Chapter 3
LAURA
Even after all the years Dad treated me like an asset, something unworthy of human decency, it still surprised me when he basically put me to work in the attic. The building is small and ugly, but at least the others work at nice desks, with pretty decor around them.
Me? I’m stuck with the archive in a den. Dad insists it’s a room because it has a window, but we all know it’s a den, and the window is here to illuminate the rest of the floor.
What hurts the most is knowing I’ve spent my life doing everything Dad asked of me, only to be treated like this.
Clicking my management app open, I check on my agenda.
Dad insists I should do this often, even when he hasn’t got many clients for finances just yet.
Of course, he hates seeing me idle, so I spend my time inputting old files into the digital drive.
Some are so old they’re covered in dust and half-eaten by moths.
No one cares about these files, and no one’s going to look for them digitally either.
I’m just wasting my time. And I can’t even lean back and read my magazines since Dad installed an app on my computer to check on what I’m doing.
Too long without typing, and he comes up to check on me.
A nightmare, just as I expected.
The management app loads, then opens, and I blink several times to make sure I’m seeing what I think I’m seeing.
I have an appointment. In five minutes. My heartbeat picks up, and I click on the note to check it out.
Did I forget about a meeting? Was I supposed to do something?
Create a slide presentation? Brew coffee?
My face warms when I think of Dad’s rage and how loud he can scream here without the people downstairs hearing him.
I read the note; there’s a moment of relief, and then I’m back to hyperventilating.
Document debrief with Asher Grant
Asher Grant is coming here? Oh, shit. Oh, shit, I didn’t have time to put my crush in check.
Because I developed a crush, of course I did.
Tall, handsome man, totally out of my reach?
An amazing person for me to crush on, so that’s what my heart did.
I lose sleep, and I turn and twist, and I dream of his hands on me.
The heat the image brings to my body is enough to wake me up. Rinse and repeat.
I didn’t have time to prepare. Running my fingers through my hair, I make sure it’s in place, but the black strands are too straight to get messy or hold in an updo. Alright. Chill out, Laura. I still have five minutes. I should look for breathing exercises on YouTube or...
Steps make the stairs creak. Heavy steps, as if someone huge is coming my way.
Heat pools in my cheeks and rushes down my neck, covering my chest and rolling down my stomach to rest between my thighs.
I press them together, wishing I had more control.
Why am I like this? Why am I reacting so much to a man I can’t have?
Asher appears between the files. His gray orbs take me in, but his face is a perfectly empty mask. Does he notice I have a crush on him? Does he think it’s disgusting?
I shoot to my feet and knock my hip on the edge of the table.
Wincing, I curse myself. I could say I’m too clumsy, which I am, but the lack of space doesn’t help.
I’m a big girl in a tiny den. Squeezing into the space between the desk and the wall, I inch closer to him, trying to receive him as professionally as I can.
Then my foot hooks on the table leg, because of course it does. I’m so nervous, so flustered, I can only gasp as I trip, trying to use my other leg for balance. God, don’t fall, don’t fall, don’t fall...
A hand grips my shoulder. An arm slings around my waist, breaking my fall.
I stop, reaching out to grab at anything for balance.
Hard muscle moves beneath my fingers. I look up to find Asher holding me against his body.
A small part of my brain awes at how fast he was.
He was still several feet from me. How did he get here in less than a second?
Our gazes meet again, and this time his mask drops. Something is burning in his orbs, his lips parted as he gazes at me. His fingers burn through my shirt, straight into my skin. I shiver even with the fire crackling inside me. Hypnotized, I can’t pull my eyes from him. And he doesn’t seem to mind.
After several heartbeats, Asher slowly pulls me to my feet. He clears his throat, then drags his hands away. I miss his solid touch, but my cheeks burn, and I can’t move.
“You alright?” he asks. Is his voice rougher than usual?
I nod, tucking my hair behind my ears. “Yes. Thank you. I’m so sorry I?—”
“Don’t apologize. It was an accident.”
“But I could?—”
“It’s alright,” he cuts me off, then clears his throat again. Bending, he picks something up from the floor. A folder.
His documents. I jerk back to reality. What am I doing? Drooling over him? A man twice my age, a client, a friend of my father’s... “Oh, the documents.” And I reach out to grab them.
He moves away, just an inch. Just enough to let me know he’s not giving them away this soon. “I was meaning to ask you. You majored in finance?”
Pulling my shoulders back, I tilt my chin up. Of course, he doubts me. I’m young and the daughter of the owner. “Yes. Graduated with honors, sir.”
A deep, throaty sound escapes him. He stops when he sees I noticed. “Just Asher is fine.”
“Okay...” Did he react to being called sir? I’ve never met a man who disliked it. Maybe it makes him feel old. “Are there any other questions I may answer?”
His jaw clenches and unclenches. It’s like he’s battling something inside him. What? “Do you like music?”
That question catches me off guard. I gasp in surprise, then look away, my cheeks burning again. “Yes, of course I like music,” I reply, though like doesn’t even begin to cover it.
“What sort of music?”
“Any music.”
He arches an eyebrow, studying my face. “As in both pop and metal?”
A smile tugs at my lips. I shrug. “And folk, funk, jazz. Instrumental, classic, experimental. Anything.”
Asher cocks his head. “I’ve never met anyone who liked all kinds of music.”
I chuckle. “Music is an expression, and I love pretending I’m in someone else’s shoes. Every song has a different story to tell.”
Asher takes a beat, then hands me the folder. I take it, then go back across the desk. He watches me squeeze past it, and I don’t sit down as he doesn’t seem ready to leave.
“So you would say music is your passion?” he asks, still gazing at me like I’m a puzzle or a two-headed lizard.
“Yes, definitely.”
“Then why are you working in finance? There are no feelings in numbers.”
His words are a cold shower on my head. I shiver, putting his folder down. My gaze goes over the cluttered desk, the old computer, and the tiny space. The useless tasks Dad gave me so I wouldn’t read about music. It creates a pit in my stomach, an endless hole.
“There wasn’t much choice,” I say with a forced smile. “Dad wanted me in finance, and he was the one paying my bills.”
Asher stands in silence for long seconds. I sit down, and still, he follows me with his gaze. It burns along my skin, making me hyper-aware. Why is he still here? I thought he hated me.
“I’m a firefighter,” he says and, in the back of my mind, my crush for him doubles, then triples.
He’s a firefighter. An image of him, shirtless, sweaty, filthy with soot, flashes across my mind, and I clamp my thighs together.
“And if there’s something I learned in this job, it’s that life is short.
You’re here, then you’re not. It’s not worth it living your life for someone else. ”
His words are stones piling onto my stomach. I swallow the knot in my throat. “It’s not that easy for everyone.”
Asher shifts his weight between his feet, then turns around and leaves. Not a word. No goodbye, no see you soon. I don’t know why he suddenly took an interest in me, but it’s gone now. There’s nothing between us, and there’s never going to be.
We’re too different. And I’m too pathetic for a man like him.