Chapter 30 Ella
ELLA
“You’ve got to stop brooding,” I grumble at Asher, although it comes out with less force than I wanted. The free flow of champagne is getting to my head. “People are tipsy enough they may not have noticed it, but I am not about to have a repeat of Saturday night.”
Asher sets down his whiskey. He’s been quiet and stuck in his head all during dinner. Luckily, tonight is dinner in a club, so it’s dark and loud—but I don’t care. We attract too many stares, and people are bound to notice his surly mood. I don’t want the night ruined in the eleventh hour.
Asher’s phone rings. “What is it?” he says as he answers. His eyes close as his face tenses. He pinches the bridge of his nose. “Fuck.” He picks up his whiskey and stands without another word. He marches toward the restrooms, ignoring anyone who tries to get his attention.
What is going on?
I take a long drink of my champagne, debating whether or not to go after him.
Clearly it’s something big, and, whatever it is, it’s unlikely that I can help.
But despite the logic of my brain shouting at me that it’s none of my business and has nothing to do with our arrangement, I can’t help but feel concern for him.
It’s stupid. I shouldn’t entertain it. But dammit if I can help it.
Asher can be a grade-A asshole, but he also has the stress of the world on his shoulders.
And for some god-forsaken reason, I care about that.
I knock back the rest of my champagne, and it helps me finalize my decision.
I’m two drinks in, and a blissful haze has settled over my mind, which means the nagging thoughts of why this is a bad idea fizzle away enough that I stand and follow Asher’s trail.
The restrooms are at the end of a dark hallway, and for a moment I wonder what the hell I’m doing when I voluntarily walk into the men’s room.
But I brush the thought away as quickly as it comes.
“Hey, doll, I think you’re lost,” a man says, smirking at me from the sink.
“Asher?” I call out.
Nothing.
I turn and dart back out the door. Where did he go?
“If you’re looking for Langford, he was headed toward the offices,” another man says as he exits the bathroom behind me. He points toward the other end of the hallway.
“Thanks.”
I walk in that direction, and then the hallway turns to the left. There are three doors at the end. I pound my fist against the first one. “Asher,” I shout. “Open up!” Nothing. I repeat my pounding on the second door. Nothing. But the third door flies open just as I raise my fist.
“What are you doing?” Asher growls.
“I came to look for you.”
“I’ve got to go,” Asher hisses into the phone still at his ear. He ends the call as I push past him into the office.
“Why are you here?” he snaps. “I was in the middle of something important. I already fucking told you that I was dealing with a problem tonight.”
“I was worried about you,” I snap back. “But clearly that worry was misplaced.”
He scoffs. “I don’t need you to worry about me, Ella.”
I almost flinch at his words. “Message received. I won’t make the same mistake again.”
I move to walk around him, but his hand darts out and grabs my wrist, stopping me. His phone rings again.
“Wait,” he says.
I tug my hand away. “No. Deal with your problem. I’ll meet you at the car.”
“I’m sorry. That was a dick thing to say. Please, just wait. Let me wrap this up, and we can go.”
He answers his phone. His face is pinched as he listens to the other line. “When?”
I lean against the door, feeling like an idiot.
I shouldn’t have come. I move to leave, but Asher places his hand on the knob.
“Please,” he mouths at me. Then he moves to the black leather sofa along the opposite wall and slumps down on it.
He lifts his whiskey off the side table next to it and takes a long drink.
“I want to see it. Have his wife bring it in. I want it checked through forensics. And get security around their home and his hospital room.”
My curiosity is piqued. What is going on? Whatever it is, Asher looks not just upset, but almost hurt. He takes another long drink. How much has he had tonight? A lot, I think.
How much have I had? I can’t remember.
“Keep me updated.” He hangs up.
“What’s going on?”
He lets out a long breath. “Nothing for you to worry about.”
“I didn’t ask because I’m worried about it, I asked because I’m worried about you.” I lock my jaw. Why did I say that? The champagne is giving me loose lips.
Asher looks at me now, his brow furrowed. “You’re worried about me.” He says the words as if he’s mulling them over—unsure of the feel of them in his mouth.
“Is that so hard to believe?”
“No one worries about me except my family.”
“That can’t be true. Surely Matthew worries over you.”
He gives a derisive laugh. “Okay. My family and Matthew worry about me.”
“No one else?”
“No one else.”
“Is that because no one else actually cares or because you don’t allow anyone else to care about you?”
He raises his glass toward me. “Both.”
And suddenly, I see another facet of him. Asher gives, but he has trouble receiving. He doesn’t ask for help, and he certainly doesn’t like to appear weak. And he keeps everyone but his family and a few select others at a distance.
“People would care if you allowed them to get close to you.”
“People love to pretend to care and fawn over me.” His words are a bit slurred. “But in the end, all they truly care about is what they can get from me. When you have the ability to give people the world, they start to expect it. I am nothing if not an ATM in a suit.”
My heart sinks. I move forward until I’m standing above him. He looks up at me. I reach out and cup his jaw in my palm and run my thumb along the scruff of his cheek. “Is that what you really think of yourself? That you’re nothing more than the money in your bank accounts?”
“And a Langford.”
“Those are two things about you. They’re not who you are.”
“In my world, those two things are all that matter.”
“Then your world is shit.”
He stares at me but doesn’t say anything.
And though he tries to hide it, I can see the hurt and vulnerability in his eyes.
He really believes this to be true. He really thinks that he is nothing more than his name and his money.
Or at least he’s been convinced of it enough times that he’s started to believe it.
I bend down and take his face in both of my hands, then look straight into his sad blue eyes. “Asher. You are so much more than your name and your money. And anyone who tries to convince you otherwise is a damned fool.”
He swallows hard.
“I wish that were true,” he whispers.
“It is true.”
His eyes close, and he drops his head, pressing it against my stomach.
I thread my hands through his hair and hold him to me.
I lightly run my nails over his scalp, trying to find any way to comfort him.
I’m not sure why I’m so compelled to comfort him tonight.
I should be keeping a distance between us.
But for some reason, it’s like his pain is my pain, and I can’t stop myself from wanting to drive it away from him.
“Whatever is going on, I know you’ll sort it out. You’re brilliant and determined.”
He lets out a long breath.
“But more importantly, you need to understand that if all of your money disappeared tomorrow, you would be exactly the same person as you are today. Because if you think your money is all that’s important about you, then you’re wrong.
Almost no one in the world has the money you have, and they all matter just the same as you.
We’re all human at the end of the day. And we all deserve to have people love us for who we are, not based on where we fall on the scale of monetary value. ”
His hands slide up my hips, and he grips my waist like a lifeline.
“I see you, Asher. And you’re enough, just as yourself.”
He lifts his head, and our eyes meet again. His eyes are still sad, hesitant—but they’re also tinged with something more. Something that looks like hope.
His hands fist at my waist, and he jerks me down toward him.
His lips crash against mine, and he lifts me on top of him, hiking up my dress so that I can straddle him.
I open my mouth to him and groan as his tongue slips inside.
He tastes like whiskey and everything I shouldn’t want but can’t say no to.
That voice in my head yells at me again that this is a bad idea, but the happy waves of alcohol bliss shush the voice. I sink into him and let go, forgetting everything but the pull of him and how much I want to give in to it.
His hand snakes its way up my bare thigh.
“This fucking dress,” he growls against my lips. “All night I haven’t been able to focus on anything except the way you look in this dress. Teasing me, torturing me.”
“I’m glad you like it.”
“I don’t like it, I fucking love it.”
He nips at my neck then sucks and kisses his way down to my chest. No matter how hard I try to convince myself to stop this, I can’t. I don’t want to. In this moment I don’t want anything but this.
Asher runs his tongue over the swell of my breasts above my dress, and I arch my back, pressing against him.
His hand slips beneath my dress and runs up the inside of my thigh.
Sparks ignite in my core. And I know I shouldn’t, but I lift my hips slightly to give him more access.
He brushes a finger over my center. I groan and buck my hips against his touch, craving more.
“You like that?” he teases.
“Yes.”
He pushes my panties aside and runs his fingers along my folds.
“Jesus, Ella, you’re fucking soaked for me. Does your needy pussy want more?”
“Yes.”
Our lips meet again just as he slides his fingers inside me. I moan into his mouth and shamelessly grind against his hand as his palm presses against my clit. His fingers hit the perfect spot, and wild desire burns through me. My fingers tug at his hair, and I can’t get close enough to him.