Chapter 31
BAILEY
After the chaos I had caused moments earlier, Ashton pulled me away from the club, ushered me into his Porsche, and drove off without a word. He stayed silent the entire way while my hands trembled. Eventually, we ended up at his place.
“Stay here,” Ashton said as he led me to one of his luxurious leather sofas. “I think I have a pack of meat stashed somewhere in the fridge.”
He left me there and headed toward his open concept kitchen.
While waiting, I took in my surroundings, impressed by the industrial elegance of his spacious two story apartment in the heart of town.
The building was old, yet it had been remodeled with impeccable taste, preserving its raw, aesthetic charm.
Exposed brick walls met sleek steel beams, and massive floor to ceiling windows flooded the space with sunlight, illuminating polished hardwood floors that echoed softly with every step.
The living area felt open and airy, anchored by a deep chocolate brown leather sofa and a glass top coffee table framed in minimalist steel.
A thick neutral toned rug softened the space beneath it.
Across the room, a low bookshelf held a mix of art books and magazines, interspersed with framed photos, some of Ashton alone, others of him with friends.
A few small potted plants added warmth, their greenery contrasting with the industrial palette.
The kitchen, just a few steps away, was sleek and modern, featuring a long stone island and high end appliances glinting beneath pendant lights.
A discreet wine rack tucked into a corner hinted at quiet evenings spent alone, or perhaps with someone he trusted.
Everything felt intentional. Nothing cluttered. Nothing out of place.
Even the staircase leading to the second floor made a statement.
Dark metal rails and wooden steps appeared to float, leading to lofted bedrooms and possibly a study, all open enough to catch the afternoon light.
Everything about the space reflected him, controlled, sophisticated, effortlessly stylish, yet quietly inviting if you knew where to look.
I sank into the sofa, letting the weight of the space and the quiet hum of the city outside settle around me.
For a moment, I imagined how many times Lynda had been here, curled up in front of the massive fireplace while Ashton lounged nearby in a lazy chair, a book in one hand and a cup of coffee in the other, completely at ease.
“Show me your hand.”
I startled, dragged out of my thoughts as Ashton returned with a pack of frozen meat. I held out my hand, and he studied my knuckles. They were already red and swollen. A sharp sting flared as the cold pressed against my skin, and I swallowed.
“How do you know how to punch like that?” he asked, holding the pack there with careful pressure.
“I took a kickboxing class last year,” I said. “Only a few sessions before I quit. Maybe it stuck.” I sighed. “Or maybe it’s a sign I should sign up again. It’s clearly useful.”
He hummed thoughtfully. “You do have a temper, Bailey. I would recommend anger management instead.”
I glared at him. “Very funny.”
“I’m serious,” he said calmly. “This is the second time you’ve acted recklessly. Punching someone in public, with that many witnesses, won’t look good.”
“Oh my gosh.” Panic crept in. “You’re right. I didn’t even think about that.”
Memories flashed through my mind. Police lights. A warning. The thin line between lucky and not.
“What should I do now?” I asked, my voice tight. “What if they report it?”
Ashton paused, then said casually, “Well… I could always offer the witnesses something. A few years of complimentary club membership might help them forget.”
I stared at him. “You’d do that?”
He waited just long enough for hope to flicker across my face. Then he smirked.
“No,” he said flatly. “That’s bribery. And I don’t do that.”
My face burned. “Oh my God. I can’t believe I almost agreed to that.”
He shook his head, something almost amused in his eyes as he pressed the ice pack back into place.
“Worst case,” he said, “statements are made. Best case, everyone wants to forget it happened.”
“Right,” I muttered, a sinking feeling settling in my chest. With a stunt like that, I doubted anyone would forget.
“Well,” I said, forcing a casual shrug, “at least you’ve got something for your side if you ever need leverage in a custody battle. I practically handed you proof that I’m not exactly Mother of the Year.”
My tone was light, almost teasing.
But Ashton stopped.
He looked at me steadily, his blue eyes intense. “I would never do that. We’re a team, remember?”
The weight of his words nearly undid me. Almost. Our faces were close enough that I caught his gaze flicking to my lips, and on impulse, I licked them.
Ashton tensed instantly, his expression hardening.
The moment shattered when his phone rang, making me jump. He sighed, clearly irritated by the interruption.
“Who could that be?” I asked, suddenly awkward.
“Probably my mother,” he said, answering the call. “I just left her a message. I need a backup in case Donna presses charges. You’re lucky my mother and Donna’s mother are friends. She’s been helping her with business over the past few years.”
“Oh.” I was momentarily speechless. I had never imagined his mother would step in to help me, given how little we knew each other.
Ashton gestured for me to stay put and walked away to talk, leaving me on the sofa, my heart still pounding from the closeness we had just shared.
A few moments later, he returned.
“How’s the hand?” he asked, nodding toward the pack I was still holding against my knuckles.
“Oh… it looks better,” I said. It did, even though a dull ache remained.
“That’s good.” He took the pack from me and headed toward the kitchen.
Instead of putting it away, he pulled out a pan, a few onions, some spices, and a cutting board.
It looked like I was about to have an early dinner at his place.