Chapter 13
Asher
Two weeks.
It's been two entire weeks of trying to regain control of my life. However, Roxanne Sinclair still manages to exist inside my head like a persistent addiction I can’t get rid of.
I should’ve known distance wouldn’t help.
If anything, it has made things worse because now every interaction between us feels painfully restrained. It's like we’re both pretending we don’t remember what it feels like to lose ourselves in each other.
Which is probably for the best.
I keep reminding myself of that.
Roxanne is dangerous precisely because she makes me forget things I normally never would.
And every time I start slipping around Roxanne, every time I start seeing something softer beneath all her sharp edges and expensive smiles, I remember that I cannot afford to be stupid.
Not over a woman. No matter how badly I want her.
Unfortunately, wanting her seems to be a permanent condition now. Even after two weeks of keeping things strictly professional, I still notice everything.
The memory of what happened at her apartment still clings to me. That moment felt so intimate and emotional that I’d gotten lost in it.
Now, when I look at Roxanne, I no longer just see a beautiful, manipulative woman trying to survive off wealthy men. I see someone exhausted and feel oddly protective of her.
And that version of her is infinitely more dangerous to me.
A sharp knock sounds against my office door. Before I can answer, raised voices drift in from outside.
My expression hardens instantly. One voice belongs to Roxanne, and the other to Tristan.
I’m already irritated before I even step outside, then I see them.
Roxanne stands behind her desk with a rigid posture, while Tristan leans against the marble counter, looking increasingly agitated. The sight alone sparks immediate annoyance low in my chest.
Because I still don’t like seeing them together. Not after everything.
Tristan notices me first.
“There you are,” he says sharply. “Your assistant won’t let me into your office.”
Roxanne doesn’t even look at me immediately.
“You don’t have an appointment,” she says coolly.
Tristan scoffs. “I’m his brother.”
“And I’m aware of basic scheduling procedures.”
My mouth twitches. Even irritated, she somehow sounds elegant.
Tristan turns toward me expectantly. “Seriously?”
I glance briefly toward Roxanne first. Her expression remains perfectly composed, but I can tell she’s irritated. Mostly because I’ve spent two weeks obsessively relearning every one of her moods.
“She’s right,” I say calmly. “You should let me know before showing up unexpectedly.”
Tristan’s jaw tightens slightly. Something uncomfortable flickers through my chest immediately afterward.
I recognize it as guilt. Despite everything, Tristan is still my brother.
And somewhere beneath years of distance and resentment, I’ve always wanted us to have something better than this strained transactional relationship we somehow ended up with.
“Fine,” Tristan mutters finally.
I nod toward my office. “Come in.”
As I follow him inside, I catch Roxanne watching us briefly before she lowers her gaze back toward her computer screen.
The smart thing would be to appreciate that she’s keeping space between us, too. Instead, disappointment settles in my chest anyway.
Inside the office, Tristan drops into one of the chairs across from my desk while loosening his tie impatiently.
And for the first time in a while, I actually studied him properly. He looks thinner. There’s tension in his face, too, and restlessness beneath his usual polished charm.
“You okay?” I ask before I can stop myself.
Tristan waves dismissively. “I’m fine.”
I’m not entirely convinced. Still, I let it go.
“So,” he says quickly, leaning forward, “about the business proposal.”
“Tristan.” I exhale slowly before continuing. “I reviewed everything again.”
His posture shifts immediately with anticipation. And suddenly, I hate this conversation already.
“The plan isn’t feasible right now,” I say carefully. “The projections are unstable and the debt ratio alone?—”
“So that’s it?” he interrupts sharply. “You’re saying no?”
“I’m saying I’m not pouring millions into something that isn’t secure.”
His expression darkens instantly. “You have billions, Asher.”
“And that’s exactly why I don’t throw money around carelessly.”
A tense silence fills the office. Then Tristan laughs once bitterly.
“You really don’t want to help me, huh?”
My jaw tightens slightly. “That’s not what this is.”
“Isn’t it?” He stands abruptly. “You’ve always hated sharing anything with me.”
Something cold flickers through me at that accusation.
“That’s ridiculous.”
“Is it?” Tristan fires back. “You got everything. The company. Dad’s trust. The Sterling name.” His eyes narrow. “Maybe you just like making sure I stay beneath you.”
“You inherited the exact same amount of money from our father.”
“And you inherited the empire.”
“Because I built it.”
The sharp words come out colder than I intended, and I regret it afterward. Tristan goes completely still.
“Right.” He sighs.
Damn it.
I drag a hand through my hair roughly. “That’s not what I meant.”
But the damage is already done. Tristan steps back toward the door with tight shoulders and cold eyes.
“You know what?” he says bitterly. “Forget it.”
“Tristan—”
“You clearly already decided not to help regardless of what I do.”
My chest tightens unpleasantly. Tristan shakes his head once before heading for the door.
“Don’t worry. I’ll figure things out myself.”
Then he leaves.
The silence afterward feels heavy. I stare at the closed office door for several long seconds, irritation slowly draining into something far more exhausting.
No matter how many times I try with Tristan, we somehow end up back here at opposite sides of a room, looking at each other like enemies instead of brothers.
I lean back against my desk slowly and close my eyes briefly.
Then, a soft movement nearby pulls me out of my thoughts.
Roxanne.
I didn’t even hear her enter.
She stands near the side of my desk, holding a folder against her chest, blue eyes fixed on me carefully. Concern flickers across her face before she smooths it away.
“Are you okay?” she asks quietly.
The question catches me off guard because she sounds sincere.
I look at her for a long moment without answering. Despite the distance she’s kept between us these past two weeks, I can still remember exactly how she felt in my arms.
And now I need that again.
“Come here,” I say roughly.
Her brows pull together slightly, but she steps closer.
And before I can think better of it, I reach for her waist and pull her directly onto my thigh.