28. Ashton
ASHTON
T he top is down on Griffin’s Audi, and we’re traversing the California streets to some undisclosed location. The sun is bright and the breeze blows my hair wild. I close my eyes, and rest my arm on the car door, letting the wind dance through my fingers.
When Griffin texted this morning saying he had a surprise, I immediately texted back yes . No doubts. No hesitation. Wherever he is, I want to be.
Who is this carefree girl now? I barely recognize her.
Griffin squeezes my hand. “Any idea where we’re going?”
I study his profile while he focuses on the road ahead. The man is gorgeous—that’s a given. But with each day I get to know him better, his kindness, generosity, and humor make him grow impossibly more attractive.
I shake my head and shout over the wind. “No. Does this mean you’re going to tell me now?”
“Soon. We’re almost there.”
Minutes later, we pull into the parking lot of The Gatsby, a Tuscan-style venue with a clay tiled roof, cream-colored stucco, and rounded arches in front of all the windows. It’s set on a hillside, a series of stairs leading up to it. At the base is a small garden with a wrought-iron gate.
“What are we doing here?”
Griffin shuts off the car and presses the automatic cover retrieval for the roof. “I thought we could take a look at it as a possible venue for the gala.”
While I did mention the idea of a gala at some point in the future, I didn’t necessarily plan on it being so soon. I may have managed to navigate the party last night, but hosting an entire event is a whole other level. “Are you serious?”
He turns to me, his voice soft. “Very serious.”
And suddenly, I feel like we’re talking about something else entirely.
Last night’s confessions about my past and our intimate kisses left me feeling rather vulnerable today. Maybe the kiss was a fluke? A rare moment of passion and emotion?
But judging by the intensity of his gaze, his thoughts are very much in line with my own—which is why I can’t wait to test my theory from last night: that we have excellent chemistry and need to explore it more.
He slowly leans toward me. I match his movement, a smile playing on my lips. My heart grows wings and starts to flutter. We bridge the small gap between us, just a breath away from each other.
Someone knocks on Griffin’s driver’s side window. “Mr. Ford?”
Griffin’s head droops, and he growls in annoyance, “Yes?”
I giggle despite my sentiment being the same.
“We’re ready for your tour, sir. If you’d like to follow me?”
“Yup,” he replies with an exaggerated pop of the p, his eyes never leaving mine. His lopsided smile appears. “To be continued?”
“Absolutely.” And in a moment of boldness, I lean over and peck his cheek.
We exit the car and follow behind the portly man, who I’d guess is in his fifties.
As we walk, Griffin brushes the back of my hand with his fingers and whispers, “I called and set up a private tour. The facility isn’t open on Sundays, but they made an exception for me.”
“Of course they did.” Instinctively, I extend my hand to hold his, but I pull away at the last second. Given that Griffin still has to maintain a public relationship with Scarlet, holding hands is probably considered inappropriate. I turn away, not wanting my face to reveal the sting of hurt.
“My name is Jorge. I’m the manager of this facility, and I’ll be serving as your tour guide today. What sort of event are you looking to host here? And do you have a projected number of guests?”
Jorge has warm, brown skin and almond-colored eyes that are friendly and genuine.
“We want to host a gala for a nonprofit animal rescue,” I say.
“Oh, wonderful, wonderful. I love animals.” He opens the small gate into the gardens. “I have a dog and two cats myself—all rescues.”
My heart warms inside. A kindred spirit. “What are their names?”
“Ginger is my orange tabby, Tiger is my calico, and my boxer’s name is Pumpkin. I’m surrounded by females.” He laughs as if he needs to explain.
“That’s adorable.” We walk up the stairs.
“They’ve each been with me for almost six years now.” He opens the main doors to the facility, which leads us to a long hallway. “So, how many guests are we talking?”
I look to Griffin, having no clue how many. I have no idea how many guests were at the party last night. A hundred?
“I’m guessing at least five hundred,” Griffin offers.
I gasp. “Are you serious?”
He steps closer, dropping his voice. “Trust me.”
Jorge claps his hands. “Wonderful, wonderful. Let me start with our largest ballroom.”
We walk down the hallway, following Jorge. Griffin sneaks up beside me and wraps his arm around my waist, his hip touching mine. His face is tantalizingly close. I could easily lean over and kiss his beautiful lips, especially considering he’s watching me and not where we’re walking.
Jorge stops at a set of double doors and opens them. Griffin’s hand drops from my waist, and he steps away.
I try not to show the disappointment that the absence of his touch gives me. It’s something I better get used to if we’re to be together.
An hour later, we’ve seen the large, curved veranda, the state-of-the-art kitchens, the largest ballroom, and the mid-sized ballroom.
Jorge circles us back to the main entrance. “Do you have any additional questions for me?”
Griffin looks at me for a moment and then says to Jorge, “I’d like to see the main ballroom one more time, if that’s okay.” There’s a slight twinkle in his eye, conveying mischief.
I arch an eyebrow at him.
“Absolutely.” Jorge starts walking down the hall.
Griffin doesn’t say anything; he just winks and follows in Jorge’s footsteps.
I shake my head, smiling. I’m not sure when or how, but this man has acquired my unwavering trust. I’d follow just about anything he suggests.
Upon entering the ballroom, I inhale a deep breath, overwhelmed by its vast size. I’m skeptical we’ll be able to attract enough people to attend any event I host.
Griffin walks toward the floor-to-ceiling arched windows and turns around, facing Jorge, who stands next to me. “Would you mind giving us some privacy while we discuss the location?”
“No problem, sir. I’ll be down the corridor in my office. Come and find me whenever you’re ready to conclude your visit.” He dips his head and quietly closes the doors.
“What’s this all about?”
He walks toward me, tugs me to him, and slips his arms around my waist. “I thought we should get a feel for the venue by ourselves.”
“A feel?”
“Yes. After all, if this is to be a ball, then we’d better practice at least one dance together.”
I laugh. “A ball, huh? I thought we said gala?”
His smile widens. “Same thing.”
I gesture about the room. “But there’s no music.”
He pulls me closer, takes my hands, and wraps them around his neck. “Oh, you of little imagination. Haven’t you ever heard of the word pretend ?” He winks.
I am putty in his hands.
I’ve been teetering on the edge, but now I’ve dipped into dangerous territory.
Not only am I willingly spending time with someone who is regularly in the spotlight, but—dare I say it—falling in love with him.
He pulls my arms from his neck and spins me outward—albeit slightly disjointedly given my ankle soreness.
I’m slightly dizzy from the twirl, but it’s nothing compared to how I feel being pulled back in, my chest pressed against his.
Our breaths match one another’s. My hand vibrates over his pulsating heart.
I inhale his delicious cedar scent and meet his eyes—more earnest and hungrier than I’ve ever seen.
He bends low, whispering into my ear, “See? It’s not so bad pretending, is it?”
A chill travels down my spine, and doubt creeps into my gut. Pretending? Is that what we’re doing? After all, he already has one fake relationship. What’s one more? I loosen my arms from his neck and push back a little, creating some space.
His hands tense on my waist. His head dips, his eyes meeting mine. “Hey. Where’d you go? I lost you.”
I shake my head and look away. “It’s nothing.”
He drops his arms and weaves his fingers through mine over his chest. “It doesn’t seem like nothing. Was it something I said? Am I moving too fast? Coming on too strong?”
I’m not sure how to respond. I can’t think straight when he holds me. I step out of his grasp.
“Nothing. I’m just thinking of all I’d have to do to put an event together.” I walk toward the expansive windows and peer at the gardens below.
His soft footsteps follow behind me. “Hey, you have me, don’t you?”
If he only knew how those words sound and the doubts they spiral within me.
“We’re a team. We can totally do this. Luke said he’ll help; I’m sure Wren will, too.”
I bite my lip. “You told Jorge by the end of the month. That’s in three weeks. Isn’t that a little too fast?”
Though I’m referring to the gala, my mind is contemplating how quickly I’ve developed such strong feelings for Griffin. We met just over two weeks ago. How have I let myself start to believe in love again so quickly after just meeting someone?
He stands next to me, his shoulder brushing mine as he gazes out the window too. “Three weeks isn’t impossible. I’ve heard of crazier things.” His hand, hanging at his side, reaches for mine.
Despite all the doubts swirling inside, my body naturally is drawn to him, and I can’t help but hold his hand.
His phone chimes, but instead of retrieving it from his back pocket, he faces me. I feel the pressure of his gaze in my peripheral, willing me to look at him, to open up, to…I don’t know.
His phone chimes again and again in succession.
“You should probably check that.”
He groans, pulls it from his back pocket, and swipes at the screen. He makes a noise at the back of his throat. I can’t decipher its meaning.
“What is it?”
“I have some unfortunate news.”
“What?” I pull the phone from his grasp and quickly read through the messages. They’re all from Luke.
Luke
You might want to do a quick Google search on your name. And Ashton’s.
Luke
Probably best if you don’t say anything to her yet until we get a game plan.
I type a response.
Griffin
Too late.
Luke
Okay. Great. Tell her not to freak out. I’ll get it under control.
“What’s he talking about?”
“I have no idea. Somebody stole my phone before I could look.”
Three dots appear on the text thread.
Luke
Actually, you guys should probably come home so we can decide how to do damage control.
My pulse races. I look at Griffin. He shrugs.
I shove the phone back at Griffin and pull mine from my purse, opening Google.
I type in his name. I gasp when the page floods with images and videos of the two of us leaving the Rhodes mansion last night.
Multiple versions appear. Memes have already been created about the two of us.
People are sharing it all over social media.
“Who took these? I don’t even remember any cameras being there!”
Griffin sighs. “The paps can be pretty sneaky when they want to be.”
“But it was a private party.”
“Doesn’t matter.”
My hands are shaking.
Griffin wraps his hand around mine, pulling the phone from my grasp. “Let’s wait to freak out until we get home and get a better idea of the situation.”
My face shoots upwards. “Do people know who I am now?”
Nausea roils in my gut.
People will connect me to my past. All the hard work I put into separating myself from that life—now my nightmare is becoming my reality. No one is going to want to support a rescue if they think I’m some kind of cheating liar.
Griffin clutches my shoulders, shaking me a little. “Hey, hey, it’s going to be okay. You’re going to be fine. I’m sure it’s not that bad.”
“Not that bad? Not that bad! We scream being a couple in these photos. I look like the other woman, yet again.” I’m the homewrecker to America’s most precious couple.
He pulls me into a hug. “Hey, we’ll fix this. We’ll get it figured out. Okay?”
His words bring little comfort. All I can think about is the fact that this is the very reason I didn’t want to have social media. I’ve avoided anything that puts me in the spotlight again for years. And in just two days— two days —after making my first post, this happens.
The media does nothing but tear a person apart.
Five years ago, it broke me. I don’t know if I can bear to put myself back together again.