That’s not all, is it?”
He looks startled by my keen observation.
I blaze forward, “You’re not
mad about René. You’re mad about Monica. You’re mad that she let you down, but you’re also mad that you have to depend on someone else.”
His face hardens.
Bingo.
I hit the jackpot… and won his ire.
But I don’t want him mad at me.
As much as it pains me to admit, Asher actually turned out to be a decent person, maybe even a good person. Definitely a better person than I am. And I maybe sorta don’t hate his guts and like him more than I should… as a friend, of course.
I don’t want Asher to be unhappy, let alone mad at me.
So, I step closer to him and soften my voice, “450 people.”
He gives me a confused look. “450 people?”
“That’s how many people it takes to maintain the White House.” I push him gently until he’s sitting down on the bed.
We’re eye level now, and he lets me step between his legs. This is the closest I’ve been to him in a while. At least with the lights on.
I take a moment to relish in the proximity before I continue, “It takes 450 people to run one household. You’re only one person. As much as it sucks, you can’t expect yourself to know everything that goes on in a company that does business in over seventy countries. Let yourself depend on others, even when someone disappoints you.” I pause for a second, scrunch my nose, and add, “Except Monica. You can fire her. You’re right. She sucks.”
That’s my honest opinion.
My heart fills up when he throws his head back and laughs.
He startles me when his hands go to the back of my bare thighs, lifting the hem of my dress a little with the tips of his long fingers. “I never said she sucks.” He chuckles again. “There’s no love lost between the two of you, is there?”
I shake my head. I have to bite my tongue to stop myself from petulantly saying, “She started it!” It’s true, but it’s also something expected of a five year old child not a twenty year old woman.
His eyes turn serious again. “Thank you.”
The way he thanks me is so honest, so gentle and so genuine. I forget myself for a moment, leaning into him a little further. I want to kiss him, to feel his thanks whispered against my lips. But he backs away and eyes the paper I left on the bed.
“What’s that?” he asks, nodding towards it.
There’s no point in lying. If we’re going to have our first real public appearance together, not including the school event, I need to be prepared for the inevitability of a kiss on the lips. From what I remember, it’s something that’ll dazzle me, no matter how often he does it. I have to be ready for it to happen, so I don’t make a fool of us both and do something like orgasm in public from a kiss.
I reach over and hand the paper to him. Giving him a pointed look that I hope portrays my suspicions about Monica, I say, “I found it folded up and hidden in our questionnaire binders.” I deadpan, “I wonder how that happened…”
He takes the activity sheet from me. “Hmm…” he says, ignoring my last comment as he reads it. “I think we should do it before we leave.”
I nod. I expected as much. We’ll probably have to kiss at least once at the match, and if we have our second kiss in public, my reaction will definitely give this charade away.
I take the paper from him and read aloud, “Step one. Hold hands until the both of you are comfortable enough to move on.”
Asher sends me a mischievous grin as he grabs my hand and yanks me into a hug, which is step two.
“Step three,” he reads before tearing up the paper and leaning forward to kiss me.
His lips are light against mine, a teasing touch that drives me crazy. It feels unreal, almost virginal, to be kissed again after so long, especially by him. A part of me considers that I’m imagining the whole thing.
But then he presses another closed mouthed kiss onto my lips, harder this time, and I open my mouth in response. He groans into it, causing my cheeks to flush, and slides his tongue into my mouth, brushing it against mine. I grab two fistfuls of his shirt, pushing myself closer to him until there is no more space between us.
With both of his hands, he grips my ass, triggering a moan that escapes my mouth and hurdles into his. When he scoots further back on the bed, I follow him, placing both legs on either side of his thighs until I’m straddling him. One of his hands tugs my hair as he deepens the kiss. I respond enthusiastically, grinding my lower half against his stiff erection and savoring the taste of his tongue against mine.
I distantly hear footsteps approaching, but I don’t care. It’s not until someone clears their throat that I stop. I don’t have to look to know it’s Monica. That woman has a cock blocking radar.
I groan softly and hide my face in Asher’s chest. I feel his chest vibrate against me as he gives me a light chuckle. Both of his hands are still on my ass, and my entire body is still pressed against his, making it difficult to concentrate.
“You’ll have to leave now if you want to make it before the match starts,” Monica says, her voice tight and full of thinly veiled disapproval.
“Thanks, Monica. That’ll be all.” Asher pauses, and I hear the sound of her heels retreating. “And Monica? Knock next time, please.”
“Of course, Mr. Black.” She doesn’t sound sincere.
The door slams shut, louder than necessary. My face is still buried in Asher’s chest when he tips my chin back to examine me. There’s laughter in his eyes.
“I think we aced this assignment.”
I roll my eyes at his words and push off of him. When I spare a glance at the mirror, I see how disheveled I look. I try to fix myself up, but it’s a hopeless cause. So much for making Eduardo and Tommy proud.
I’m finger combing my hair when Asher grabs my hands and says, “Stop.” His eyes meet mine in the mirror, while his free hand trails down the side of my body, ending at my waist. “You look beautiful.”
Given the way he’s looking at me, I believe him. This isn’t the first time since dancing with him that I’ve had to remind myself that we aren’t actually together. This time, I’m reminding myself that the kiss was just an exercise.
It isn’t real.
It isn’t real.
It isn’t real.
I repeat this mantra until the frenzied storm inside me finally settles.
Asher keeps holding my hand, even though we’re alone. Hand in hand, we descend the stairwell and enter the elevator. He presses “G” for garage. I learned a while ago that all the cars in Asher’s private garage are his and his staff’s. The rest of the building’s tenants have to use the main garage and the elevators in the lobby, which I still have yet to step foot in.
I slide into one of the town cars with Asher entering behind me. Xavier takes the passenger seat next to the driver, one of the guards from Asher’s personal detail. I’ve seen him around a lot. I think his name is maybe Dominic, but I wouldn’t know. I haven’t been introduced to him, and other than Xavier, the guards don’t talk often. I haven’t even talked to my night guard yet.
“How was your quantum mechanics test?”
I’m staggered by his knowledge of it. I didn’t tell him I had one. My eyes narrow in suspicion. “I think I aced it.”
He takes in my look and grins. “I may be getting updates on you.”
My eyes shoot to Xavier, the accusation obvious. Xavier has been around for all of my proctored tests.
Xavier shrugs. “He’s the one paying the bills.”
I groan at his lack of loyalty—or abundance of loyalty, if you look at it from Asher’s perspective. “What is he telling you?
Asher laughs. “Nothing bad. I promise.” A crooked grin graces his lips, which are still red from our kisses. “Though you should probably start studying for quantum mechanics. You take a long time finishing those tests.”
“An A is an A—no matter how long it takes.” I take an emergency Starburst out of my clutch and throw it at Xavier’s head. When it smacks him in the ear, I mutter, “Serves you right, t
raitor.”
But I’m smiling, because Asher cares enough to check on my schoolwork.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Courage is not simply one of
the virtues, but the form of
every virtue at the testing
point.
C.S. Lewis
When we get to the arena and Asher helps me out of the car, I realize that we’ve been holding hands since we left his bedroom.
“Are you okay?” he asks.
I nod. “It’s just… overwhelming.”
There are photographers at the entrance, shouting our names. Since our engagement was announced, I’ve been featured on a few New York blogs—walking to lab (the only class I go to) and eating with Aimee when I’m desperate to get out.
This is my first time being bombarded by a horde of photographers, though. I almost prefer the ones that like to stalk me from afar.
Asher shakes me up by pressing a kiss to my temple, which sends the paparazzi into a frenzy of loud clicks. “You’ll be fine. Breathe.”
I take a deep breath and plaster a smile on my face. Asher and I are standing side by side, his arm around my waist. For the next few minutes, I endure the paparazzi’s shouts and actually follow their helpful pose suggestions…
Until someone shouts, “Are you pregnant? Is that why you guys are already engaged?”
I suck in a sharp breath as Asher’s body tenses. I swear I hear an animalistic growl coming from him. Everything happens quickly after that. Xavier steps behind us and Maybe Dominic steps in front of us as we plow our way through the paparazzi, the time for pictures clearly over.
When we enter the arena, we are greeted by a smug looking René.
“Congratulations on the baby,” René says.
I understand now why Asher has waited so long to take us out into public. We’ve been too new. Hell, the paparazzo’s comment is proof that we are still too new. Barely more than four months have passed since we announced our engagement in October, and only five total months have passed since we supposedly started dating—even though it feels like it has been a lifetime since the first time I went to Rogue.
Asher Black: A Fake Fiance Mafia Romance Novel (The Five Syndicates Book 1) Page 20
