Part 6 Asha
The next day, during lunchtime, I noticed Liam had texted me. Yes, we had exchanged numbers, and no, I didn't expect that we'd be anything more than friends. I had no agenda for seeking revenge for my husband's infidelity. Liam was simply fun, a breath of fresh air in my otherwise sad, hectic life. Being as busy as I was, I rarely had the time to make new friends. So, having someone like Liam around was a welcome change, and he came at the right time when I desperately needed a distraction.
The text said:
Hi, green-eyed blondie.
I made chicken and spinach casserole for lunch.
Want to share it with you. Will knock on your door at 12:30.
Be ready.
As I read those words, a smile spread across my face. I felt giddy, like a little girl—excited. The idea of Liam bringing over a homemade casserole was both amusing and charming. I pictured him in his kitchen, wearing an apron and... nothing else.
I shook my head wildly, trying to banish the thought from my mind. But, of course, it wouldn't go away that easily. Then another text from Liam chimed in—a photo of the casserole in a glass container with his grinning face next to it, and a note underneath that read: Especially made for you by this stud.
I laughed out loud.
But my laughter was cut short when I realized that everyone around me was staring, their mouths agape in shock. I completely forgot that I was in the middle of a meeting. I quickly cleared my throat and mumbled an apology, feeling my face flush. It took a moment for them to resume the meeting again, as if the shock had rendered everyone stupid. I guessed probably none of them had seen me laugh like that.
I typed back: Okay.
The meeting resumed, but my attention wavered as I tried to focus on the PowerPoint presentation in front of me. Despite being distracted, the errors they attempted to gloss over didn't escape my notice. I cut Jones off mid-sentence; my voice bled with annoyance. "The growth should be 9.8%, not 11%. You've made another miscalculation."
Jones straightened up, his posture stiff with defiance. He never liked me and most probably thought I didn't deserve to be here.
"I've already confirmed this and double-checked with the Finance team. We're growing at 11%—"
"No," I interjected firmly. "You're showing 11% growth because you're including sales that should be attributed to next year. Yes, you may have received the order this year, but that skews the report. Your numbers don't align with the production output that Harry just presented. Our business is very straightforward, Jones. You should know that by now. Check your numbers again."
His face flushed beet red in an instant, and he shot me a glare that could have cut through steel. If looks could kill, I'd have been dead ten times over by now.
At exactly 12:30, Dennis, my assistant, burst into my office, panting and a little breathless. "There's a very, very hot guy in a sweatshirt with an InfiniTech logo waiting for you outside carrying a bag that smelled something delicious," he said, fanning himself with his hand before his face twisted into complete confusion. "And he asked if we have a microwave. Said something about his own microwave being a piece of crap." Dennis frowned, looking even more bewildered. "Then he asked for plates. Cutlery. What the hell is going on?"
I giggled, and once again managed to stun someone with it. "Oh, wow," Dennis breathed. "I've worked for you for almost four years, and I never imagined I'd see the day you giggle. Giggle, Asha. You never giggle. You laugh every once in a full moon, but giggle? Never."
I clamped my mouth shut, trying to suppress the grin still twitching at my lips, and then barked at my assistant, "Send him in."
"What about the microwave?"
"Can you help with that?" I replied, then remembered the one thing Dennis always complained about and added, "Please?"
Dennis swirled around in his trademark dramatic fashion. "Okay, but you'll introduce me to him, right?"
"Sure," I said, unable to hide my amusement as Dennis skipped happily out of my office.
As I sat there waiting, my thoughts spiraled into a whirlwind of doubt. Was this really okay, what I was doing with Liam? It was just a meal, after all, nothing more than a simple lunch with a friend. But still, the question gnawed at me—would this be seen as crossing a line? Could this be considered cheating?
I couldn't shake the feeling that I was allowing this because of what happened last night. Once again, Aiden had disappointed me. We had such a wonderful evening together the previous night, and for a fleeting moment, I allowed myself to believe that I had my Aiden back, the man I fell in love with. But that brief joy was shattered so quickly. It was like he lifted me up to the heavens, only to let me crash back down to earth. He came home so late, and by morning, he was a different person. He was cheerful, almost too cheerful, doting on me with every smile, every gentle kiss. It felt so unsettling, like he was trying too hard. Or maybe trying to hide something.
I didn't think I could ever shake this constant feeling of doubt about him.
I was terrified—terrified that this was temporary, that he would soon retreat into his distant shell, and then he would be unable to take it anymore and pursue her again. The fear consumed me, the thought of him slipping away again, and I wondered if, this time, he would be gone for good.
Sighing dejectedly, ignoring the painful pinch in my chest, I stared at the door. I expected Liam to step in right away, but it was a while before he finally walked into my office, holding a container in each of his hands. One was smaller than the other. The bigger one was steaming hot, and I worried for a moment that it would burn his hand.
Dennis trailing behind him, balancing sets of plates with cutlery on top of it and two bottles of water in his hands. "He insisted on heating it himself," Dennis explained before I could even ask. Then he rolled his eyes. "Said he needed to check first what kind of microwave we have."
I ignored Dennis, while I smiled broadly at Liam. "You have Thermador," Liam said casually. "So, it's fine. Hello, boss lady." He placed both containers on the conference table where I'd been waiting, took the plates from a stunned Dennis, then began distributing them and scooping the casserole onto the plates with the effortless grace of someone accustomed to preparing dinners.
"Have you both introduced yourselves?" I asked, only remembering it when I noticed Dennis giving me a rather complex signal with his hands behind Liam's back. I was too transfixed seeing Liam move around and how today he looked so damn good, wearing a white hoodie and black denim pants.
Liam turned around, and Dennis quickly dropped his hand, smiling and batting his eyelashes. "Hey, I'm Liam," he said, but instead of shaking Dennis's hand, Liam placed a friendly hand on his shoulder. I could've sworn Dennis practically melted into a puddle on the floor. "Thanks for your help," Liam added warmly.
Seeing Dennis gaping like a fish out of water, I jumped in. "This is Dennis, my assistant," I said, trying to rescue him from his star-struck daze. I wasn't sure he could even speak at that moment.
Liam gave him a nod, and continued preparing our lunch, which turned out he also brought dessert. "I made this as well," he said. "It went missing this morning, because that piece of shit Keith stole it. It's his favorite. Luckily, I found it before he had the chance to eat it." He took a seat to my right while I settled into my usual spot at the head of the table. "It's Tiramisu. The authentic Italian version. My Nana's recipe."
"You made all this yourself?" I asked, as Dennis let out a soft, impressed "oooooh" under his breath while his eyelashes fluttered.
"Yes," Liam replied with a proud grin. "I told you I like to cook."
It was then that I remembered Dennis wasn't supposed to be here. "Dennis?" I gave him a pointed stare.
"Yes?" he spluttered, looking at me blankly for a few seconds, before his expression shifted to apprehension. With a dramatic huff, he sprinted towards the door, checking out Liam one more time before he shut it behind him.
Liam's phone dinged, and he pulled it out of his back pocket, checked the message, and chuckled. He then turned the screen towards me, showing a text from someone named Keith that read: Did you just take MY tiramisu?!
"If he's obsessed with it, it must be very good." I said, eyeing the tiramisu.
"It's good, I promise," he said softly, giving me that panty-melting smile that sent heat to my cheeks. "And it's all for you."
I shouldn't be blushing by those simple words, but I did. I had to duck my head and study my plate intently so that he wouldn't see.
But I believed he saw it anyway, judging by how he was grinning from ear to ear.
We began eating, and I must admit, Liam was an excellent cook. Very good. I devoured the meal in record time as if I had been fasting for days. When I was about to grab a second serving, I heard him chuckle. My hand froze in the air, and I looked at him. "Can I?"
"Of course," he laughed. "I'm just amused. Where did you put all that food? You ate as much as me, and I'm twice your size."
"It's been a while since I ate something this delicious and creamy," I said, taking a bite. "I usually stick to salad or grilled chicken, or something healthy. And yes, I'm one of those people who could eat my weight in food and not gain a pound."
"Do you exercise?" Liam asked, raising an eyebrow.
"I run," I replied. "Sometimes."
"What does sometimes mean?"
"Like once a week?" His skeptical look made me sigh. "Okay, maybe twice or three times a month. That's why I watch what I eat. I figure if I'm too lazy to exercise, I might as well eat healthy."
"Come to the gym with me."
"I have a fully functioning gym at home," I said, shrugging. "Which I barely use."
"You snob," he teased, clicking his tongue. "We have one right here in the office. I'm inviting you to use it."
"Really?" I blinked in surprise. This was the first time I'd heard about a gym in the office.
"And I've got one at home too," he added, looking thoughtful for a moment. "Come to think of it, maybe it's better if you use the one at my place. It's private, and you'd have me as your personal trainer." He flashed a playful grin.
"Or you could be my personal trainer at my home."
"Seriously?" He looked unconvinced. "Your husband would be okay with that?"
I paused, giving him a once-over. I couldn't imagine any husband being okay with his wife training privately with someone like Liam, though I wasn't sure anymore that Aiden would care. "Yeah, you're right," I admitted. "So, gym at home, gym at the office—no wonder you're so buff."
"It seems you've been noticing my body quite diligently." He wiggled his brows at me.
My face burned. "I do not!"
"You do." He nodded solemnly, though his lips twitched with amusement. "You noticed my arms. And I saw you checking my ass yesterday."
And I went red again. Hotly. I opened my mouth, then closed it again, trying to think of something to rebuke it, but I went blank. I decided to just confess. "What can I say? You have a nice ass."
He laughed at that. "Well, thank you. You have a nice ass too." He said with a playful tone. He confessed too easily, and I didn't know what to say to that. He looked so amused at my expression.
"Huh." I mumbled, feeling weird about the conversation. "Okay. Let's talk about something else." I suggested, before we talked about something more inappropriate. I was blushing too much already in front of him, which he seemed to enjoy too much.
He chuckled before he looked around my office. Then he made a face at me. "This place is so fancy. This is not an office. It's too luxurious to be an office."
"What does your office look like?" I asked, curious. "Must be fun in there. You have a gym, after all."
"And a lounge with a giant TV where you can play video games." He added with pride. "Oh, and we also have massage chairs."
"Snob," I scoffed playfully. "When will you have time to work?"
Liam chuckled, his eyes sparkling with amusement. "Maybe someday you can spend a day with me at my office and see for yourself," he suggested, leaning back in his chair. "You look like you are dying to see it."
"I am not that curious." I scowled.
"Yeah, you're not," He grinned, totally unconvinced.
Our conversation flowed easily, with playful jokes and light teasing, until he finally had to excuse himself for a meeting. Time had gotten away from us. I found myself enjoying his company. Our connection was pleasant and natural, and I wondered if he felt the same way. I really hope he did.
Why did it matter if he enjoyed it too?
I was still lost in my thoughts when the door to my office swung open, and Dennis strolled in. "Any leftovers?" he asked, making his way over to the chair that Liam had occupied earlier. Without waiting for a response, he grabbed an unused fork and dove into the casserole. As soon as he took a bite, his eyes closed in pure bliss. "Holy shit, this is amazing," he said, savoring the flavors. "He made all these by himself? A guy who looks like that, a billionaire, and he can cook too? That's impressive, don't you think?"
"Have you had lunch yet?" I asked him as he grabbed the tiramisu container and scooped a portion using the same fork after he licked it clean.
"I did. But it looked so nice. I was dying to try it." Then he yelled, "Oh. My. God. This is so good! He's a keeper, Ash. You're keeping him."
"Dennis..." I sighed. Dennis knew everything that I went through. He had been there when I was grappling with the pain of Aiden's infidelities—before everything went numb and I stopped crying every time I was alone. He knew something was wrong and was already worried. His concern hit the peak when Aiden forgot our anniversary and suddenly had to fly to another city—which he informed me through a text message, claiming it was a work emergency. He didn't even call me until the next day, and only after Chloe reminded him.
Dennis found me sitting in my office, turning my chair around to face the glass window, and I sat there quietly for hours. He came to me already sobbing and gave me a hug so hard he almost suffocated me. Then, finally, Dennis confessed.
Dennis had agonized for weeks over how to reveal the truth to me. It turned out that Samuel, the man Dennis had dated on and off over the years, lived just across the hall from Vanessa's apartment. To my shock, Dennis had seen Aiden and his mistress together more than once. Aiden was so focused on her that he didn't notice Dennis, who had been my assistant for years, standing only a few feet behind him. Samuel, being the charming and genuinely attentive person that he was, had managed to get close to her. With his gentle persistence, he could coax out the full story from her. Samuel's kind nature and the need to unload the burden led her to confess everything.
Since then, Dennis has been relentless in trying to help me see my own strength. He urged me to confront Aiden, insisting that I deserved to stand up for myself and for my children. He loathed Aiden with passion and even persuaded me to kick him out of the house, believing it was the only way for me to reclaim my sense of self-worth and dignity. Dennis was determined to help me move forward, even if it meant making the hardest decisions of my life.
And I knew Dennis was right. This wasn't who I was. I hadn't reached where I was by being weak; I was strong and resilient. But with Aiden, I was so fucking helpless.
"What?" His eyes went wide as he talked with his mouth full. "Liam Banks. I googled him during lunch, and that man had an impressive rap sheet. And he's so hot. " He emphasized the word hot with a deep sigh. "If there's any man that can be your equal, it's him."
"We're just friends."
"Asha." He rolled his eyes. "A guy doesn't make an elaborate lunch like this for just a friend. What time did he have to wake up this morning to prepare all this? And when did you even meet him? I'm so curious to get a glimpse of the man who's got everyone talking but remains so private that no one even knows what he looks like. And here he was, on the second day since he moved in, bringing you lunch."
"There will be nothing between Liam and me other than friends. Aiden came back to me. I'm not leaving him."
Dennis stopped eating immediately, setting his fork down with a heavy sigh. His eyes, filled with a deep sadness, met mine. "You know I only want what's best for you."
"I know," I said, my voice soft. I trusted Dennis thoroughly, even before he knew about the mess with Aiden. He had proven himself to be loyal and dependable, able to read my thoughts and anticipate my needs before I even voiced them. He was also the most efficient assistant I'd ever had—smart, witty, and capable of keeping up with my fast pace without making me frustrated. Though he had a sharp tongue, he was not one for gossip, which was a relief. I remembered how HR persuaded me not to take him just because he looked different.
Sure, Dennis was smart, but so were the other candidates. What set him apart wasn't just his qualifications—it was his personality. He was applying for the position of Executive Assistant to the CEO, the highest paid and the most privileged out of all assistants, and he came to the interview wearing a bright purple suit and a red and yellow polka dot bowtie. His afro formed a perfect halo around his head, and the dark eyeliner highlighted his deep brown eyes. Dennis didn't care what anyone else thought. He was proud of who he was, and he would not change for anyone. It was as if he was saying, "If you want me, you're getting all of me—purple suit, bowtie, and everything." And I respected that.
"But letting him get away with this so easily isn't the solution," Dennis continued. His voice was solemn. He had been giving me speeches like this too many times, and even though he knew I would still stubbornly refuse to hear him, he tirelessly gave it to me, anyway. "He won't give you the respect and love you deserve and will blissfully live in denial, pretending that what he's done hasn't hurt you."
He was right again, but I had already made up my mind.
When I didn't reply to him, he sighed. "How about we go out for a drink tonight? You and me and Samuel. It's been a while since we hung out. You always loved Sam. He'll entertain you with his dorkiness. We will drink and laugh, and forget all about this fucked up situation you're in."
I contemplated it for a moment, but I declined. I wanted to be home just in case Aiden came home earlier. I was desperately holding on to the thought that last night wasn't intentional. He wasn't returning to the harsh, painful way he ignored me. That he really was truthful this time.
So, I went home at five-thirty and helped Sandy, our housekeeper, prepare dinner.
Then I waited for him. And waited. And waited. I wanted to call him or text him to ask when he was going to come home. But after months of being ignored, I stopped calling and texting him after hours. I was traumatized. My heart wouldn't be able to take it if he ignored me or rejected my calls again.
At 11:30 p.m., I finally gave up, went to bed, and cried myself to sleep.