26. Asher
TWENTY-SIX
ASHER
Turns out, I did end up having to carry Charleigh home. I carried her from Julianna’s party to the car, then again from the car to the elevator.
She’s still conscious, her three glasses of champagne not completely knocking her out. I wouldn’t exactly call her drunk but definitely teetering on the line. While unsteady on her feet, though, I decided to carry her the rest of the way. It just gave me another excuse to hold her, anyway.
“You didn’t have to carry me all the way home,” Charleigh mutters against my chest. “I could have walked from the car to the elevator. I’m not drunk.” With her legs over my right arm, and her back resting against my left, I maneuver my arm to reach inside my front pocket to tug my keycard free.
I remind myself to grab the spare keycard I keep in my office next time I’m there to give to Charleigh. Holding her in my arms makes me want to never let her go. I want her in my life. I want her in my space. I want her home.
The light on the black box turns from red to green, automatically taking us up to my level.
“I know I didn’t have to carry you,” I grunt, adjusting her in my arms. I look down as she looks up at me with her gorgeous, hooded eyes and whisper, “I wanted to.”
Her cheeks blush red. Or it could be the alcohol swimming in her bloodstream keeping her warm.
“Did you enjoy Julianna’s party?” I ask.
“I did.” She grins.
“I hope she had a good time. I know she was probably looking forward to tonight since her last birthday.”
Charleigh laughs, tilting her head back. “She was, and I think she did.” Her laughter wanes. “But I think the encounter with Rome threw her for a loop.”
“I wish I had been there.” I can’t help chuckling. “I’m sure Holt regrets his decision to invite him.”
“You’ve never met Rome?”
“No.” I shake my head, sighing. “Holt’s mentioned him a few times but never in a good way. I’m just as surprised he invited him.”
“I wonder why he would do that when he knows the history with Rome’s family and his own. Not to mention Julianna’s.”
“I don’t know.” I press a kiss to Charleigh’s forehead.
A slow, wide grin spreads across her face.
“What?” I ask her.
She lifts her chin and looks up at me, never allowing her smile to falter. “I’m kind of disappointed.”
I chuckle. “For someone who is disappointed, you certainly don’t look it.”
She lays her head on my chest, the numbers above climbing with every level. We’re almost to my apartment. My scent mingles with hers while she wears my suit jacket. The sleeves are entirely too big on her, and it’s practically swallowing her whole, but she looks sexy as hell wearing what’s mine.
“I’m disappointed because I didn’t make you.”
“Make me?” I look at her quizzically .
“Carry me.” She shrugs her shoulder, looking back up. “If I made you carry me, I thought that meant you would punish me for it. But you’re doing this out of the kindness of your own heart.”
I bite back my grin. Electricity shoots across my chest.
Fuck, this woman has me. All of me.
“Who said I still wasn’t going to punish you?”
Wrapping her arms around my neck, she lifts herself up a little closer to bring her face to mine. Her lips brush my mouth.
“That’s more like it, Mr. Egan.”
“I’m glad we have an understanding, then, Little Flower.”
The elevator stops on my level, and the doors slide open. I don’t let Charleigh go when I carry her through the threshold. She keeps her hands around my neck and lifts herself to bring her mouth to mine again. This time, we don’t stop kissing. I part her lips with my tongue and breath her in. She’s flowers and champagne and beauty.
I carry her through the entryway and am about to lower her out of my arms when I stop, hearing a crunching sound beneath my feet.
Looking down, I quickly lift Charleigh back up before her bare feet touch the shattered shards of glass sprinkled across my floor. They glitter in the darkness. A chill slithers down the length of my spine as I back up toward the elevator before finally putting Charleigh down. I hand her silver heels back to her. On a panicked breath, she slips them back on as I take a step back toward the glass, taking in my apartment. Someone has been here.
“Asher…” Charleigh hisses in the dark.
I push my arm behind me, urging her to stay back, and press my finger to my mouth before holding it out to her. “Wait here,” I whisper.
Her eyebrows knit together, and she presses her hand to her chest. She shakes her head but stays where she is.
I pull my phone from my pocket and dial 911 but keep my finger hovered over the green call button.
I search my apartment in the dark. Every light is off, the only illumination coming from the city. Every single frame mounted on the wall in the entryway is busted. My father’s art pieces and photographs are all destroyed. Glass is scattered across my floor. The cushions of my furniture is upturned, the fabric sliced and torn. The material inside is spilling out, lying in mounds all over my floor. It looks like a fucking animal went rabid in here.
When I get closer to my living room, I realize the damage done to the furniture wasn’t chewed apart, though, it was done by a knife. Clean cuts stretch from one end of the cushions to the other.
I glance back at Charleigh to make sure she’s okay and still standing close to the elevator. With her hand held up to her mouth, she nervously bites down on her nail.
I turn back around to search the living room, getting closer to the piano. The bench is smashed in, practically snapped in half. All the keys are broken, some missing, popping completely off and sitting at my feet.
I start racking my brain as to how this happened. Charleigh and I were only at Julianna’s party for a few hours, and no one can access my floor without a keycard, and I’m the only one with one.
I call my security guard quickly. “Lincoln, I need you to check the security cameras for the last three hours and pull the data from my key box in the elevator to see when it was last used. Email over the footage and data as soon as possible.”
I hang up and call the police.
After giving them the initial info, I check to make sure the rest of the apartment is clear. Afterward, Charleigh joins me in the living room, and the dispatcher assures me they’re sending an officer out, but she stays on the line and asks, “Do you have an idea who would have broken into your apartment, sir?”
Charleigh is staring at the piano with tears streaming down her face. My gaze falls on the sticky note taped to the top of the broken pile of wood.
I tear the note off, reading the four words scribbled on it.
LIKE FATHER, LIKE SON
“Yeah,” I sigh, the air leaving my lungs. “I have a pretty good idea who.”