Chapter 17 #2
It occurs to me that I’ve never seen him in an elevator. His office is on the second floor, his apartment on the third. He could afford the penthouse but…
“Asher.” I have no idea what to say that doesn’t sound hollow or useless. So I say the truth. “That’s not something you just get over. No wonder you feel so bad.”
He exhales. Not shaky this time. Just tired. The man’s been up since God knows when. Dealing with a mess that could threaten his business. No wonder he’s exhausted.
“I shouldn’t have called you,” he tells me.
“I’m glad you did,” I say firmly. “You’re allowed to not be perfect sometimes. You’re allowed to lean on someone.”
This time the silence isn’t uncomfortable. It’s heavy, but with something else. Something new.
“I have no idea how to do that,” he admits.
“Well, you’re making a pretty good attempt of it now,” I tell him softly. I try to imagine him right now, slumped outside the hospital in his expensively designed suit. His hair a mess, his heart racing. The man who always holds everything together is finally letting someone see through the cracks.
And I’m the one he’s letting in.
“My car is here,” he murmurs. “I have to get back to the office.”
“I’ll stay on the line with you as long as you want,” I whisper. “Even if we don’t talk. I’m here.”
He’s quiet for a moment. I think he’s standing up. I imagine him dusting himself off, running a hand through his hair to tame it.
“You make it hard to keep my distance,” he says, his voice thick.
The words slip under my skin. Warm and electric.
“Then maybe,” I say softly. “You should stop trying.”
He doesn’t say anything else. But I hear him breathe. Slow, steady.
And it feels like something between us has shifted.
Later that night, I can’t sleep.
It’s not because I’m not tired – I am. After talking to Asher, I spent the next few hours staring at the same blinking cursor. But now, in bed, every time I close my eyes I think of him. Of his voice. Of how raw he sounded on the phone, like something inside of him had cracked wide open.
And he let me see it.
The wind is whipping around outside, making the lighthouse groan in a way I’m starting to get used to. But it’s not the weather that’s keeping me up.
It’s him.
I haven’t heard from him since he arrived at the office, and I’m worried about him. Or at least that’s what I tell myself as I grab my phone and pull up his name, my fingers quickly typing out a message.
Hey. Just checking in. Are you okay? – Francie
The dots appear almost instantly. Then disappear, before they finally come back again.
I’m fine. Just got back to my apartment and took a shower. Been a long day. – Asher
His third floor apartment. Easily reachable by taking the stairs. Which explains everything to me now. Another message appears.
I’m sorry about earlier. It was a bad time. It won’t happen again. – Asher
And just like that, I can feel him pulling away. Slipping back into the cold, buttoned up version of him that keeps everybody at a distance.
I stare at the message. Then I type my reply before I can overthink it.
You don’t have to do that, you know. – Francie
Do what? – Asher
My chest feels tight.
Pretend like it didn’t mean something. It did. To me at least. – Francie
It feels awkward, putting myself out there. But I can’t criticize him for being closed up if I’m doing the same thing. There’s a long pause, where I’m second guessing all of my decisions. And then.
It meant something to me too. – Asher
I swallow hard, my skin prickling. Six words, yet it feels like I just won something I didn’t even know I was competing for.
What you said earlier. About me making it hard for you to keep your distance. Were you just saying that because you were shaken up? – Francie
The seconds stretch.
No. I meant it. – Asher
I stare at the screen. The words glow like they’ve burned themselves into my chest.
He doesn’t just want me physically. He trusted me. With a part of himself nobody else gets to see.
I sink back into the pillows. The sheets are cool against my skin, but everything inside of me feels overheated. Every nerve alive.
And it isn’t just arousal.
It’s him.
I bite my bottom lip, debating. This thing between us – whatever it is – is teetering on the edge of something dangerous. Something real.
I don’t want to pull back. And I don’t want him to, either. Not tonight.
I want to close the distance. I want to feel the weight of his eyes on me – even from miles away.
My fingers hover over the keyboard for a long moment before I type.
Do you still have access to the lighthouse cameras? – Francie
I haven’t used them. I promised you I wouldn’t. You don’t have to worry about it. – Asher
My blood heats up as I read his message. Of course he hasn’t used them. Because he’s Asher. Even when he’s unraveling, he still keeps his promise.
But I don’t want distance tonight. I don’t want promises or polite boundaries.
I want him.
I know you haven’t. But I want you to now. Turn on the camera in the guest bedroom. – Francie
Another pause. Dots appear again.
Francie... - Asher
Turn it on. I want you to see me. – Francie
I close my eyes for a second, feeling the flutter in my stomach. The warmth blooming low down in my belly. This isn’t about sex. This isn’t about trust.
I want him to see me.
I open my eyes again, looking at my phone. For a moment, there’s nothing. No reply. No dots. Just silence.
And then, in the top corner of the room, the tiniest red light blinks on.
The camera. My body tightens. He’s watching.
I lie back slowly, letting the covers slip down my body. Revealing the tiny silk shorts and camisole I put on after my shower this evening. My hair is down, tumbling in waves across the pillow.
I lift my eyes, my thighs clenching as I look into the camera, hopefully connecting our gazes. My skin prickles with awareness.
It’s like I’m not alone in this room. I’m not nervous. I’m not embarrassed. I feel empowered.
Because right now I feel like I’m his.