Chapter 23 Asher
ASHER
Matthew shuts my office door with more force than necessary.
I’ve had nothing but scathing texts from him for the last day.
As he predicted, the headlines Sunday and this morning aren’t great.
They all report a frosty relationship between Ella and me and question how there could be such trouble in paradise this early in a relationship.
The fact that we didn’t stay for the party after the program, and the fact that we barely said a word to each other the whole night, was noticed by plenty of the party’s bystanders, many of whom were more than willing to comment on it for news outlets.
In some articles, I’m painted as the cad and scoundrel who can’t and won’t reform his ways, so it’s only natural that my relationships would last less than a month.
But other articles tear into Ella, questioning her social status, her job, even her looks, and then drawing the conclusion that it’s obvious a simple marketing employee couldn’t hold the attention of Asher Langford for very long.
Her dress is picked apart as boring, even with the plunging open back.
The stiffness between us is analyzed and dissected.
And unfortunately, the pictures only add fuel to the fire.
I do look stiff and uncomfortable in them.
Ella looks reasonably relaxed, but it’s clear even from photos that something is off between us.
And now it’s news. And now all the glorious people of the internet get to weigh in on it.
“Two entertainment shows are doing segments on this this afternoon,” Matthew hisses, leaning down and placing his hands on my desk instead of sitting in a chair across from me. “And you don’t even want to look at the comment sections of the articles.”
I run my hands over my face.
“I thought the team had this handled. This is their job!”
“They did their job, Asher! You didn’t do yours!”
“So, because I didn’t smile and preen, I get bad press? That’s what the PR team is for, to make sure we’re practically bulletproof.”
Matthew scoffs. “You don’t have the luxury of feeling bulletproof in the press and acting however you want without regard for consequences. Your past with women is too long and too sordid. I’m going to ask one more time, and you’re going to fucking answer me honestly. What happened?”
“What do you mean what happened?”
“Don’t play stupid, Asher, it doesn’t suit you.
When I left you and Ella Friday night, I gave you instructions to become closer, comfortable, more intimate with one another.
And while Ella won’t provide details of what happened that night, she assures me that the two of you completed that task.
She said when she went to sleep Friday night, that it had been a great time, connections were made, and she felt like you were both in a good place together.
Then she tells me that you ghosted her all day Saturday, and then I saw with my own eyes the way you turned up Saturday evening.
You were cold, distant, and rude. You ignored Ella and acted like being in her presence was some sort of chore you couldn’t be bothered with. ”
“I did not.”
“You did!” Matthew bellows. And I’m taken aback.
We’ve had our verbal tussles over the two years he’s been my assistant, but I’ve never heard him yell like this.
Ever. “I saw it, I heard it, I experienced it. Ella was not the problem Saturday night, you were! So, what happened? Why did Ella fall asleep in your arms, in your bed, happy and content on Friday night, only to be treated like she was a disease on Saturday?”
Fuck.
I rest my head in my hands.
“I had . . . one of my old dreams that night. I dreamed of the night my grandfather died.”
Matthew is quiet for a moment. He sits in one of the chairs. “I’m sorry that happened.”
“I . . . obviously didn’t handle it well. I honestly didn’t realize I was being so rude on Saturday. I knew I was in a bad mood, but I just chalked it up to that.”
“Asher, you’re going to have to get this under control. If you were this triggered on the first weekend, what do you think is going to happen moving forward? We’ve only begun with the press, with the attention. With the . . . possible threats.”
“I know,” I growl.
“No, I don’t think you do.”
“Excuse me?” My heart pounds so hard in my chest that I can hear it in my ears. Matthew is practically invaluable to me, but he’s crossing a dangerous line.
“You need to go back to therapy, Asher.”
“I was in therapy for a decade.”
“Yes, but you’ve been out of therapy for fifteen years.
And it’s clear that you need it again. I understand, I truly do, why this is so hard for you, and I feel for you.
What you went through . . . anyone would be heavily scarred by it.
But it’s clear this situation has brought up a lot of things that were not fully resolved when you were in therapy.
Things Ella has no idea about. Think about it from her perspective, Asher.
She has practically given herself over to you, she’s done everything we’ve asked of her and more.
And then, on the first night when things are real, when they mattered, you shut down on her, and she has no idea why.
She thought everything was good, and then out of nowhere, it was anything but.
What kind of whiplash do you think that feels like? ”
God.
I let out a strained breath. “I fucked up.”
“Yes, you did. And now Ella’s suffering for it. Not just the hurt from you, but the vitriol of the people.”
“How the hell do I make this better?” I mutter into my hands.
“You can start with groveling.”
“Yes, of course.” I stand up from my desk and straighten my tie, on a mission.
“Where do you think you’re going?”
“I’m going to Ella to grovel.”
“And you think now is the best time to do it?”
“No time like the present.”
He raises his brows. “Good god, Asher. It’s a miracle you survived thirty-three years without me. You can’t go barreling down to her floor in the middle of work when she’s already embarrassed and make another scene.”
“What do I do, then?”
“You start like every other idiot straight man. You get her flowers. But you’re not every other idiot straight man, so you get her incredible flowers. And you write a good fucking apology in the card. And then tonight, you explain why you acted the way you did.”
“I don’t know if I can do the last part.”
“Then she’s not going to get over this quickly. She was just learning to trust you, and you shattered it.”
“Maybe that’s for the best, to an extent. It will clear the lines back up. But I will apologize, sincerely. I didn’t mean to hurt her, that wasn’t my intention.”
“Whether it was your intention or not, you did. And honesty is the best way to fix it.”
“That’s the thing, Matthew. I don’t know if I want it fully fixed. It is obvious to me from Friday night that I could get very close to Ella, very easily. I can’t let that happen.”
Matthew closes his eyes and takes a long, cleansing breath. “This is why you need therapy, Asher. You can’t live your life keeping everyone at arm’s length because you’re afraid of what might happen to them from living in your world.”
“I’ve hardly kept Ella at arm’s length. I moved her into my penthouse for Christ’s sake. I want her close so that I know she’s safe.”
“You want her close physically, but you shoved her away emotionally.”
“It’s better that way, trust me.”
My stomach twists at the pain I’ve caused Ella, but no matter what Matthew says, things really are better this way.
The thought of anything happening to Ella kills me, and it only solidifies my decision.
As Ella said the other day, the sooner we can end this, the better.
Then hopefully with time, she can slip back into a life of anonymity, far away from me.
“No, Asher. I don’t trust you. Not in this. Your judgment is clouded, and I’m scheduling you with a new therapist.”
“I won’t go.”
“Then maybe I’ll go to the board and make this one of your stipulations.”
“I’ll fire you if you do that.”
“Listen to yourself, Asher. You’re throwing around some heavy threats.
You’d rather fire an assistant who is loyal to you, and you’d rather push away a woman who may very well come to care for you, all because you’re afraid of working through your trauma.
That’s not healthy. That’s not happy. That’s not thriving.
What would your grandfather think of all this? ”
“Get out.”
Matthew doesn’t say another word. He just gives me a smile full of pity and makes his way out of my office.
Fuck him. And fuck the board.
Matthew, the bastard, refused to order Ella’s flowers for me. So now I’m at a florist shop during lunch when I should be prepping for my afternoon meetings. Some fucking assistant he is today.
“How can I help you?” an older woman at the counter asks.
“I’m looking for a bouquet of flowers for my . . . girlfriend.” The word feels strange in my mouth.
“A special occasion?”
“No, nothing like that. These are for—”
“An apology?” she says with a knowing smile.
“Uh, yes. How did you know?”
“Most of the men who come in are here for apology flowers.”
“Ah, I see,” I say, like an idiot. The pretentious asshole side of me burns at her comment.
I’ve always prided myself on not being the same as everyday men.
I might have been born a Langford, but I’ve also made my own way and carved my own path, even among my family and the other elite.
I have always pushed myself to be better, to be more, than the men around me.
And now, here I am, buying apology flowers for my girlfriend like every other dumb fuck.
But Matthew was right about one thing: since I’m Asher Langford, they can’t be everyday apology flowers like all those other dumb fucks. They must be incredible.
I spend the next thirty minutes with the florist, picking out the perfect arrangement and writing an apology on the card.
The arrangement is too lavish to be done by the end of the day, so I purchase a second, less extravagant one to be delivered to my penthouse tonight.
The nicer arrangement will be delivered to her at the office in the morning.
As I’m riding back to the office, I text Ella for the third time today, asking if she’s okay. She won’t answer those texts. She hasn’t answered any of my texts all weekend. She was gone all day yesterday, and she left early for work this morning.
I haven’t seen her since Saturday night.
She’s clearly avoiding me, and I’ve got to figure out how to get her to accept an apology, because we can’t keep this up.
We live in the same penthouse and work at the same company.
The problem is, I can’t do everything Matthew told me to.
I just can’t. The only reason Matthew even knows about that night is because I got almost blackout drunk around him a year ago, and for some reason started spilling all my traumatic stories.
No one else but my family knows, and it has to stay that way.
For me. For my grandfather’s memory. I’ll just have to think of a way to get back into Ella’s good graces without elaborating on why I was so off Saturday night.
And I have to keep from behaving like that again.
The sooner we can end this, the better, I remind myself. Ella can go her way five million dollars richer, and I can go mine, with all my shares intact. I’ve just got to get her to decently trust me in the meantime.