Chapter 21 Ella
ELLA
Four days later, Asher takes my hand in his as we make our way up a walkway to a massive mansion in the Hamptons for Memorial Day weekend.
Cameras flash from across the street, and Asher swears under his breath.
The publicity hasn’t died down yet, and we have been followed more aggressively than normal since the symphony.
At least four paparazzi vehicles tailed us from the airport to the Langfords’ Hampton home, and now more vehicles follow us as we head to the afternoon garden party at the Vanderholts’ summer residence, which like the Langfords’, it’s a monstrosity of a mansion on the beach.
This weekend is one of the biggest draws of New York society, and the who’s who of the elite will be here attending each other’s parties all weekend.
But apparently, paparazzi being present isn’t normal, and it’s making Asher tense.
“Ella!” I hear my name shouted repeatedly.
“Look this way!”
“Give us a smile!”
“Asher! Turn and give us a pose with Ella!”
“Fucking vultures,” Asher growls. “Why aren’t the police here yet?”
He’s called them; we’ll see what happens.
I have no idea if the paparazzi parking on the street is illegal or not, but it’s pissed off Asher enough that he wants the police involved.
Other guests attending the party all shoot us loaded looks—as if we invited the paparazzi—as we all head down a path that leads to the back of the house.
I try to push the paparazzi’s presence from my mind and mentally run through the list of guests, trying to match it to the people giving me dirty looks.
Heather put together a binder for the weekend; a list of the suspected guests along with their photos, companies, positions, and various accomplishments.
I’ve been studying it like crazy for the last two days.
And I’m pretty sure Trenton McMillan and his wife Aster are the uptight older couple looking at me like I’m a disease.
But I could be wrong. I let out a nervous breath.
“No need to be nervous,” Asher says, reading me. He squeezes my hand.
“Easy for you to say, you’re used to this. This is the first time I’ll be spending more than an evening with the people of your social circle. I need to be on my game, and the paparazzi’s attention isn’t helping.”
“I’ll get them taken care of. And don’t worry about the people at these parties. They may give you disapproving looks or make their usual thinly veiled insulting comments, but no one will dare say anything outright cruel to you.”
“And why is that?”
“Because you’re here with me, and I own most of their companies.
They may be the CEOs of those companies, and they may run them, but Langford Holdings is the conglomerate that owns them.
I don’t interfere with how they run their companies as long as they’re profitable and running well, so it’s sometimes easy for them to forget that I’m there, but I don’t forget.
I own almost all of these fuckers, and if they say anything out of line to or about you, they’ll be very sorry indeed. ”
“The Lions of New York,” I say, nudging him in the side.
He nods. “The kings.”
We make it to the path and follow it around to the back of the home where tents are set up and a quartet plays a lovely Chopin song that I can’t remember the name of.
“Welcome, Asher,” a woman in what looks to be her early sixties says, greeting us as we enter the grassy tented area. She’s impeccably dressed in a linen summer suit and a large-brimmed sun hat. She gives Asher two quick pecking air-kisses along his cheeks. “It’s been too long.”
“It has. Elaine, let me introduce you to my girlfriend, Ella Hale. Ella, this is Elaine Vanderholt.”
“How lovely to meet you,” Elaine says, wrapping me in a bony half-hug. “You’ve been the talk of the town; we’re all quite excited to meet the girl who tamed Asher Langford.”
“A pleasure,” I say, not responding to the taming comment.
Why is it that so many of the people I meet with Asher all say something similar?
I know he had a reputation for being a raging bachelor and ladies’ man, but good hell, they all describe him as some feral mustang that has been broken or something. “Your home is lovely.”
“You’re too kind. I had hoped the renovations would be completed by now, but we had several delays on materials. So, we’ll keep the party on the grounds only this year. Come.”
She leads us to the backyard that overlooks the ocean.
“Wow,” I breathe, taking it in.
The grounds are immaculate in a way that is gorgeous, but also at odds with the grassy beach beyond them.
Brick paths wind through the perfectly cut green grass.
The gardens burst with vibrant flowers, bushes, and trees that all work in together in a carefully crafted way.
It’s beautiful, no doubt. But somehow, at least to me, the natural state of the white sand and the craggy mounds of grass touching the edge of the ocean is much more appealing.
I tear my eyes away from the view as we enter a massive tent set up at the left-hand side of the yard.
The cream fabric and honey-colored wood make for a lovely enclosure, and inside, four long tables are set with probably a hundred place settings and decorated with gorgeous summer flower arrangements.
We must be fashionably late because as soon as we’re in the tent, Elaine and her husband, Ronald, I remember from my binder, take to the front of the tent and welcome everyone.
A few moments later, we’re all settled in our seats, and I let out a little breath of relief.
We’re seated with Asher’s family, and even Sterling has flown in for the weekend’s festivities, so at least the people directly to the sides and opposite me are people who like me.
Elaine and Ronald give little welcoming speeches, and then the luncheon is served.
“You’ll be happy to note that Lennox Rose Group is thrilled with our new business relationship,” Sterling says to Asher.
“The transition has started smoothly. We have a ways to go of course, but so far, so good. And they’re reporting record profits for many of their companies due to the influx of sales from Ella’s London tour. ”
“Excellent,” Harrington says.
“Let’s not talk business here,” Catherine says, rolling her eyes. “You’ll all be doing enough of that this weekend.”
The rest of the meal is spent in polite, pleasant chitchat, and I can’t help but wonder as I carefully watch Asher’s family if that wasn’t a little show.
At the mention of Lennox Rose Group, a gentleman to Sterling’s left perked up; he tried to cover it, but I still caught it.
Then, he listened intently to Sterling’s short declaration, and now he looks to be mulling over something while tuning out now that the Langfords are discussing boring, banal topics.
Did Sterling and Catherine do it on purpose or was it a coincidence?
I lean in close to Asher and whisper in his ear. “Am I crazy, or did your mother and Sterling try to bait the man sitting next to Sterling?”
He turns and gives me an approving smile. “Perceptive. And yes. Well done, baby.”
I’ll ask him more about it later; now is obviously not the time, but it’s got me curious.
And it reminds me that this world really is like a jungle, and to stay at the top of the food chain, the Langfords play to win.
But what I’ve come to respect about them is the fact that they play as a family.
At least their immediate family does. One thing I learned from the binder Heather put together on the families attending this weekend is that for most of them, money is everything and family is often a distant second or third priority.
Which isn’t exactly a surprise, but I find it sad that many of the people here married for alliances and power and had children primarily to create heirs to their legacy. Genuine love is not their concern.
Yet with the Langfords, it is, and I can’t help but admire them more for it.
I stay quiet throughout the meal, observing how the Langfords interact, and I’m grateful that no one outside of the Langfords makes any attempt to speak to me.
After all the craziness of the last few weeks, and the other engagements we have planned for this weekend, it’s nice to sit with my thoughts and not have to engage much.
Although Asher whispers sweet dirty nothings into my ear at regular intervals, so that keeps me on my toes.
Toward the end of the meal, I get several texts, one after another.
I try to ignore them, but after a while, curiosity gets the better of me, and I pull my phone out of my clutch.
Matthew and Emily have both sent me a string of articles with my name on them.
I click on a link and my stomach drops as I read the first headline.
“Ella Hale’s Sordid Past as a Stripper”
What?
Below the headline is a picture of me in a cropped black dance top, short dance shorts, and knee-high black boots.
My hair is down, but the picture is an action shot, so my hair is frozen in a flipping motion.
I skim the article, growing red and frustrated as it describes me as a poor woman struggling in the jungles of New York who turned to stripping to make ends meet.
Then it goes on to describe how I’ve given up my stripping days now that I’ve landed myself the Lion of New York and will never want for anything—but only if I can keep the shame of my past a secret from Asher.
What a load of shit.
I click on the link in the middle of the article, and it takes me to a video. Ten seconds in, I groan.
Fuck.