Chapter 2 Ella
ELLA
Ipry my eyes open, blinking against the dull gray light filtering through the rain-spotted windows of my bedroom. Last night’s storm looks to be over, though the clouds have yet to clear and make room for the sun. But I don’t mind.
I’m in no mood for the sun, anyway.
I rub at my dry, sore eyes, brushing away the salty remains of dried tears and exhaustion. The thunder was so loud, I doubt much of the city slept through that storm. But it wasn’t the sounds or the flashes of lightning that kept me awake—it was my mind and heart that wouldn’t shut up.
A glint of light catches my attention, and I freeze, my hand an inch away from my eyes.
There’s a ring on my finger that definitely wasn’t there when I went to sleep.
I drop my hand and take in the sight. It’s Asher’s ring.
Only a part of me is surprised to find it back on my finger.
Four days ago, I took it off. Three days ago, I told Asher I needed space.
He told me he’d give it to me. But he also told me we weren’t over.
I should have known he’d take matters into his own hands.
Usually I don’t mind, but today, I don’t know how to feel.
I rub my thumb over the flat top of the ring. AHL. Asher Harrington Langford. The man I’m in love with. There’s no question about it. But what I don’t know, is if I can trust him.
He’s not a cheater, and he’s not a liar.
It’s not the usual worries over trust that I’m struggling with.
What I worry about with Asher is the vastness of his life.
When you’re one of the richest and most powerful men on the planet, you get pulled in a lot of different directions.
I’m okay with that. But what I’m not okay with is always taking a backseat to it.
If I stay with Asher, will his work always come first?
That’s what I don’t know. That’s what I don’t trust in the long-term.
I also don’t know where we stand in general.
We got together as a PR stunt to rehabilitate his image, but we turned into more—how much more is still an unknown.
Asher isn’t ready for a real relationship, so we’ve been caught in this scary in-between of not quite a real relationship, but no longer a fake one, either.
The only thing we’re both sure of is the insane connection we share.
We can’t keep our hands off each other, and when we’re together, we’re like fire and gasoline—burning, consuming—out of control.
I love every minute of it. I just don’t know if it’s something that can last forever.
My phone rings, pulling me from my morose thoughts, and I pick it up, grateful for the distraction. But my stomach immediately coils in dread when I see my boss’s name flash across the screen. She’s given me as much time as she can, and it looks like my time has run out.
“Hey,” I croak, my voice raw and ragged.
“How are you?” Emily asks.
I clear my throat. “I’m okay.”
“I’m sure you know why I’m calling. We need to issue a statement.
” Her tone is soothing, gentle, and I appreciate it, but not for the reason she would assume.
“Matthew and I are working on it with the team, but we want you to sign off on it before it’s sent out.
I’ll send it over once we have a draft.”
“No need to send it, I’ll be in soon.” I trust Emily and Matthew, but this is too sensitive to leave in the hands of others.
“I thought you weren’t coming into the office for a while.”
“That’s what Asher assumed, but this isn’t going to blow over any time soon. This is my life, my story, so I’m not going to sit back.”
“I understand. I’ll get to work on it and see you when you get here.”
I hang up and let out a long breath.
Four days ago, my ex-boyfriend, Kyle, threatened me at gunpoint to extort money from Asher.
The incident has become a major news story that has hit every network around the nation and several around the globe.
The media is going crazy with rumors, and nothing has been straightened out—which is just making the situation worse.
I had resisted looking at the stories until last night when I couldn’t help myself any longer and got online.
I almost lost what little dinner I ate when I saw an article written by RTZ, a trashy gossip website that had planned to release a story about me a few days ago.
I got them to agree to shelve the story after some negotiations, but they went back on their word and released a new version of it after what happened with Kyle.
Their new article paints the incident as not just extortion, but as a crime of passion, asserting that I cheated on Kyle with Asher, and it almost seems to justify Kyle’s actions as the vengeance of a spurned lover.
It’s all bullshit.
The only parts of the story that are somewhat controlled are the statements made by the commissioner of the NYPD.
He kept the details of the situation as vague as he could since it’s an ongoing case, but he divulged enough to send the media into a firestorm of speculation.
Needless to say, it’s a PR bloodbath, and the world isn’t sure if they should paint me as a victim of violence or as a cheater who got what she deserved.
Today, I need to rectify the situation as much as I can.
After a long, hot shower, I step up to the bathroom counter and sigh when I take in my reflection.
I’m definitely going to need to wear some full-coverage makeup today.
The bruising along my jaw from the punches I took at Kyle’s hands are a dark bluish purple, and my under eyes are not much better.
I’ve hardly slept for the past three nights.
I’ve also hardly eaten. And it shows. I look like shit.
In truth, I’ve been drowning. Surprisingly, not really because of what Kyle did, but because of what I did.
After the incident, I pushed Asher away, and it’s killing me.
It’s wrecked me in a way Kyle never could.
Kyle’s actions hurt me, both emotionally and physically, but at the same time, they didn’t really surprise me.
The extreme lengths he went to may have surprised me, but the malice behind them didn’t.
Now, I just want to move forward. I want to push out my statement, wade through the PR nightmare, and move on until I have to face him in court. Kyle means less than nothing to me, and at this point, I don’t care about him or our past. He’s just a problem to be resolved.
But losing Asher is a gaping wound that feels like it’s shredding me from the inside out.
I miss him.
I ache for him.
And I’m a fucking mess without him.
I wipe away a stray tear and blink like my life depends on it to keep the rest of my tears at bay.
No more. No one knows about the distance between Asher and me, and I need to keep it that way.
We’re still obligated to put on a show for the world as part of restoring his PR image, so I can’t let anyone, even my coworkers, see the cracks in my facade.
I have to pull myself together and get shit done.
I force myself to think of anything but Asher as I get ready, and with every stroke of makeup, I feel slightly better. I watch the bruises on my face fade. I see my ashen complexion awaken with some color. My eyes finally look less haunted.
I can do this.
I can go into the office and do my job—I just need to avoid Asher while I do so. That way no one will realize I’m broken and half-dead inside, and eventually the pain of pushing Asher away won’t feel like a red-hot poker to the chest.
I finish getting ready and head downstairs.
The penthouse is empty, and as I make my way to the kitchen, the vastness of the penthouse hits me like a brick, freezing me in place.
A shiver of unease slithers down my spine as the silence of the massive, empty space, consumes me.
It feels both expansive and oppressive, but mostly, it feels all wrong.
Just like the situation with Asher, but the problem is, I don’t know how to make it right.
Instead of heading to the empty kitchen, I turn in the opposite direction, toward the security apartment near the gym. I knock on the door.
“Ms. Hale?” Waters asks, opening the door.
“I’m ready to head into the office.”
His brows lift in surprise. “I didn’t think you were going into the office.”
“That’s what Asher probably assumed, but I need to go in.”
Waters nods. “Give me a minute.”
I clench my jaw as he radios to Asher’s security to inform them of the change of plans.
Of course they’ll inform him of this. I won’t be surprised if they inform Asher of every move I make for the foreseeable future.
I was already heavily monitored by security before the incident, and now it’s going to be worse.
The only reason Kyle was able to corner me was because I went out without security, and Asher is still furious over that.
I can’t blame him exactly, I’m furious with myself too, but now I worry that I won’t even be able to take a breath without it being reported back to Asher.
He has issues with security from something that happened to him when he was a kid, and I’ve unintentionally brought up every one of those fears.
“Give us thirty minutes, Jenkins is on his way,” Waters says to me as he cuts his call.
I nod and head into the kitchen, deciding to ignore the unease of the quiet and try to eat while I wait, even though my appetite is still practically non-existent.
Pierre left some things in the fridge for me.
He’s diligently cooked all the meals; I just haven’t eaten much of them.
I settle for some sliced fruit and heat up a small square of quiche in the microwave.
I just won’t tell Pierre I used the microwave—he’d scold me for sure.
But microwaved or not, the quiche is delicious, even though I’m only partially aware of the taste.
Finally, the whole of my security entourage arrives, and we make our way down to the car to head into the office.
As we drive, I start drafting my statement while simultaneously trying to mentally prepare myself to see Asher in the office. I can do this. I can work a few doors down from Asher. I just need to focus on my work and find ways to avoid him as much as possible.
He might be the CEO of Langford Holdings, but he doesn’t get to call all of the shots.
He doesn’t get to sneak up into my room and slip a ring on my finger to reclaim me like a prize he lost. I miss him like crazy, but until I have some clarity from him, I will keep my distance.
Whether he likes it or not. Whether he agrees to it or not.
And he’s going to learn to respect that.