Chapter 8
ASHER
Just as everyone moves to disperse, the waitstaff brings two trays of cocktails.
“On the house,” one of the servers says.
“That’s not necessary,” I insist. “All costs for the table will be taken care of.” Matthew takes that as his cue to settle up with the club. He’ll make sure everything gets paid for.
The team is all smiles as they try out a variety of drinks.
“Ooh, this one is delicious,” Ella says. “I’ve never had that before.”
“What is it?” Emily asks.
“I don’t know, something tropical. It’s strong, though.” Then she swears and puts the drink down. Emily gives her a quizzical look. “I didn’t have time to eat dinner after the gym. So that hit fast, and I’m a lightweight as it is. One and done for me.”
She slides out from the booth and follows the others to the dance floor.
The loss of her presence next to me gives me a twinge of unease.
Ella may have made a bumbling entrance into our meeting yesterday, but since then, I’ve come to see her as not only a major asset to the team, but as a sort of .
. . comfort, maybe? She has a calming presence and an astute mind that helps to steady me.
Because as insane as this fucking charade is, I know it will work much better with a good team behind me.
And as of now, the only worthwhile members of the team are Matthew, Emily, and Ella.
My eyes track her as she makes her way to the staircase, and I’m no longer just thinking about what a good employee she is.
Because that fucking dress almost looks painted on.
And her ass is swaying in it.
And all I could think about, sitting next to her in the car on the way here, was how much I wanted to see what lies beneath that dress. Because that dress gives all the hints, and dammit if I don’t want to go exploring.
Fuck.
I should not be thinking the thoughts I’m thinking about her. And I shouldn’t have so blatantly checked her out when we pulled up to the club. She’s my employee for Christ’s sake.
I like her near me because she’s a valuable member of my team, I reiterate to myself.
Not because I’m attracted to her.
Problem is, both are true. I need to get my shit together.
I slide to the edge of the booth now that I’m alone. It’s time to focus on the task at hand, no matter how much I’m dreading it. From this position I have a good view of both the first and second floors, and I sip my scotch as I scan over the crowd to see if any women catch my eye.
The atmosphere of the club is electric. Pulsing colored lights skitter across hundreds of swaying, writhing bodies moving in time with the music, and yet none of that electricity seems to be able to reach me.
There are many beautiful women here, but I give none of them a second look.
Is it because there’s another woman in a little black dress on my mind tonight or because I just can’t seem to find any enthusiasm while I feel like an ass watching my employees hunt for potential fake girlfriends for me?
I sigh to myself. It’s both. It’s fucking both.
Once upon a time I loved this type of atmosphere, and I loved being on the prowl for women.
Now it’s become a chore. Is that what happens when you hit your mid-thirties?
You get old and boring? It’s not that I don’t like to have a good time, I clearly do, or I wouldn’t be in this mess.
But what I am beginning to tire of is the falseness of it.
The vapid, empty people putting up their facades only to have them come crashing down later.
And in my case, that crash may potentially cost me hundreds of millions if I can’t make this project work.
How the mighty has fallen.
Within minutes, I notice that packs of women seem to be not-so-surreptitiously passing my table. They shoot me flirty looks and sexy smiles and make sure their tits are pressed out for me to notice.
So, word has obviously gotten out that I’m here.
I slip back deeper into the booth and pull the privacy curtains halfway closed.
I don’t shut myself in, but I do create more shadows that I can sink into so that it’s at least harder to tell that it’s me sitting in here alone.
Robert, my bodyguard, is standing near the booth, but not right outside of it so that he doesn’t immediately clue someone in that I’m here.
A bodyguard can be a double-edged sword in these types of situations.
I’m required to have one by my family’s policies for my protection.
But when women notice a man who has a bodyguard, their curiosity piques, and it sometimes ends up attracting more attention.
Where is Matthew? I need him to be my buffer.
Or my bouncer. He’ll send women he knows I won’t like off in a flash.
When it comes to women, Robert and I are much more diplomatic and have a harder time getting them to back off.
Matthew is not rude, but he’s brutally honest if he needs to be, which often sends women scurrying away.
I take a long draw of scotch. I’m here to meet women, I keep reminding myself.
I shouldn’t be annoyed that they’re circling my booth like sharks.
But whether it’s my age, the tabloids, or just the fact that I’ve been playing this game for twenty years now, I’m just .
. . tired. I’m tired of being a prize. I’m tired of being ogled, and I sure as shit never thought I’d ever feel like that.
This latest tabloid fodder seems to have turned on some sort of defensive self-preservation in me.
It’s hit me hard in the last two days that I really am like an animal in a zoo sometimes.
Josh swings by the booth with a beautiful brunette woman. Her smile and eyes light up when she sees me.
“This is Chloe,” Josh says, ushering her into the booth. She scoots next to me, and then he leaves.
“Hi,” Chloe says, bright and excited.
“Hello,” I say with as much enthusiasm as I can muster.
“So, you’re the Asher Langford? Like, the billionaire?”
“The one and only,” I answer, deadpan.
“Wow. I can’t believe I’m meeting you!”
I take another long drink of my scotch.
The conversation struggles on without much help from me.
Chloe’s bouncing energy and inane questions only drag simple, often one word answers out of me.
Soon, Emily is back with another woman in tow.
She tactfully draws Chloe away, who is very reluctant to leave, by telling her that I have some business to discuss.
She jots down Chloe’s number, and Chloe squeezes my bicep and presses her breasts as near to my face as possible without it being considered sexual assault, before she reluctantly leaves the booth, walking away with an exaggerated sway in her hips.
The second woman’s name is Rachel. She has dark blond hair, and she is, in fact, a kindergarten teacher.
Exactly like something we wanted. She’s pretty, but not stunning, and I hate myself for tallying her like she’s a character card in a game.
The conversation with Rachel is a little stronger, but I still feel nothing but obligation at speaking to her.
Finally, I excuse myself as politely as I can in my surly mood, and slide out from the booth.
“Are you okay?” Emily asks, brows raised.
“I’m struggling to get in the right headspace for tonight,” I admit. “I didn’t think through how awkward and annoying it would be to have my employees provide some weird version of speed dating for me. I’m going to run to the restroom.”
I make my way through a throng of women, and some men, who have not so subtly migrated up to the second floor near my booth. Several women brush my arm or unabashedly step in my way to get my attention. I politely but firmly push past them and head into the bathroom.
The bathroom is divided into two rooms since this is a high-end club.
Through the doors, but outside the actual bathroom, is a dark sitting room with couches.
I sit down on one of the couches and let out a long breath.
What the fuck am I doing? Should I just call Lillian?
Surely that is an easier choice than this.
But then the thought of calling her fills me with nothing but dread.
I don’t want to do this charade with Lillian.
But I also don’t want to do this charade with any of the women I’ve seen here tonight.
Maybe I’ll just call it a night. The team can stay and party, but I’ll go. If they find anyone worthwhile, we can discuss them in the morning. I’m done. I huff out a dry laugh. Two women, and I’m done.
What a little bitch I am tonight.
I hurry back to the booth, dodging women and curious stares, and I’m relieved to find that Matthew is finally back.
“I think I’m done,” I say, as soon as I drop onto the bench near him. “This isn’t working.”
He raises his brows, clearly surprised by me, which is rare for the pair of us.
“How so?”
I scan my eyes over the crowd again as I answer. “The women I’ve met so far just aren’t working.” I spot several members of the team here and there, dancing and laughing and having a good time.
“You’ve met two,” Matthew says, rolling his eyes.
“Yes, well, I don’t want to meet any more. I forgot how much I hate the dating scene.”
I look over the club again, and within seconds I spot Ella down on the first floor, as if my eyes are somehow trained to find her. She’s surrounded by a group of women she seems to know, and they’re all hugging and greeting one another.
“If I may, Asher. I think there is a very obvious answer right in front of us.”
I look back at Matthew, not sure what he means.