Chapter 4
four
ASHER
Panther is a ghost. No hits, no name, nothing.
It’s frustrating but solvable. Tomorrow I’ll ask Brad, my second in command, to find him.
And for now I have a guard on Francie’s building, which is perfectly reasonable.
She is Autumn’s best friend, she was followed by a creep and she needs protection. That’s it.
I click through the footage from Friday night again. At nine-thirty she steps under the entrance light in that white dress, fabric painted on skin. My pulse trips. She presses the buzzer, bites her lip. Curious, nervous, gorgeous. She walks inside and every head turns. Of course they do.
I track her to the bar. Her hips sway, and my jaw tightens. She orders fizzy water, fends off three men and one very determined woman, then drifts toward the private rooms. I should look away. I do not.
The next camera takes over. She peers through windows, wide-eyed. Panther enters the hallway behind her, eyes locked like a predator. Heat spikes in my chest. The likelihood is he’s a coward in real life, but I feel better knowing that one of my guards is keeping watch.
I bring my eyes back to the screen. She walks with uncertainty into a voyeur room, standing in the shadows as bodies tangle on the bed. Her breath lifts her chest, no bra, nipples tight under the silk. She pulls her bottom lip between her teeth and my blood roars.
Enough. I kill the feed. I’m watching this for her safety, not her curves. Focus, Fitzgerald.
I’m about to go through the whole thing again when my phone buzzes with an alert from my intercom.
“Yes?” I say, frowning, because nobody should be pressing my intercom at this time of night.
A soft voice echoes through the line. “It’s Francie. Let me in.”
Fuck.
I pull up the lobby cam, and there she is, in a pair of pink unicorn pajamas, cheeks flushed, a very nervous security guard hovering behind her.
Perfect. The one woman I am trying not to think about just showed up at my door in sleepwear.
I press the microphone.
“What are you doing here?” I ask.
“I’m sorry, boss,” the guard says. “She refused to take no for an answer. Made me drive her here.”
He’s new. I can’t remember his name. And I’ll deal with him later. Thankfully he steps back, making it clear he’s not coming in.
Not that I’d let him. But still, my mouth quirks at the fact she made him drive her.
“We need to talk,” Francie says. And once again, I stare at her through a screen, but this time it’s live.
Sighing, I press the code to grant access to the elevator and stairwell.
And then I wait.
FRANCIE
When Autumn and I left college and announced we were leasing a tiny run-down place in Washington Heights, our brothers threw every fit known to man.
They traded cash bribes, guilt trips, one dramatic Hudson meltdown the neighbors still talk about.
We kept the apartment anyway, taking only their signatures on the lease.
Waltzing into Asher Fitzgerald’s marble-and-waterfall lobby in unicorn pajamas feels like I tracked mud into a Cartier showroom. He deals in billion-dollar contracts while I make up stories about hot warlords and their equally hot dragons, mostly in these pajamas.
“Francie.” His jaw is tight as he opens the door. He’s wearing his glasses, which makes me think he must be getting ready for bed. He’s usually a habitual contact lens wearer.
“Why did you put a security guard outside my door?” I ask.
But he doesn’t answer. Instead he gazes at me, the wire rim of his glasses carving neat angles around his cheekbones, making his eyes look dangerously sharp.
There’s a tic in his cheek, but his expression is neutral, like he’s unwilling to give anything away.
“Because you put yourself in an unsafe situation. And I wanted to make sure you didn’t get hurt.”
My mouth drops open. “Are you being serious right now?”
He runs his thumb over his jaw, so calm, so unruffled. Ugh, I hate how annoyed I am right now.
He exhales once, slow and controlled. “I’m very serious. I’m still trying to track down the asshole who wanted you. The guard stays on the door until I have a name and address.”
I plant my hands on my hips. “Absolutely not. Shaun is done babysitting me. Tell him to pack up or I start charging him rent, and tomorrow morning I file a loitering complaint with the police. Your guard goes tonight, Asher, or the next knock on your door will be a cop asking why your company is stalking your sister’s best friend. ”
For the first time he blinks and a rush of satisfaction bolts through me.
“And you don’t punish Shaun for this,” I add. “His wife is pregnant, he needs this job.”
Asher’s brows lift for a heartbeat. “He has a pregnant wife? How do you know that?”
“We talked. I know, it’s a crazy concept, talking to the man posted at my door.”
He runs his thumb over his jaw, still looking at me. Why do the glasses make him seem so much more intense? “Okay, I’ll take him off the door if you agree not to go to the Ivory Rooms again.”
I fold my arms across my chest. I had zero plans of returning but he doesn’t know that. But still, it’s late and I’m actually feeling tired.
“And Shaun?” I ask.
“He won’t be punished.”
“Good.” I nod, turning to walk away. Because my job here is done, and truth be told, I’m feeling a little sheepish now. “Thank you.”
But before I can walk away, his fingers close gently around my wrist, heat flaring where we touch. “One more thing,” he says, his voice low enough to vibrate through my body. “If anything feels off. Anything at all, you call the police and then you call me.”
I swallow hard. “Even if it’s the middle of the night?”
His eyes lock on mine. “Especially then.”
“I’m a grown up, Asher. I can take care of myself,” I say softly. But the tightness in his jaw doesn’t give.
“Please,” he requests softly. And that’s what does me in.
I nod once, trying to ignore the way his voice pierces my chest. “Okay,” I agree. “I’ll call if anything happens. But you need to promise that we’ll never, ever talk about this again.”
“Never,” he agrees, even as his thumb grazes the inside of my wrist in a silent promise I feel everywhere, before he lets me go.
I back into the elevator and hit the lobby button, the air crackling between us. He holds my gaze until the doors slide shut and the last sliver of his face disappears.
I exhale and lean my forehead against the cool, mirrored wall for the moment it takes to reach the ground floor. It’s over. Things can go back to normal now, right? I can forget about the Ivory Rooms and the security detail and every other stupid thing that’s happened to me over the last few days.
And get back to writing my book.