Chapter 10 Veda
VEDA
Asher's office had been dark all day and by three o'clock, I'd stopped pretending I wasn't checking for him every time I passed the glass walls.
I kept refreshing my email, but there was nothing—no meeting cancellations or terse instructions forwarded from his secretary.
Just spam and automated reminders about timesheets and the company holiday party I had no intention of attending.
It didn't feel right. I knew Asher had no responsibility to communicate with me when he wouldn't be at work, and for all I knew, this was a planned absence.
He didn't owe me an explanation, but after hearing his brother tear him apart last night, I worried whether he had gone on another bender and would wake up hungover and feeling ashamed.
It might've solved my problem if Asher hung himself—metaphorically speaking, of course—because Clayton wouldn't need me to provide proof of any indiscretion I could pin on him.
But it felt wrong to think that too, just as wrong as it'd feel if I did wind up recording Asher saying inappropriate things to me and turning it over to Clayton.
I heard someone laugh in the break room and the sound grated against my nerves.
Everything felt too loud and too normal when nothing about today was normal at all.
I had sat here chewing the inside of my cheek until it was bleeding, all over the condition of a man I had no right wanting.
I was toxic for him, and I knew it.
With the amount of money I'd taken from his brother, I had no right sharing the same air with him.
Clayton had been quiet too, which scared me more than his usual threats.
The silence should have been a relief, but it wasn't.
After that nasty call last night, I knew he was never going to ease up.
This temporary reprieve was only because his brother wasn’t in the office today.
When Asher returned tomorrow, Clayton would just turn the heat back up and I'd be burned at the stake.
He'd stop at nothing to destroy someone because he was a wreck of a human being and he thought everyone should suffer the way he was.
Rubbing my face, I thought of the last things Asher had said to me and the way he acted so distant.
It was like the spark between us had vanished or something.
The fight had gone out of him, or maybe he decided taking a risk with me after being reamed out like that by his brother was too much for him to think about.
Either way, I hated it. Asher pulling away left me in limbo.
I couldn't very well do what Clayton had paid me to do if the man wouldn't look at me, and more than anything, I wanted him to look at me.
It made me feel like I was on a top, spinning out of control.
I pushed the thought away and focused on the spreadsheet again, but the numbers still wouldn't make sense.
I clicked between cells randomly, pretending to work while my pulse hammered in my ears and my thoughts spiraled darker.
At noon, I went to the break room and made coffee I didn't drink.
It sat on the counter getting cold while I stared out the window at the gray Boston skyline and tried to convince myself everything was fine.
I was convinced something terrible had happened and I didn't know if I should be worried for him or terrified for myself or both at the same time in equal measure.
Then his secretary appeared at my cubicle at four thirty and my heart dropped straight through the floor and kept going.
Penny stood at the edge of my desk with her hands folded in front of her and looked at me with an expression that gave absolutely nothing away.
Though I was certain the apprehension and anxiety I was feeling were scrawled all over my face.
"Mr. Locke needs the quarterly reports and the Lang correspondence delivered to his home," she said, her voice flat and even. "He's sent a car for you. It's waiting downstairs now."
"Clayton?" I asked, feeling confused. There were two Mr. Lockes at this company, and both of them would have more than enough motive to draw me away from this place.
"Mr. Asher Locke," she said dryly as I squirmed.
I was confused. "Wait… He didn’t come to work today and now he's asking me to come to his house?"
"Ms. Porter, if it's a problem I can call—"
"No, no problem, " I said, standing up, but it was a huge problem. Wasn't it? Or was it?
My head spun a little as I smoothed my hands down the front of my skirt.
I wanted an update on him, but did I really want to be requested by him personally? And to come to his house? What message did that send to his other staff members?
"He asked for you personally." Her tone didn't change but her eyes sharpened, pinning me in place. "And before you consider refusing, I'd remind you of how Mr. Locke treats interns who don't follow instructions. You're fortunate to still be here, Miss Porter."
The tone of her warning settled the argument going on inside my head. The fear that needled at my conscience, that someone would think something unprofessional about my going to Asher's home, quieted, though it wasn't entirely silent.
I grabbed my purse and moved forward on legs that wobbled the first few steps as Penny backed away and left me to it.
My thoughts raced ahead to a dozen different disasters—colleagues thinking I was sleeping my way to the top, Clayton learning about this little visit and knowing I'd been keeping secrets.
Worse things too, like my utter humiliation when Asher found out about how Clayton had paid me to seduce him.
When the elevator doors opened at the ground floor, the car was waiting exactly where Penny said it would be.
The driver stood beside the rear door in a dark suit that looked expensive and he opened it without speaking, though he smiled and nodded at me as I approached.
I wondered how much Asher paid this man just to drive him around everywhere but thought better of asking.
I slid onto the leather seat in back with Asher's files tucked against my chest, and the driver closed the door behind me before rounding the car and climbing in the driver's seat.
The engine started, and we pulled out into the street where I watched Boston crawl past the windows and tried to breathe evenly while my thoughts continued to spiral.
Maybe Clayton had already won.
Maybe he'd called Asher this morning and told him everything, laid out the recordings and the bank statements and made me look like a harlot.
Maybe this was just cleanup now, getting me alone so Asher could threaten me into silence, make sure I never worked in Boston again. Or maybe Asher was angrier than that.
Maybe he wanted to confront me himself, hear me admit what I'd done before he tore my life apart the way I'd been trying to tear his apart.
We arrived much faster than I expected, but the fancy Greenwich brownstone was just as elegant as I assumed it would be, judging by Asher's choice in clothing and office decor.
It was a pricey neighborhood too, which I noticed as the driver opened my door and helped me out.
Not a single home on this street could be worth less than three million dollars. It made me feel horribly out of place.
"Ma'am," the driver said, staring at me as I gawked at the towering row homes lining the street.
"Uh, sorry… Which one?" I asked nervously, and he pointed straight ahead. My nervous nod was all I could muster as I clutched the files tighter to my chest and started that way.
Dealing with Clayton in a bar was one thing. Walking up to Asher Locke's multi-million-dollar home was another entirely.
I was definitely out of my league with this family.
I had made a very bad decision to enter into that agreement with Clayton Locke, and every cell in my body regretted it now.
When I raised my hand to knock, the door swung open before my hand connected.
Asher stood there, and I forgot how to breathe.
He looked awful, pale and sickly, with dark circles under his eyes that made them look sunken.
His hair fell across his forehead in complete disarray, looking like he hadn't showered in days, and he wore a white dress shirt with the sleeves shoved up past his elbows in messy, uneven folds. No tie. No jacket. No shoes.
His feet were bare, and that detail struck me as more intimate than anything else, more vulnerable.
But his eyes were painfully clear, that pale, icy blue unclouded by alcohol or the fog I'd seen lingering there for two weeks. Asher was sober and not doing well with it. It made my heart ache to hold him.
"Come in," his voice scraped out, and I swallowed hard.
I stepped inside because it wasn’t like I'd come all this way to turn around now, and he closed the door behind me.
The foyer was warm, almost too warm after the cold evening air, and I could hear a grandfather clock ticking somewhere deeper in the house.
I held out the files with both hands because I needed something to anchor myself. "The quarterly reports and the Lang correspondence," I said. "Penny said you needed them tonight…" When he didn't respond immediately, I said, "I could've just emailed them—"
"I don't need those." He didn't take them, didn't even glance at them. His eyes stayed locked on mine. "I needed you here."
My stomach dropped and turned over. "I don't understand." My fears were still mounting, but Asher looked calm, not accusatory or upset. So I felt confused as he relaxed his shoulders and rubbed a hand over his face.
"Please." He gestured toward the living room with one hand. "Just come sit with me for a minute."
I set the files on a narrow table by the door and followed him down the hallway, but my hands were shaking now.
The living room was cozy too, and expensive, but my nerves were too rattled to pay much attention.
Asher gestured to the sofa and I sat on the very edge of it, perched there with my purse in my lap and my coat still buttoned.
He walked over and stood by the fireplace and stared into the flames for a long time.
The silence between us stretched and stretched, pulling tighter with every second, and I didn't know if I should speak or wait or run.