Chapter 42 Ella
ELLA
The scent of Asher’s penthouse hits me as we make our way inside after our flight home.
It’s a clean scent with an undercurrent of the fresh flower arrangements Ms. Graham always has on display, and echoes of whatever delicious dish Pierre made.
The combination of scents is like a warm blanket I hadn’t realized I’d missed, and in the back of my mind I can’t help but think, It’s good to be home.
But it’s not my home, it’s Asher’s home.
And my time here will be up one day.
Which reminds me that my time with Asher will be up one day.
The swell of happiness I felt at being home deflates as I’m brought back down to earth.
Our trip to London was magical, so the reality of returning home is bittersweet.
It doesn’t help that Asher was quiet the entire flight, hardly speaking a word to me.
He looked exhausted, we both were—we’d had a full schedule in London—but he insisted he wasn’t, and busied himself with work.
Even now, he looks stressed and stiff, and I’ve asked him at least a dozen times if he’s okay.
He keeps assuring me he is. He insists it’s just work.
He’s just busy. But I can tell it’s more than that.
And my insecurities make me wonder if it’s regret.
Does he regret crossing those boundaries now that we’re home?
I don’t know if I want to know the answer.
I make my way toward the stairs, pulling my suitcase after me.
“You’re not going that way anymore,” Asher says from behind me.
“What?” I turn and ask him.
“Your bedroom has been cleared, and your things have been put into my room. I don’t want you upstairs anymore.”
My mouth opens and closes.
“You had my things moved down to your room?” I ask, repeating his words. Maybe because I’m a bit drowsy and jet lagged, but I’m having a hard time comprehending. Did he really do that?
“Yes. Now that I’ve had you in my bed all week, I’m not about to give that up.”
Relief hits me like a brick. So, maybe he doesn’t regret things. But then that stupid rational bitch in my brain argues that he did this without asking. I try to shut up stupid rational bitch, but alas, she’s a persistent one.
“And what about what I want?”
“What do you mean?”
“What if I didn’t want to be moved into your bedroom?”
He narrows his eyes and stalks toward me. “You don’t want to be in my bedroom with me?”
“No, that’s not what I’m saying. What I’m saying is, you didn’t even ask me if that’s what I wanted. You just had it done without my knowledge. What if I had objected?”
“Do you object?”
I huff. “No, but I’m a bit annoyed that you didn’t at least ask first.”
He chuckles darkly. “A lion doesn’t ask; he takes what he wants.”
“And I’m supposed to just always go along with that?”
He’s quiet, contemplative for a moment. “No, you’re free to have your own thoughts and opinions, obviously.
But I also work in a way that cuts the bullshit out of things.
Why delay when this was the inevitability?
Are you telling me that after what we’d experienced together in London, you were about to return to your separate room?
Are you going to deny that you would have ended up in my bed each night?
That you’d be waking in it each morning?
Are you going to tell me the logistics of having your things spread between two rooms on two different floors wouldn’t have been an annoyance?
This is the scenario we would have ended up in, in a matter of days or weeks.
So, why complicate our lives for those days or weeks?
When I want something, I don’t dance around it.
I go after it, and I get it. And that action doesn’t just take place in the boardroom. ”
I sigh. Damn him. I hate to admit to myself that I’m so fucking turned on by his possessive male dominance, and his logic is sound.
“Just next time, please consult me.”
“Noted. Now turn around and get your ass to our bedroom. I haven’t been inside you since last night, and that’s too fucking long.”
I snort and walk toward his—no, our—bedroom with a little spring in my step. I hate how much I love the sound of that.
As we pass through the living room, there’s a massive, and I mean massive, bouquet of flowers on the coffee table with a big fancy card next to it.
“What’s that?” I ask aloud.
Asher walks to the table, picks up the card, and opens it. His eyes narrow, and his lips thin.
“That slimy fucker,” he hisses.
“What is it? Who’s it from?”
“It’s for you,” he says, an edge in his voice. “From the Vericom CEO, Blake Covington.” He holds out the card for me. I take it and read.
Dear Ella,
I wanted to send my sincerest thank you for your presence at our launch.
You lit up the room and created an energy we’ve never had at any of our launches before.
Our sales have been record-breaking, and I know a lot of that is because of you.
Your beauty, grace, and intelligence is not something that can be denied, and our customers were elated to see you wearing one of our watches.
I’ve sent more of our jewelry line watchbands for you as a thank you from the company, as well as a personal thank you from me.
I do hope we can continue to work with one another in the future, as I think a partnership between the two of us could be extremely beneficial to us both.
I look forward to hearing from you and working with you.
Deepest admirations,
Blake Covington
I set the card down and look at the white box sitting next to the mammoth flower arrangement.
I open the lid, and a variety of silver and gold jewelry-like watchbands, as well as a smaller jewelry box, glimmer at me.
I take out the small box and open it. A diamond tennis bracelet sits inside.
Holy shit. This thing must cost a fortune.
I lift the bracelet and notice it has a small silver circle pendant where the clasp meets. The pendant is engraved on one side.
Deepest Admirations, BC
I set the bracelet back down in the smaller box, and set that back inside the larger one. I turn to look at Asher. He’s seething.
“Did anything happen between the two of you?” he asks in a dangerous whisper.
“No, of course not. What you see in the photos is exactly what happened. He saw me at the launch, pulled me up to the front, and staged his own little photo op while he put the watch on my wrist. Then I stood next to him and posed for some photos. I didn’t think I could say no with a room full of press watching and listening to everything. ”
Asher puts the lid on the white box and scoots it away from me. “Let me be clear, Ella, you’re not keeping these watch bands. And you’re not keeping that fucking bracelet.”
“I wasn’t planning on it. It feels like a little much for a simple thank you.”
“Good. Because no other men will be sending you jewelry. You will not wear something with another man’s initials carved into it. Only I can drape you in jewelry. And it will be my initials that you wear on your body. Understood?”
I shiver at his tone. Because it’s both frigid and full of fire at the same time. And the baser side of me, much as I hate to admit it, loves his possessive side.
“I didn’t hear an answer, Ella.”
“I understand.”
“Good.”
But his eyes and his body language look anything besides “good.” He grabs me by the hand and pulls me roughly after him into his—our—bedroom. He shuts the door and locks it, then stalks toward me.
“Stand over there,” he demands, pointing at the massive mirror in the corner of his bedroom. “And take off your shoes. I’ll be right back.”
I raise my brows in question, but he says nothing else as he storms toward his closet.
Curiosity gets the better of me, and though I know I should probably push back against his possessive, aggressive ways, I don’t.
I do as he says. I stand in front of the mirror, shoes off, my mind running in a thousand ways.
What is he up to? As I wait, I try to look anywhere but at the mirror because I feel like a bit of a mess after traveling.
My clothes are comfortable for travel, a fitted t-shirt and leggings, but my hair and makeup are tired and worn from sleeping on the plane.
Asher returns a moment later with six large, various shaped boxes. Like old fashioned hat boxes, but I’m not quite sure. He sets them on the small table, then pulls the table toward me until it’s right beside me. He takes the lid off the first box and pulls out seven smaller jewelry boxes.
What is he doing?
He comes to stand behind me, and I stare at our reflection in the mirror. He lifts his hand to my ponytail and pulls the elastic from it. My hair falls in a heap around my shoulders and down to my ribs. I run my hands through it to tame it slightly.
“Other men do not get to put their jewelry on you,” Asher says, low and menacing.
He reaches for one of the jewelry boxes and opens it, revealing a stunning diamond necklace.
He lifts the necklace, and his hands slide around my neck as he sets it in place.
He brushes my hair aside, and I hold it away as he clasps the necklace into place.
He kisses my neck and gives it a soft bite once the necklace is in place.
“It’s beautiful,” I say. “But what are you doing?”
He doesn’t answer. Instead, he grabs the hem of my t-shirt and pulls it over my head.
Then he yanks down my leggings so that I’m standing in my bra and panties, wearing the diamond necklace.
He opens the second box. A gold bracelet is inside.
He lifts my right hand, the hand already wearing his ring, and places a biting kiss over the ring on my finger, then clasps the bracelet around my wrist.