Chapter 22 Ella #2
Asher is out of the car first, and reaches back for me. I take his hand and slide out, not meeting his eyes. I don’t want to know what’s going on there. I don’t want to know why he’s so upset. At this point, I just want to get this night over with.
But as the cameras flash my way, I fake it like the goddamn professional I am.
I smile at the paparazzi and follow along after Asher.
We stand together and pose several times, and I do my best to look and feel comfortable—like I’m always wrapped into his side, like his hands on the bare skin of my lower back is nothing new, like my hands are always on the hard planes of his back and abdomen.
The photographers shout over one another.
“Ella! Here!”
“Ella! How about over the shoulder!”
“Ella! A solo shot!”
“Mr. Langford! Whisper in her ear!”
“Can we get a kiss?!”
Asher pointedly ignores all of their instructions as if it’s all beneath him.
Which it probably is. I’ve learned quickly that he doesn’t do anything he doesn’t want to—unless his own board threatens to take hundreds of millions of dollars away from him, and even then, he only agrees with dozens of stipulations in place and threats of his own.
Asher still hasn’t said a word to me by the time we make it into the event, and it looks like he doesn’t plan to change that as he silently takes my hand and starts to lead me to our table.
We’re one of the last guests to arrive, so the room is already full of mingling people, holding champagne flutes and tumblers of liquor.
Many of them turn to look at us, curious.
“Mr. Langford,” a gentleman says, sidling up to us.
“Wilkins,” Asher says with a curt nod.
“My wife and I were just discussing this happy turn of events. She worries about you, you know.” He turns and gives me a wide smile. “What a lovely thing she is, too.”
Do I thank him? He’s kind of creepy.
“It’s kind of your wife to keep my welfare in her thoughts,” Asher says without inflection.
“Jack Wilkins,” the man says to me, extending his hand.
“Ella Hale.” I shake his hand.
“It’s so lovely to meet you.”
“Thank you. You as well.”
“Yes, Asher, my wife and your mother are very close, so she’s heard your mother’s woes over your personal life for years.”
Asher’s glare could cut glass. “Well, hopefully she will now hear nothing but joy out of my mother, who adores Ella.”
“Of course she does. Ella’s a vision. And a dedicated employee of Langford Holdings,” he says with a sly chuckle. “I myself never entertained the office relationship dynamic, but I can see the, ah . . . temptation.” He gives me a wink.
Gross.
“It was nice speaking to you, Wilkins,” Asher says, sounding like this conversation was anything but nice.
He tugs me along, and we’re interrupted a few more times before we make it to our table. Asher repeats the same curt, clipped responses to everyone who stops us, clearly not wanting to engage with anyone.
I’m a bit dizzy from the liquor on an empty stomach and the heels, so I’m grateful when we finally make it to our table.
The MC welcomes everyone, and introduces the entertainment while the first course is served.
Tonight’s gala is geared toward funding music education in local schools, and so several schools have been invited to perform choir and orchestral numbers.
But what has drawn out who’s who of New York’s high society tonight is the celebrities engaged in the project, some of which will be performing as well.
I turn my attention to the performers and pick at my dinner, ignoring Asher’s brooding mood to my left.
The children are adorable, which makes me smile.
And the celebrity performers are incredible.
But none of it cracks the man beside me.
Even under the not-so-veiled scowls Matthew shoots his way, Asher is quiet, distant, and aloof through the entirety of the program.
The tension between us is like a wall of solid ice.
“Can you at least pretend you’re not miserable?” I say in his ear during a round of applause. “Everyone keeps staring. You know what’s at stake tonight.”
He musters a fake smile for all of two seconds then lifts his whiskey back to his mouth, ignoring me again.
What is his problem and what in the hell happened?
All I can come up with is that he regrets this.
Regrets me. And why shouldn’t he? He was supposed to pick a high society woman who already runs in these circles.
I’ve seen enough of those women tonight, directing their feigned boredom toward me, to know that they’re curious about me, but at the same time, thoroughly unimpressed.
I’ve tried to ignore their stares, but it’s hard when they feel like they’re coming from every direction, one after another.
When the program ends, the MC invites everyone to the floor for one proper dance before the DJ comes out and the debauchery of the night commences.
“This is a nice touch for us old folks,” a woman at our table says. She winks at me.
“What is?” I ask.
She and her husband stand up, and he takes her hand, leading her around the table. They stop near me.
“I don’t like to stay once the loud music starts rumbling the building,” she says. I nod and smile. She must be in her eighties. “But I do like to have an old-fashioned dance with my sweetheart before we retire for the evening.”
The symphony starts up a lovely piece of music I don’t recognize, and she and her husband walk to the ballroom floor, then hold each other close as they begin to dance.
“That’s so sweet,” I say, turning to Asher.
He stands and holds out his hand. “We should join the throng.”
Not, Will you dance with me?
I stand without taking his hand, rolling my eyes.
We stand at the edge of the dance floor, and he stiffly takes me in his arms. I almost snort to myself. Awkward prom couple, indeed. I haven’t danced a slow dance like this, with this much stiffness between me and my partner, since I was a teen at prom.
“May I cut in?” a sneering voice asks.
I turn and see Asher’s uncle, Conrad. He’s looking at us with one brow raised, and other people are noticing. Asher lets go of me and steps back.
“Of course,” he says, but his voice and eyes are cold.
Asher’s aunt steps up to dance with him, and I reluctantly step into his uncle’s embrace.
“This has been quite a week for you,” Conrad says in his same, sneering tone. “What has it been like to go from a little nobody PR grunt to New York’s new ‘it girl,’ splashed across the media?”
I bite my tongue before I can lash out a rude answer, and I take a moment to compose an appropriate one.
“It’s been a whirlwind. It’s not something I ever expected.”
“No?”
“No. As you said, on Monday I was just a little PR grunt trying to do my job.”
“And now you’re being hailed as the future Mrs. Asher Langford.”
“I didn’t write those articles.”
He chuckles. “Of course not. But you made sure that you were the one chosen to be in those articles.”
“What are you implying?”
“I’m merely noting that due to your team’s suggestions, you were the candidate Asher selected, when he was supposed to choose one of the more . . . notable New York society women.”
“No one was more surprised by that than I was, I assure you.”
“I highly doubt that.”
“It’s the truth.”
“Then let’s be glad that this is all a ruse and that you are not the actual woman selected to be Asher’s wife. The Langfords don’t marry the rabble. We marry others of our own stature.”
This time, I literally bite my tongue to keep from retorting. The song blessedly ends right after Conrad’s insult, and I tear myself out of his arms like he’s shocked me. I return to Asher’s frosty side, and his aunt gives me another condescending smile.
Matthew walks up to us, blocking out Asher’s aunt and uncle. “We have some more introductions to get through,” he says to Asher. “And you need to get your shit together.”
“I’m not staying for the party,” Asher growls. “Make my excuses.” He reaches out and grips my hand. “Let’s go.”
I yank my hand out of his. “I can walk without you dragging me.”
He narrows his eyes, pissed. But of course he doesn’t speak to me. He just turns and walks away, his phone to his ear, calling for the car. And I follow after him like the obedient dog I am.
Cameras flash again as we make our way back to the car. Photographers shout for one more shot. Asher pointedly ignores them, and I trail behind him.
Once we’re in the car, I sit on the driver’s side, on the opposite bench, and stare out the window.
Asher is on his phone either texting or answering emails, and we sit stiffly, ignoring one another.
And I still have no idea what happened. After about twenty minutes of pointed silence, I’m growing more and more frustrated.
“Did I do something wrong?” I snap, finally breaking the silence.
He looks up at me after a moment, his eyes pulling slowly away from whatever is so riveting on his phone. “What?”
“Did I do something wrong?” I repeat. “You’ve been nothing but rude and cold all night, and I have no idea why.”
He lets out a clipped breath, shutting his eyes for a moment. He reopens them. “No. You did nothing wrong.”
“So, you’ve just been an ass to me for no reason.”
“I made it clear from the beginning that I didn’t want any part of this.”
“So, you’re throwing a tantrum and taking out your frustration with the board on me. Nice.”
“I’m not throwing a fucking tantrum.”
I roll my eyes and look back out the window.
The car pulls into the underground garage of Asher’s building, and the minute it’s parked, I’m out my door.
Andrew dashes, insisting he should get it for me, but I’m already standing.
I thank him and walk to the elevator at a clipped pace.
Asher hurries after me and makes it into the elevator with me just before the doors shut.
I step to the farthest wall opposite him as he punches in the code to his penthouse.
“I’m not throwing a tantrum, Ella,” he growls this time. “And I’m not taking out my frustrations on you.”
I let out a humorless laugh. “I’m literally not going to waste my breath to try to prove to you otherwise. So, if you say so, you go ahead and believe it, but don’t think I’m going to agree. You can live in your land of delusion by yourself.”
“Land of delusion? What the fuck, Ella?”
The elevator dings, and I rush past him into the foyer but stay back by the table while he punches in the second code to unlock the penthouse. I wait for him to step inside before entering. I don’t even want to be near him.
He tugs at my elbow as I pass.
“Answer me,” he hisses.
“Don’t. Touch. Me.”
His eyes flash in surprise, and he drops his hand. I yank my arm away from him and step back.
“Answer you, what? You didn’t ask me a question.”
“What did you mean by ‘land of delusion’?”
“Exactly what it sounds like! You can lie to yourself about why the fuck you’re acting the way you are, but don’t expect me to play along and pretend.
You’ve been a rude asshole all night! And that’s after ignoring me all day.
The last time I saw you before this evening was when I was in bed with you, and all was well.
But tonight, you’ve treated me like a piece of shit you can’t get off your shoe, and yet you want to pretend like you haven’t.
I’m not going to just go along with it because your last name is Langford. ”
I turn on my heel, cross the living and dining rooms, and march up the stairs. Asher calls my name twice, but I ignore him. As soon as I’m in my bedroom, I slam the door and lock it.
I strip off my shoes and dress, draping the garment over the chair in the corner of the room, and head into the bathroom to finish stripping. Then I throw my hair up into a bun, and grab my makeup remover, spreading the sludge of it over my face as I turn on the shower.
I let a few tears of shame and embarrassment fall as I shower, chastising myself.
I can’t believe I spent the night with Asher like I did last night.
I can’t believe I let my guard down with a man I hardly knew and trusted that he wouldn’t treat me like a second-day whore afterward.
I’m an idiot. I should have known better.
By the time my shower is done, I’ve cried my tears. I’ve finished berating myself. I step out, and as I get ready for bed, I remind myself that this is a job and nothing more. Last night was a terrible lapse of judgment.
And I will not let it happen again.