Chapter 17
Chapter
Seventeen
ANABELLE
By the time the following Monday rolls around, I’m nearly desperate to see Asher.
It’s been over a week since I’ve seen him and more than that since we’ve been alone together.
It’s as though our time in the maze has infected me, and the only relief I’ll get from my craving for him is to be around him.
I make sure to arrive early for work this morning, and to my relief, he’s already in his office, sitting at his desk.
Asher doesn’t look up when I enter and walk over to my desk, so I say a tentative, “Good morning.” Maybe he’s just really into whatever he’s working on and didn’t hear me walk in.
“Morning.” He doesn’t glance up from whatever he’s writing.
My heart sinks a little, and I sit at my desk to get to work. Are we really not going to talk about what happened that night?
An hour passes and then another. The longer we sit in silence, pretending that nothing happened, the more irritated and angrier I become.
If he doesn’t ever want a repeat or if he regrets what happened between us, that’s fine, he can just say that.
But to just act like it never happened stokes a fire inside me.
I can do this. I can be brave and confront him about it. Maybe he thinks I don’t want to talk about it.
Pushing my chair away from my desk, I stand and walk over to stand in front of his desk.
“What can I help you with, Miss Boudreaux?” He keeps typing on his computer, not sparing me a glance.
“Are we really not going to talk about it?” I cross my arms.
He lets out a long-suffering sigh. “Talk about what exactly?”
“About how you made me come twice with your mouth two weeks ago, and you’ve been avoiding me since.”
That gets his attention. I figured being brash might work.
He leans back in his chair, smoothing his black silk tie down his torso. God, he looks good in an expensive suit. He looks me up and down lazily, not appearing all that impressed with what he sees. “What is there to talk about?”
I don’t know what to say to that exactly. His demeanor once again makes me feel too young, too inexperienced compared to him. Maybe he does this kind of thing all the time, and it’s no big deal. He has fourteen years of experience that I don’t have.
“I don’t know. It just felt like we should talk about it.” My hands drop to my sides.
He sighs again, and I want to throat punch him.
“It happened. It won’t be happening again, especially now that you work as my right hand.” He shrugs. “We’re both adults, right? It shouldn’t be that big a deal.” He arches an eyebrow as if challenging me to disagree with him and prove to him I am the child he thought I was.
I breathe hard through my nose, forcing myself to relax. “Sure, no biggie. Just wanted to make sure we were on the same page.” I give him a tight smile while my chest squeezes with disappointment.
“Perfect. Nothing more to discuss then.” He looks away from me and returns his attention to his computer.
I spin on my heel and ignore the stinging in my eyes as I return to my desk. I’m about to get back to work when he calls my name.
“Miss Boudreaux.”
One last tiny lick of a flame flares to life in the hopes that maybe he’s changed his mind.
“Yes?” I turn to face him with a hopeful expression.
“I need you to call Madeline Ridgeway and let her know I’ll pick her up at seven on Friday evening. Her contact information should be in the system Clarise trained you on.”
My stomach bottoms out. He holds my gaze, not looking guilty or repentant.
I know who Madeline Ridgeway is. Everyone in the state knows. She’s a gorgeous socialite who could have easily been a model and is often photographed on the arm of the most rich and powerful men in the country.
And now she’s going on a date with Asher this Friday.
Tears prick the corners of my eyes. I hate that he can probably see them, but he doesn’t react. Probably thinks I deserve them for being so stupid as to think there could ever be anything between us—even if it was purely sexual.
“I’ll make sure she knows.” My voice sounds hollow to my ears.
He nods then stands from his desk and leaves the office.
We don’t talk much the rest of the week, and when we do, it’s strictly work-related. I’ve erected my own walls and am cold whenever I have to deal with him, but he either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care.
When he leaves the office an hour early on Friday, telling me he has to go get ready for his evening out, I want to stab him in his eye with my pen, but instead, I smile and tell him that I hope he has a good time.
Once he’s left the room, I silently scream and fall back into my chair, defeated.
He knew. He knew if we messed around, I wouldn’t be able to handle it, and I hate that he’s right. Jealousy seethes inside me at the thought of him doing to Madeline Ridgeway what he did to me in the middle of that maze.
For the next hour, I do my best to focus on work and not on where Asher Voss might be sticking his dick tonight, but it’s near impossible.
When my workday is done, I can’t get out of there fast enough.
All I want is to go have a nice hot bath in my room and relax while I read my latest book.
Escaping into a fictional happily ever after sounds perfect because I’m clearly not close to finding my own.
After I stand, I push my chair into my desk and stomp toward the door, whipping it open and plowing into a hard chest. I stumble back, blinking and looking up at Asher dressed in a tuxedo.
Damn it. I did not need this visual to add to my jealous musings this weekend. He might look better than I’ve ever seen him. His hair is slicked back, he smells divine, and he oozes power and sex appeal. Madeline is going to be all over him tonight, I have no doubt.
“I forgot my phone on my desk.” His gravelly voice does something to my insides. But then I remember that she’ll be the one hearing it tonight, not me.
“Better grab it then. Don’t want to be late for your date.” I push past him and out of the office.
Screw him. I won’t allow Asher Voss to hurt me ever again.