Page 10 of Twisted Truth

“Oh, yes, because you couldn’t be with a woman who doesn’t look like a supermodel since that’s what you’re used to dating.”

My head snaps to Cara.How dare she?“Get out,” I growl. “You’re off this team.” She opens her mouth to retort. “If you say one more thing, you’re fired.”

Cara shoots to her feet, gathers her things in a huff, and storms out of the room, slamming the door behind her.

“Anyone else?” I bark. “Let me be very clear. I may be a pompous asshole, and I may have dated my fair share ofmodels, but I’m not demanding beauty just for my own sake. If you as a PR team can’t understand why, then none of you are fit to work on this team!”

“If I may, sir,” Ms. Hale says, her voice quiet but steady.

Here we go.Do I need to dismiss one right after the other?

She scrunches her nose as she seems to be gathering her thoughts, and I’m caught between annoyance at waiting for her to speak, and at the surprise that sparks through me at the sight of that expression on her face. She looks, I don’t even know, but something like cute, or adorable comes to mind. Which is a crazy thought, because those words rarely to never cross my lips—or even my mind. There are very few things I cross paths with that I would consider cute or adorable.

“I think what Mr. Langford is alluding to,” Ms. Hale says after her pause, “is the unfortunate, but very real quick judgment of the public. This is Asher Langford—let that sink in. He is New York’s most eligible bachelor, and that makes him by extension one of America’s—and therefore one of the world’s—most eligible bachelors. And he’s never settled down. He’s never dated anyone for more than a couple of months. The public is not expecting him to settle down, which is the exact reason this strategy is brilliant. The shock ofThe Asher Langfordfinding love will be a monumental story not only here in New York, but it will be heavily covered by entertainment news outlets across the nation, and probably even the globe.

“The public will expect,absolutely expect, the woman he’s dating to be extraordinary. And unfortunately, part of extraordinary includes beautiful. Is it shallow? Sure. But there’s no way around it. If we try to pair him with a woman who doesn’t have a conventional beauty to her, she will be massacred online. Think of the internet trolls. Think of what they’ll write and the awful things they’ll say. They’ll burn her at the stake before they give us a chance to speak on her merits or achievements. Mr. Langford and Matthew are absolutelycorrect. She must be beautiful. Otherwise we’re chucking the poor woman into a sea of sharks and dumping a bucket of blood in behind her. Do any of you want that on your conscience? Because I sure don’t.”

I’m shocked into silence for a moment. How is it that the bumbling Ms. Hale is the only one to get it? I meant what I said earlier. Of course I want the woman I’m supposed to be dating to be beautiful for my own selfish reasons. But what I care about more than that is not ruining the poor woman’s life. My life is lived on a stage, and whoever I date will be forced onto that stage with me. And Ella articulated that in a way I couldn’t in my impatience.

“Thank you, Ella,” Matthew says with a relieved sigh. “Finally, someone with some common sense. Hand me the photos. If you’re all too timid to judge women based on their looks, then I’ll do it. I can be the villain we need in this scenario.”

Ella lets out a soft chuckle, and I study her more closely as she pushes the photos near her toward Matthew. Her smile is mesmerizing. I haven’t seen it yet since the mood in the room has been thick with tension and fear all morning. I realize with all the talk about beauty that she is, in fact, stunning. Even with no makeup on. Her eyes are a bright jade green, accentuated by high cheekbones and full, slightly arched brows. And her lips. I’ve had to look away from them a few times during our meeting. Even with my annoyance with her, I couldn’t ignore the fact that her full, pouty lips are the kind of lips I would have been imagining all sorts of deplorable things about if she wasn’t my employee.

Fuck, focus.

And maybe Emily is right. Maybe Ms. Hale is an exemplary employee and deserves to be on this team. So far, she and Emily are the only ones who seem to truly understand the task at hand.

After a moment, Matthew takes the lion’s share of the photos and drops them in the trash, then sets just five photos back on the center of the table.

“These are our candidates,” he says. “And if I wanted to be a total bitch, I could probably cut it down to just two. But we might as well go over the merits of the five, just to make sure we’re being thorough.”

Two hours later,my stomach is growling, and a faint headache is forming in my temples. We’ve gone through exhaustive lists and backgrounds of the five candidates and narrowed it down to two, just as Matthew said. I know I should feel relieved, but instead, all I feel is dread.

I can’t believe that this situation is an actual reality for me. It feels like a new low. Now I stare between the photos of the two women, trying to decide which one to pick. As if it’s that simple. As if I can only assume they’ll say yes. As if it won’t be the most awkward and insulting conversation to have with them, to ask them to be my girlfriend for my image’s sake. I can’t think of how to delicately explain that I don’t actually want a relationship, and that our “relationship” will certainly have an end date attached to it. How can I expect them to agree to those stipulations? Especially when both of them already have their own money and status. They’re both well-known heiresses. They don’t need my money or my status to climb the social ladder. Of course if it was real, they’d both probably love the idea of adding my money and status to theirs; that’s what they’re used to. But it isn’t real, and I won’t lie and pretend that it is.

I let out a sigh, annoyed.How is this scheme actually going to work?

“I think we should call it a day,” Matthew says, callingeveryone to attention. “It’s lunchtime, and Mr. Langford has a full schedule of meetings this afternoon. You all keep at it, and we’ll reconvene tomorrow to decide on the final candidate.

“The event list Mr. Langford has been assigned has been emailed to all of you. Each of those events is a possibility for good PR, and we need a strategy for each of them. I also want ideas on how and when we break the story.”

All I can say is thank God for Matthew. I was right to bring him down. This meeting would have been an absolute disaster without him. I feel like with all the shit he’s going to have to deal with over the next few months, I’d better give him a generous raise. God knows he’ll deserve it.

Everyone begins gathering their things and standing from the table, and out of the corner of my eye, I notice Ms. Hale wince and suck in a breath when she gets to her feet. What’s wrong with her? Matthew notices as well and tilts his head at her. She looks down, seemingly embarrassed, and packs up her laptop.

I hang back with Matthew while everyone files out of the conference room, and I can’t help but notice Ms. Hale limping, though it looks like she’s trying very hard to hide it.

“Ella, darling, why are you limping?” Matthew asks, already on a first-name basis with her. That’s yet another reason I love him as my assistant. He never feels bashful or reserved about saying what’s on his mind. Which means he gets things done quickly and efficiently without bullshit getting in the way. He pushes back at me, too, which most bosses would hate, but I secretly appreciate. I’m well aware that men like me are used to getting their way. And I do like getting my way. But Matthew is like a tether to reality for me. He has no problem telling me when I’m crossing lines, and for someone like me, that can be necessary at times.

Ms. Hale stops and turns around, now clearly wincing in pain.

“And, oh my god, what are you wearing?” Matthew continues, holding his hand out in front of him and moving it in a circular motion. “You are a Barbie, babe. Why are you wearing Skipper’s clothes?”

Ms. Hale looks down at herself and chuckles darkly.

For the first time since she crept into the meeting late and awkward, I really look at her clothes. Now I want to wince. Matthew does have a point. I don’t profess to know much about women’s fashion, but even I know this isn’t good. Although, I guess I don’t really care what she wears as long as she’s good at her job, which I now have some hope for.

Matthew makes a disgusted noise. “Is that why you’re limping?” he demands, pointing at her feet. “What is on your feet? You look like you’re in pain just standing in those . . . I would call them shoes, but I can’t bring myself to.”