Chapter 22 Ella
ELLA
The hair and makeup team arrives at Asher’s penthouse just as I’m finishing up my lunch. Matthew marches in with them with purpose in his step, his eyes expectant as he looks at me.
I nod at him, blushing. I hope it conveys enough.
He gives me a sly smile. “I want to hear all about it,” he whispers, passing by me to help set up the beauty station in the empty space between the kitchen table and the living room.
“I don’t kiss and tell.”
“You do with me!”
I snort.
In truth, I’ve felt a little like an un-moored boat today.
Asher was gone before I woke up, and he didn’t respond to either of my texts this morning.
I texted him good morning and an hour later asked how he was, but it’s been nothing but silence from him.
I hope he’s okay. And now I’m worried again about where we stand.
He obviously didn’t want to take things so far last night, but once we started, it was too hard to stop.
I would say it’s because we’re only human, after all, but this felt like more than that.
It felt like a loaded force that pulled us together and couldn’t be fought.
And it seemed like Asher enjoyed himself, but who knows what was going through his head?
I haven’t stopped worrying about it all morning.
Even through my fittings for wardrobe staples, I couldn’t shake off the worry over why Asher had disappeared without a word.
I try to wrangle my thoughts as the hair and makeup team get to work.
“Your skin is divine. Tell me about your skincare routine,” Trenton, my makeup artist, asks as he applies my skin prep moisturizers.
Matthew scoffs. “Don’t ask. The fact that she has skin like she does is a gift from God alone. You would cry if you saw the products that I threw out yesterday.”
“Yeah, dick move by the way.”
“No, darling. Bestie move. You’ll thank me in ten years.”
“I don’t even know what to do with all the new products.”
“I can take a look at them and put a skincare routine together for you,” Trenton offers. He’s sweet and quiet and makes for a calm presence compared to the firecracker that is Matthew.
“That would be amazing, thank you.”
“We should also get you booked for some facials and other skin procedures. If you’re going to be in the spotlight, you’ll want to give your skin its best chance to shine.”
“On it!” Matthew calls from the couch. “Also, Andre, we need to get her in for a trim and a color, her roots are starting to show.”
“Yes,” Andre agrees, brushing my hair. “And we need to fix this cut. Her layers are too heavy at the bottom. She isn’t getting enough movement.”
“Matthew also threw out all my old hair care products,” I tell him.
“Good. You must give your hair proper care and attention if you want optimal results. And from here on out, I don’t want you going to any other hair salons or using any products not approved of by me.” His voice is almost as bossy and authoritative as Matthew’s.
I giggle and salute him. “You got it.”
As the team works, I find myself mulling over the enigma of having less autonomy with money.
Two weeks ago, no one cared what salon I went to or what products I used on my face.
Now, I have a team of people ordering me around and dictating what to use and when and how to use it.
The stubborn part of me struggles with not giving any push back.
But then I remind myself that this team of people are all here to help me, and they have my best interests in mind.
As ridiculous as it is, the public scrutiny is not worth my pride.
Having people involved in intimate facets of my life is something I’m going to have to come to grips with and get used to.
At least I’m being paid a lot of money for it.
Speaking of . . .
I open the banking app on my phone. My first payment was supposed to drop today, and I’ve been so busy that I haven’t checked. I hold my breath while the page loads.
My stomach drops.
Deposit, $1,000,000.
My hands start to shake, and I nearly drop my phone.
HOLY. SHIT.
I know I signed the contract. I knew this was coming. But seeing it is almost unbelievable.
“Why are you crying?” Trenton asks.
“Sorry! I was just surprised by something. Did I mess you up?”
“No, we’re good. I’ve only done brows, but you for sure can’t cry when I work on your eyes.”
“I won’t. I promise.”
I dab away my few tears and click into my bank transfers. I have past wire transfers saved, and so I go into each of them and transfer money. A chunk to Maya, a chunk to my mother, and a nice quadruple rent payment plus a generous bonus thank you to Zahra.
The rest of my time in the hair and makeup chair is nothing but fun and excitement after the amazing surprise of my first payment.
Really, truly, the worries I had over my mom, Maya, and Zahra are now all suddenly gone.
My mom can pay off her house on Monday. Maya will want for nothing for the remainder of her time at school, and Zahra deserves every penny for being the best friend in the world and taking me in when I was in need.
This makes all of the crazy of this situation worth it.
An hour later, Katya, my new stylist, preps the gown and gives me some sort of sticky bra since the dress is backless.
She does a couple last minute alterations to make it fit perfectly, and then I’m standing in front of a full-length mirror hardly recognizing myself.
The team is magic. My hair is down, shining in loose romantic curls, and swept to the side with beautiful pins to keep it off my back, since the backless cutout is the signature of the dress.
My makeup is complimenting shades of plum and rose to match the dress.
And the teardrop earrings, nude heels, and clutch purse Katya brought to round out the look are all gorgeous.
“Thank you,” I say to the team. “You guys are amazing!”
“Now, remember the instructions Rhonda gave you,” Matthew says from behind me. “You’ve got to work that dress on the red carpet.” He leans in close so the team can’t hear. “And don’t forget you owe me some Friday night tea.”
“Absolutely not.”
“You’re no fun.”
“I’m not going to go into details, but . . . yes, a connection was made.”
Matthew lets out a dramatic sigh. “At least there’s that. Even if you’re holding out on me.”
The front door closes, and Matthew whips his attention away from me. “You’re cutting it pretty damn close,” he grumbles at Asher as he steps into the living room space. “We have to leave in fifteen minutes. Hurry and go shower!”
Asher gives the team a quiet greeting, but doesn’t spare me a glance as he makes his way past us and into his bedroom. My high of a moment ago deflates. Asher’s ghosted me all day, and now he’s just ignored me again. Am I being paranoid? Or has he just been busy today?
Matthew’s sharp eyes miss nothing, and he raises his brow at me. I shrug as my stomach knots. I have no idea what is going on with Asher.
Fifteen minutes later—it’s really not fair that Asher is ready and looking impeccable in that time—we’re ready.
“Okay, one last check before we go,” Matthew says. “Asher, Ella, stand together like you practiced last night.”
Asher’s jaw is tight as we make our way toward one another in the foyer. He slips his hand around my waist, and I wrap my hand around his back and side.
“Gorgeous,” Katya says. “The two of you are stunning together.”
“Yes,” Matthew agrees. “But remember. Warm. Comfortable. I know this is new for you, Ella, and it’s your first official outing as a couple, so it’s going to feel strange, but we can’t see that. Asher, stop being so stiff. You’re acting like you’ve never done this before.”
I let out a nervous breath and try to relax more into Asher’s side. I can do this. I spent most of my life under the glaring lights of a stage, acting and pretending, telling stories with my body through dance. I can stand on a fucking red carpet and look like I belong there.
But it’s hard when the energy next to me is cold and uncomfortable.
“Are you okay?” I whisper to Asher.
“Fine.”
“Let’s go,” Matthew says, rolling his eyes.
“I’m not going to ask about last night,” Matthew hisses as we near the venue. We’re all in the back of the big black car, sitting in a strained silence as we have for the thirty-minute ride here. “But clearly whatever went on between the two of you wasn’t enough.”
“I’m not giving you a fucking play by play,” Asher snaps at him.
I stare out the window feeling like an idiot.
I felt like we had connected last night.
The Asher I was with last night was warm and comfortable.
Playful, even. The Asher from last night made me feel safe in his arms, and like we had enough chemistry, enough basic regard for one another, to make this work.
But the Asher of today is a different story.
It’s like a goddamn switch flipped, and all the light of last night has been plunged into darkness.
And I have no idea why.
“Do we need to do some shots, then?” Matthew asks.
Asher sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose with his thumb and index finger. “Fine.”
“Wonderful,” Matthew says, his voice dripping in sarcasm.
He presses a button on the car door. A hidden compartment I had no idea existed, pops open, and there are two bottles of liquor held in place by a netting wrap.
“Whiskey or vodka?” he asks me as he’s already filling a shot glass of whiskey for Asher, no need to ask him his preference.
“Vodka.” I don’t really like either choice, but I’m so unsure, now bordering on annoyed with Asher, that I’m feeling childish and don’t even want to drink the same drink as him.
I take the shot and grimace at the burn, then hand the glass back to Matthew.
I’m a lightweight through and through, and I probably shouldn’t have even had a full shot.
Asher takes another shot of whiskey, and Matthew is just packing it all back away as the flashing of cameras starts to hit the car.