Chapter 3
Asher
Ishould not be thinking about Roxanne Sinclair etched against my conference table while I drive through Manhattan traffic. Yet somehow, it’s the only thing on my mind.
The way she looked at me afterward keeps replaying in my head.
She was both shocked and breathless. And then the realization that hit her when she understood what I’d done to her still unravels me.
How is that even possible?
My grip tightens on the steering wheel.
Damn!
I nearly fucked my brother’s ex-fiancée in my office.
Scratch that. I touched her like I had every right to. Sure, I’ve been imagining doing that for months now, but I had no business actually going through with it.
A bitter laugh leaves me quietly.
This is exactly why I avoid emotional entanglements.
Sex complicates things enough already. Add feelings to the equation, and people start becoming irrational.
I’ve seen it play out my entire life. My father nearly destroyed the company twice because of women.
My mother stayed long enough to secure her payout before disappearing completely. Tristan’s mother manipulated her way into the Sterling family with tears and a baby along the way.
Relationships have always looked suspiciously similar to strategy from where I stand.
And Roxanne is dangerous because she makes me forget her true nature when I’m so caught up thinking about making love to her.
For a few reckless minutes tonight, I stopped seeing her as Tristan’s ex-fiancée. Stopped seeing her as a complication. Actually, I completely lost the ability to think.
I can still feel the softness of her thighs beneath my hand and her warmth quivering around my fingers. The sound she made when she came apart in my hands is still firmly etched in my memory.
And I fear I might never be able to get it out of my head.
Fuck.
I slam the brakes harder than necessary at a red light.
This cannot happen again. The problem is, I’m not entirely convinced I want it not to.
That realization settles uncomfortably in my chest for the rest of the drive to Valen’s.
The low lighting inside washes the entire bar in amber shadows. The edgy scent of expensive whiskey fills the space.
Our usual booth is already occupied when I arrive.
Alexander looks up from his drink immediately. “You’re late.”
I roll my eyes. “You’re dramatic.”
I still don’t understand how his staunch punctuality still hasn’t changed. I’ve known Alexander Pierce all my life, and that is a mystery I fear I’ll never be able to solve.
“You look like you’re gunning to kill someone.”
I shrug out of my coat and sit across from him. “Long day.”
Alex studies me carefully for a second before snorting. “That bad?”
“You have no idea.”
A waitress approaches immediately and sets my usual whiskey down without asking. One advantage of frequenting the same place for years is that it is familiar.
Alex leans back against the booth, looking entirely too relaxed for a man getting married in barely three months.
That alone should concern me.
Marriage has never looked relaxing from my perspective.
Restrictive? Yes. Financially catastrophic? Usually. But peaceful? Never.
Yet somehow Alex looks almost unbearably satisfied these days. It’s unsettling.
When this whole thing with Maya started, I expected that it’d end like every other affair he’s had. While Alex often stuck to a woman for more than a few days, he was never the type for something permanent like marriage.
What changed?
“Maya finalized seating arrangements today,” he says.
There it is. I haven’t even asked about her or his wedding, and he’s already talking about it.
It already makes me feel bad for what awaits him in the future. All marriages always end in the same way. While not everyone divorces, it’s always clear that the illusion of happiness they had fades away.
I take a slow sip of whiskey.
“She threatened bodily harm if I invited another investor she hates.” Alex chuckles.
“That sounds healthy.”
“It was actually kind of hot.”
I quirk a brow, while Alex grins.
This is exactly what I mean.
Just last year, Alexander Pierce was a rational human being running one of the largest corporations in the world. While I took over Sterling Group a year before he took over Pierce Enterprise, we’ve always shared the same views on life.
Somehow, that has changed.
Now he smiles into his whiskey because his fiancée threatens violence over wedding guests.
The illusion of love truly is psychological damage.
“You know,” Alex says casually. “Most people pretend to be happy for their friends.”
“I am happy for you.”
“You sound deeply disturbed by it.”
“Because you’re behaving like you joined a cult.”
Alex laughs outright at that. The sound draws a few glances from nearby tables.
“You’ll understand eventually.”
“No,” I say flatly. “I won’t.”
“At least your brother does. Or did.” His expression shifts slightly then. “I heard about Tristan and Roxanne.”
My jaw tightens automatically. While Roxanne hadn’t acclimated to our circle of friends yet, the news of Tristan's failed engagement had definitely made rounds.
“Tristan embarrassed himself,” I say coolly.
“And Roxanne? Does she still work for you?”
Something about the question irritates me immediately. “For now.”
Alex hums quietly into his drink. The look in his eyes instantly unsettles me. I know that look. That’s why I know this annoying bastard is analyzing me.
“I never did get why you talk about her like she personally attacked your nervous system. Why do you dislike her so much?”
I give him a long stare. “I don’t.”
And maybe that’s the first honest thing I’ve said about Roxanne in years. Because dislike isn’t the problem. If anything, that would make this easier.
The problem is that every time she walks into a room, I become aware of her in ways that feel deeply inconvenient.
The sound of her voice. The scent she leaves behind. The way dresses cling to her body like they were designed specifically to torment me.
And now I know exactly how she tastes, feels, and sounds when she loses control.
And damn, I want more.
I drain the rest of my whiskey.
“I’ll handle the work arrangements,” I say finally.
Alex raises a brow. “You firing her?”
“No. She’s too good at her job.”
That part annoys me too.
Because if Roxanne were incompetent, I could’ve gotten rid of her months ago. Instead, she became indispensable.
“Just for that reason?”
I raise a questioning brow at him. “What are you insinuating?”
“Nothing.” He shrugs.
I look at him coldly, but he grins without remorse.
I stand up. “Good talk.”
The next morning, Roxanne arrives at exactly seven fifty-eight as always. Punctual as ever, as though she’d combust if she ever came late.
I watch through the glass wall of my office as she settles behind her desk.
Cream blouse today and black pencil skirt. Her blonde hair is pinned up neatly, exposing the elegant line of her throat.
I groan.
My body reacts instantly, and I’m reminded of the reason I need her to leave.
Roxanne glances up from her laptop, and her head snaps in my direction. The frown on her face tells me she just saw the email.
There’s the faintest hesitation in her expression before her features smooth over completely.
She stands up as I expect and stalks into my office.
“Good morning, Mr. Sterling.”
The sound of her voice last night flashes through my head immediately. I shut the thought down hard.
“Why am I being transferred suddenly?”
“Do I need a reason to re-shuffle my employees?”
Her jaw tightens. “It’s not that I have any reason to complain about being transferred to the Vice President's office. After all, Mr. Hudson will make a much nicer boss than you, I’m just curious as to why.”
I squint at her.
I have a feeling she knows the reason but wants me to say it. However, admitting I’m doing this because I can’t control my desires for her would be insane.
“Miss. Sinclair?—”
“So you’re indeed transferring me to Mr. Hudson because we kissed?”
“We did more than kiss.”
A hint of red rises across her cheeks as she instantly shifts her gaze from mine.
“That’s not the point,” she says sharply.
“It’s exactly the point.”
Silence stretches tightly between us.
I force myself to stay seated because every instinct in my body is telling me to drag her back against the desk and finish what we started yesterday.
Which is precisely why this transfer is necessary.
“You can’t possibly think working together after that is a good idea,” I say.
Roxanne folds her arms slowly beneath her chest. My gaze flickers downward automatically as my pants grow uncomfortably tight.
“We wouldn’t want a repeat of that, would we?” She asks.
“That is never going to happen again,” I state firmly.
Roxanne stares at me for a long moment. Then something in her expression cools completely. The shift is immediate enough to unsettle me.
“Fine,” she says quietly.
I frown slightly. “That’s it?”
“What exactly were you expecting?” Her mouth curves faintly. “Tears?”
No.
But somehow her indifference annoys me more. Roxanne turns toward the door and walks out, leaving me to feel like I lost something.