Chapter 9 Ashton
ASHTON
When I walk into The Lantern on Monday morning, I’m shocked to see Allie is already at her desk, typing away.
I’m even more surprised to see an espresso from The Roasted Bean sitting on my desk next to a stack of papers.
I drop my messenger bag on the floor and flip through the stack.
They’re article pitches—organized by sections of the newspaper and alphabetized within each section.
I glance over at the coffee. I haven’t drunk a drop of any of the coffees I’ve made Allie get me.
Who knows what she could have done to them?
Instead, I’ve been sneaking the drip coffee in the staff lounge when she’s not looking.
I honestly prefer it. Making her go all the way to the café is just another way to fuck with her.
Now guilt gnaws at me. Especially after the phone call I had this weekend.
I told myself I shouldn’t get even more involved than I already was.
That I should tell her and be done with it.
But another part of me, the protective side I didn’t even know existed, wanted to suss out the situation first, and I’m glad I did.
I take my laptop out of my bag and mentally catalog all the possible things Allie could have put in my coffee—laxatives, salt, and saliva topping the list. Whatever, I’ll take my chances.
I lift the small cup to my nose. It smells normal.
Hovering my lips over the steamy crema, I take a tentative sip at the same time I open my laptop.
Tastes fine too, but there are a lot of tasteless poisons out there.
I relax into my chair as the smooth, hot liquid coats my throat, but I almost spit it out when I see the first few words of the message waiting for me.
Allie: Good morning, Sir. As you may have seen, I organized all of the article pitches for this week.
I also added all of your upcoming phone meetings to your calendar and emailed you the newly signed ad space contracts that came in over the weekend.
Let me know if there’s anything else I can do for you.
Otherwise, I will focus on my upcoming article for the rest of the day.
Who the fuck kidnapped Allie and replaced her with…whoever the hell wrote that message? Did she really think I was going to fire her and is now overcompensating? Or was it something Declan said to her? I put the coffee down and type out a reply.
Thank you.
It may be the first time I’ve ever thanked her for anything, but fake New Year, new leaf, and all that. I resist the urge to type “office” and settle on something nicer.
Would you mind swinging by my office?
Allie: Was there something you needed? As I said, I’m very busy today which is why I set you up for independence.
There is something I need. For you to come to my office. Sorry if it sounded like a request.
Well, that lasted all of five minutes. Set me up for independence?
Like I’m a fucking dog that she left food and water out for?
The familiar bitterness of anger rises in my throat.
Or maybe that’s the coffee trying to make a reappearance.
I knew I shouldn’t have trusted it. I’m trying my best to put the past behind us, but she’s making it really fucking difficult.
The door to my office swings open, revealing a pissed-off brunette, her eyes narrowed behind her signature black-rimmed glasses, shiny hair pulled back into a sleek ponytail.
She’s wearing a black dress similar to the one she was wearing at the New Year’s party, only slightly longer, and an oversized maroon blazer hangs over her shoulders.
She looks…terrifying. In the best way possible.
Like a sexy librarian who will do unspeakable things to you if you don’t return your books on time.
Too bad she drives me up a wall. I quickly put my eyes back in their sockets before she notices my unabashed perusal.
“Did you suddenly forget how to knock?” I spit out.
“You called me in here. Why would I knock?” She crosses her arms and puts all her weight on one hip.
“Sit,” I say, ignoring her question. Guess we’re back to the one-word orders. I can’t help it. She brings out a side of me I don’t even know what to do with. Half the time, I’m shocked by what comes out of my mouth around this woman.
It looks like it physically pains her to do it, but she sits in the chair opposite my desk.
I lean back and put my hands together, forming a steeple with my fingers.
Seconds tick by, but I remain silent. I can’t resist making her sweat a little.
The way her lips curl upward and her right eye twitches has this primal need growing inside me.
I don’t understand it. As much as I enjoy games, chess was never my thing.
Yet, all I want to do is anticipate her next move and counter it before she even knows what’s happened.
“What do you want?” she finally says, her tone biting.
“I’m just curious as to what article is occupying all your time today. I can’t imagine you’ve gotten around to trying fifteen different burgers already.”
“Excuse me?”
“Your research for Burger Week,” I reply. “I assume you haven’t completed it, so I’m just wondering why you’re here and not out in the field.”
“Burger Week?” She seems genuinely confused.
I take a long, steadying breath. I had a feeling this would happen. “Have you ever even read The Emberfield Lantern?” I ask her, accusation dripping from my tone.
“Of course I—”
“Then you should know, especially as our food writer, that Burger Week is held the last week of January every year. Fifteen restaurants within Emberfield County get to showcase a burger—it can be a new food item or one that has been on their menu for years. It’s your job to do a write-up the week prior describing each of the entries.
Then people go in and try the burgers throughout the week and get to vote on their favorite at the end.
It’s one of The Lantern’s most popular yearly features.
It boosts our readership and serves as free advertising for local establishments.
Win-win. You would know all of this if you cared to learn anything about the paper before you took on this job. ”
“I—I’m…”
Did I render Allie Montgomery speechless again? I guess I’m getting better at this whole being a complete dick thing. Before I can gloat, the door creaks open where Allie had left it ajar, and Skylar pokes her head through.
“It’s my fault,” she says, opening the door a little wider. I motion for her to come in. “I’m sorry. I was just passing by and overheard. I was supposed to tell you about Burger Week, but with everything going on and all the changes, it completely slipped my mind.”
“I appreciate that, Sky, but it’s her job. Isn’t that right, Alexandra?”
She glares at me as Skylar walks over and stands next to her chair like she’s Allie’s own personal security guard. My childhood best friend has known this woman for a few days, and now she’s protecting her from me?
Talk about betrayal.
Then again, Skylar has always seen beyond what people portray on the outside. It’s clear she sees something in Allie, aside from her tough, don’t fuck with me exterior.
Maybe she even sees what I saw all those months ago.
Before I can go down that road again, Skylar levels me with a look I know all too well.
I’ve seen it ever since we met when we were ten.
It’s her you’re being a complete idiot look.
I ignore it and she looks over to Allie.
“Come on, we can divide and conquer. There’s a breakfast burger at The Roasted Bean you can start with and I’ll hit up Ember Thai for their satay burger.
I can eat Thai food any time of day.” She giggles to herself, but neither I nor Allie join her.
“It’s her job,” I say again. “She can figure it out.”
Another look from Skylar. This one is more serious, and I can see she’s just about had it with my antics today. We engage in a short stare-off before I sigh and sit back up in my chair.
“Fine,” I relent. “Just get it done. I expect the article on my desk by Wednesday.”
“Thank you,” Allie says to Skylar as she stands.
“Cara has already submitted all the photos to accompany your article. You know, because she did her job,” I add, unable to help myself.
“Remember, you’re just describing each dish, Alexandra—not critiquing them.
We want our readers to form their own opinions.
Try to get quotes from the chefs if you can, and don’t forget to include each restaurant’s address, website, and socials if they have them,” I call after her as she and Skylar walk to the door.
“Oh, thank you,” she says over her shoulder. “I never would have thought of that. I’m so lucky to have such an intelligent man to tell me what to do.”
I try—I try really hard not to look at her ass swaying back and forth as she prances out of the room, but I fail miserably. What can I say? I love to see that woman go and watch her leave.
It doesn’t matter what I do or say. I could give her all the mundane tasks in the world—insult her intelligence, her job performance. None of it would make a difference. Because as she shuts my office door with more force than necessary, one thing is painfully clear.
Allie Montgomery is going to knock me on my ass.