Chapter 13 Asher #2
She wraps her arms around herself, and takes a long breath. I can see she’s overwhelmed. I can’t blame her.
“I’ll let you have a minute. I’ll text you when dinner’s ready.”
Twenty minutes later, Ella’s eyes practically roll back into her head as she takes a bite of her dinner. The chef made Boeuf Bourguignon, one of my favorites, and Ella seems to appreciate it as well.
“This is incredible,” she says through a sigh.
I chuckle as I pour myself a second glass of wine.
I’m finally feeling a little more like myself.
I’m used to stressful days, but stressful days at work rarely include emotional upheaval.
Business is business, and emotions are separate.
That is the way I operate. It’s one of the reasons I’m so successful.
But I couldn’t avoid emotions today. Not when guilt and unease snaked through me with each one of Ella’s signatures on our contract, with every addendum that now affects her life.
Not when I understand the price wealth and fame can bring.
The anniversary of my grandfather’s passing is in five months.
And on that day, I’ll relive it while I hide behind smiles and lies.
Even twenty-five years later, my family doesn’t want the truth known.
And I agree with them. If people knew what really happened that day, they might get ideas.
It could repeat. And now Ella is pulled into the sphere of my family, our influence, and the attention of the public.
And it’s all my fault.
I take a long drink of wine and shake my maudlin thoughts away. What’s done is done. I can’t change it. All I can do is make sure I get it all right.
Ella’s phone pings again and again. “Sorry,” she says, silencing it. “Emily is texting me. We just need to finalize a few things before tomorrow’s meeting. We want to make sure our boss is very pleased with our efforts,” she adds with a smirk.
Her teasing tone lightens my mood and I find myself wanting to play along.
“Is this boss difficult to please?”
“Always. Especially if you’re late to work.”
“I can’t help but agree with him, there. Lateness can’t be tolerated.”
“Well, there were strong extenuating circumstances that led to the lateness, but the tyrant didn’t want to hear about it.”
“Hmm. He sounds like someone I’d like.”
“I’ve no doubt about that.”
She laughs quietly, and the sound of it warms my blood. I don’t mind this flirting with Ms. Hale, not at all. But I rein it back, reminding myself that this is a business arrangement. The lines need to stay clear.
“Anything specific you’re trying to get right for the meeting? You could always bounce some ideas off me now.”
She takes a long drink of her own wine. “I don’t think so. We had a strong strategy underway already, we just had to flip some things around now that I’m the . . . fake girlfriend, or whatever we call it.”
“Let’s just call it girlfriend.”
She frowns. “Even when it’s just us? It’s weird for me to say girlfriend when I’m not actually your girlfriend. If I’m in front of people, that’s fine, I can pretend. But when we’re alone? It feels wrong to keep speaking the lie.”
“I don’t want to get in the habit of saying ‘fake girlfriend.’ One of us could say it at the wrong time and accidentally sabotage ourselves.”
“This is all so complicated,” she says with a sigh.
“Then let’s simplify it. Reduce it down to the elementary level. You’re a girl, and we are friends. Therefore, you are my girlfriend,” I tease.
She snorts.
“Would it be helpful if I asked you to be my girlfriend with a note? You could check the ‘yes’ or ‘no’ box.”
She lets out a laugh. “I think I signed your note today. It was twenty-five pages long and required several lawyers, witnesses, and a notary.”
Now I bellow out a laugh. So much for not flirting.
“Okay, in all seriousness, what if we think about it this way? What if we think of each other as boyfriend and girlfriend, but it’s a platonic relationship?
It’s still a relationship, but without romance involved.
We’re like an old married couple who’ve been together so long there’s no spark, no romance left.
I’ve heard plenty of married couples complain that their relationship with their spouse is like a glorified roommate they share kids with. ”
“Oh, god,” she groans. “So, it’s like I missed all the fun times of life and skipped straight ahead to the old boring ones.”
“We can still have a lot of fun.”
“Just not the fun, fun kind.”
I raise my brows.
“Speaking of that,” she says, shifting uncomfortably in her chair, “the clause about no outside relationships.”
“Yes?”
“This arrangement is a long one.”
“Yes.”
“Are you seriously not getting where I’m going with this?” she says, sounding exasperated or possibly embarrassed. “I have a hard time believing you’re just going to suddenly turn into a monk for months on end. Are you planning to have women on the side to . . . fulfill those needs?”
“I also signed the clause that stated I wouldn’t.”
“So, we both just go without sex for what, six months? A year? The only thing that wasn’t firm in that contract was the actual end date.”
“We can’t predict the length of time. We’ll cut it off when it’s served its purpose.”
“Yes, and in the meantime, we live in this penthouse like we’re an old married couple with no interest in sex. Except that we’re not an old married couple. How is that supposed to work?”
I take a long drink, a little off kilter, and a lot turned on, by the direction of Ella’s questions. I’ve tried very hard all day to keep my thoughts about her clean, and here she is, asking about sex. Fuck.
But I can’t go there with her.
I choose my words carefully as I answer her question. “I have a contact that could be of help to us. If we reach a point where either of us is in . . . need, this contact can provide for that need.”
She furrows her brows and sets down her glass. “Explain.”
“It’s exactly as I said. I have a contact that works with highly sought after professionals to meet the needs of wealthy men and women. It’s not as strange as it may seem, at least not in my world.”
She’s silent for a moment. Then she looks disgusted. “So, if I have needs, I, what? Just let you know so you can contact some sort of pimp or call service to send someone over?”
“It’s not some dirty operation.” My tone is tight and defensive.
“And how do we make sure my good-time-lay doesn’t talk? More NDAs?”
“The men and women who work there are very professional and are aware they have to sign NDAs. They do it regularly.”
“Lovely. So I can get an STI from a high-class call boy because he’s used to signing NDAs.”
“You wouldn’t get an STI.” I take another drink of wine, annoyed.
She rolls her eyes. “I’m so glad you feel confident enough to guarantee that. Unlike you, I’m not used to sleeping with whoever comes along.”
A flash of anger burns through me. “I may have slept around, but it’s not like I just fuck anyone, anytime. I do have boundaries.”
“Well I’m certainly not going to pay someone to fuck me.”
“You wouldn’t,” I sneer. “I’d be paying them.”
Her eyes could cut with the glare she sends my way.
“I’m doing everything to make this as easy as I can for you,” I grit out. “But if you think you can have some side boyfriend, you’re very, very wrong. It would ruin everything. Plus, I don’t share what’s mine.”
“I’m not yours,” she hisses. “This is not a relationship. This is a contract—a job—only.”
She stands up from the table and tosses her napkin down.
“You don’t want to stay for dessert?” I say in a scathing tone.
“Oh, no. I have work to do, remember? And I’m going to make sure it’s perfect.
Because the better the strategy, the faster this facade will do its job.
Which means the faster it will end. I’ll give you your media frenzy, and then I’m getting out of here.
” She turns and climbs the staircase without a backward glance.
Fuck.
Fuck, almighty.
It’s the first night, and we’re already in a fight. Five minutes ago we were laughing and teasing—flirting. And now this. This is the second biggest reason I don’t do relationships. They’re too much drama and too much hassle. And now I’m contractually obligated to stay in it.
But right now, I can’t help but agree with Ella. The faster we make this work, the faster we can both be free.