Chapter 15
Asher
Something is wrong with Roxanne. It’ll be odd not to notice when my eyes are always on her, following her around.
I first realized it on Monday morning when she walked into my office carrying a stack of documents and completely forgot why she came. And now, two days later, it looks like she’s doing the same thing.
For three full seconds, she just stands there staring at me. Not the usual irritated stare she reserves specifically for me. It's distant and confuses me greatly. My first instinct is to ask her what’s going on, but then just watching her act this way is strange enough.
Her gaze remains fixed somewhere over my shoulder before she blinks abruptly and seems to remember where she is.
“The meeting with Witherspoon is in ten minutes,” she says quickly.
I glance down at the papers she places on the table, then back at her.
“Witherspoon or Vaughn?”
A faint flush crawls up her neck. “Yes, Vaughn.”
I tilt my head to the side, watching her with interest. Roxanne Sinclair forgetting things is like watching a machine malfunction. It shouldn't happen.
Everything about her is precision and preparation. Yet lately she has become distracted in ways that don't fit the woman I know. Or at least the woman I am trying to know.
Now, what do I mean by trying to know?
I already reassured myself that I won’t fall into Roxanne’s trap and keep things as they’ve been lately. However, that’s impossible with how she’s acting lately.
Roxanne places the documents on my desk and turns to leave.
“Roxanne.”
She pauses and turns toward me. I study her carefully, scrutinizing every inch of her face. There are faint shadows beneath her eyes. Her posture is still perfect, but there's a tension in her shoulders now. Something tight and strained that wasn't there a few weeks ago.
“Are you sleeping well?”
Her brows knit together as she quirks her upper lip. “Excuse me?”
I lean back in my chair, folding my arms across my chest.
“You look tired,” I say.
She gives me a weird look. “You stopped me to discuss my sleeping habits?”
“No.”
“Then what?”
I hold her gaze. The honest answer is that I don't know. I only know that lately I find myself watching her more than I should.
Unlike before, when it was basically because of the desires I feel for her, now it’s also because something about her feels off. And the more I notice it, the harder it becomes to ignore.
“Forget it,” I say finally.
A flicker of relief crosses her face. That bothers me. I know whatever is happening, she clearly doesn't want me involved.
Is this about her debt?
If that’s the case, then she has no choice because I got involved the moment I found out about it.
She leaves my office moments later. I spend the next ten minutes staring at the closed door. Then another twenty pretending I haven't been distracted by her.
It wasn’t until lunchtime that I realized I failed spectacularly in my pursuit. I decide to push thoughts of Roxanne out of my mind and focus on work.
However, that is impossible when Roxanne makes another mistake, which she usually doesn’t during an important meeting.
Normally, Roxanne is flawless. She anticipates questions before they're asked. Remembers details nobody else notices. Keeps entire presentations moving without effort. Yet today she hands me the wrong file.
I notice immediately, but it takes a moment to figure out why I’m staring at her questioningly.
She quickly exchanges the files, her face beet red. Our fingers brush in the moment, and she freezes. Just for a second, before she pulls away so quickly, the folder slips from her hands.
I catch it before it can hit the ground. Our eyes meet.
For a moment, the room full of executives fades briefly into the background. A strange tension stretches between us as distinct memories I’d like to forget fill my mind.
Despite the distance, nothing has changed. The second I look at her, I remember exactly how she felt in my arms. The way she looked when she came apart in my arms and the sound she made when I kissed her.
Something dark shifts low in my chest.
Color rises faintly in Roxanne’s cheeks as she quickly turns away. I wonder if she figured out what was going on in my mind.
As the meeting continues, I barely pay any attention. Once the meeting ends, I finally receive another update from Ethan, the private investigator, regarding Blackthorne.
The report only worsens my mood. It's like the more I investigate them, the less I like what I find.
Officially, Blackthorne is legitimate. Unofficially, they're connected to people who make very expensive problems disappear.
I already knew that. What I don't understand is how Roxanne got tangled up with them in the first place.
Nothing about the situation makes sense. Despite everything, I think, Roxanne doesn’t strike me as the kind of person who’ll recklessly accrue so much debt. Not now that I know the kind of responsibility she has.
Is she telling the truth then? Did Tristan really do this?
That also doesn’t make any sense either. Tristan doesn’t have any need to borrow money, and definitely not under Roxanne’s identity. He wouldn’t do that.
I lean back in my chair while reviewing the file again. A few days ago, I even attempted to contact Blackthorne directly. That conversation had lasted less than four minutes.
Long enough for me to understand two things. First, they know exactly who I am. Second, they aren't interested in discussing Roxanne unless it involves repayment of her loan.
That alone raises every alarm in my head. Which means Roxanne may be in more trouble than she realizes. The only solution now is to take care of this before things get complicated.
The thought stays with me long after the office empties. I find myself having double discussions with. Blackthorne, along with preparation for an unexpected trip to Tokyo.
Normally, international travel doesn't bother me. I prefer movement. This time, however, I find myself irritated by the timing. Mostly because Roxanne looks progressively worse every day.
Twice this week, I've caught her staring into space. Once, she nearly walked directly into a glass conference room wall.
Now she stands across my desk reviewing my itinerary while I sign documents.
“You'll land Saturday morning local time,” she says.
I nod. “Meetings begin at nine.”
Her voice remains steady as she continues rambling off about my schedule. Yet that feeling of uneasiness doesn’t leave me.
Even now, as I look at her, it's like she's forcing herself to focus.
I look up. The moment I do, her gaze drops to the paperwork.
“Roxanne.”
“Yes?” She straightens up.
“What's wrong?”
“I don't know what you mean,” she blurts out quickly.
I exhale slowly.
Of course. That answer was inevitable.
Before I can push further, my phone rings. The interruption breaks whatever moment existed between us. By the time the call ends, she has already moved on to discussing flight arrangements.
The next afternoon, just before I leave for the airport, she appears in my office doorway. Something in her expression immediately catches my attention.
She fiddles with the sleeve of her shirt as she steps closer.
It’s unlike Roxanne to be nervous, so I conclude she’s finally ready to discuss whatever has been bothering her with me.
“Do you have a minute?” she asks.
I set down the document in my hand. My breath hitches in my throat. I didn’t realize how much I’ve been longing for her to come to me with whatever issues she has.
Why that is, I can’t tell. But for some reason, I want to ease her burden.
“I do.”
She gulps, then nods. “I need to talk to you.”
The words instantly sharpen my focus. My ears perk up as I wait for her to broach the topic. I can already tell that it’s about her debt.
I have a feeling she’s trying to get me to handle it for her. I should be mad about that since she’s just affirming all the things I believe about her.
However, I couldn’t care less since deep down, I already made up my mind to take care of it.
For now, I should probably pretend not to care, then surprise her with it later.
“What is it, Roxanne?” I ask when she doesn’t say a word.
Her mouth parts open slightly, but before she can continue, my phone begins vibrating.
I glance at the screen. Then back at her.
She gives me a small smile. “It's okay.”
“It isn't.”
“You should go. You don’t want to miss your flight.”
I hate how reasonable she sounds. I suddenly wish to switch up the schedule and have her come with me on the trip.
“Roxanne.”
“We'll talk when you get back.”
Something about the statement unsettles me. Maybe it's because it feels like I’m blowing her off, and that makes me mad.
“Promise?” I ask before I can stop myself.
Her expression softens slightly. “Promise.”
Somehow, our brief, unfinished conversation followed me all the way to Japan. The trip is mostly a disaster.
Not professionally, since that goes perfectly and the negotiations conclude ahead of schedule. However, my mind refuses to cooperate.
Every spare moment is occupied by the same question: What did Roxanne want to tell me?
I replay the conversation repeatedly and come up with different hypotheses. The possibility creates an unexpected sense of anticipation.
Five days later, I returned to New York. It's nearly eleven at night, but instead of going home to sleep or do something resembling normal behavior, I find myself heading directly to Sterling Group.
Old habits sure die hard.
The building is mostly dark when I arrive. Only a handful of lights remain illuminated across several floors. I step off the elevator and head toward my office. Then I stop as I see that the reception area isn't empty.
A desk lamp glows softly through the darkness. And sitting behind it is Roxanne.
What is she still doing here? Was she perhaps waiting for me?
That wouldn’t be surprising since she knows my schedule to the T and knows when I’m supposed to return.
Still, she wouldn’t just be waiting for me at the office when she doesn’t even know if I’ll come here from the airport. She’s definitely just working overtime.
For a second, I simply stare at her as several emotions wash through me. In all my tumultuous thoughts, I failed to realize just how much I missed her these past five days.
She doesn't notice me immediately. She's focused on something in front of her. Blonde hair slightly draped over her angelic features.
She tucks some strands behind her ear and pauses abruptly before she looks up.
Relief flashes across her face so quickly I almost miss it.
My chest tightens unexpectedly as I close the distance between us. “Roxanne? What are you doing here?”
She rises from the chair, eyes fixated on me intensely. A moment later, she lets out a heavy sigh and says quietly, “I was waiting for you.”
The words slam through me with full force, knocking the breath out of my lungs. Something warm unfolds inside me. A feeling I don't entirely recognize.
Having someone wait for me when I’m coming back from a trip this late at night feels both foreign and welcoming.
Roxanne shifts slightly beneath my stare. “I know you’d definitely come to the office first. So I…”
I take a step toward her. She doesn't move away. The exhaustion in her face is more obvious now. Suddenly, all I can think about is the fact that she stayed.
Before I can think better of it, I reach for her. Roxanne lets out a small, surprised breath as I pull her against me. Then my arms close around her completely.
For a moment, she goes still. Then slowly, she relaxes against me.
And standing there in the quiet office with her pressed against my chest, I realize there is nowhere else I would rather be.