Page 100 of Twisted Truth

“That’s the plan,” she says through her smile. And I deflate back down to earth. That look isn’t real; it’s part of the act. And dammit if a small part of me winces at that. For a fleeting second it felt . . . I don’t know, really fucking good to be looked at like that. To have someone happy and proud to stand by my side.

We make our way again down the red carpet to the next photo stop.

The photographers and the people in the crowd shout at her and us over and over again. The buzz in the air is electric, and I’m acutely aware of how different it is coming to something like this with a proper date. Before the gala Saturday night, I hadn’t been on a red carpet in a while, but when I had, I’d been alone. I’ve taken women to other types of events before, but it was always a different woman each time, and it was always clear that the woman was nothing more than a date and a fling.

But with Ella, it’s different. And everyone here is keenly aware of it.

The energy in the air fills me, and I lean into the feeling. I do exactly what I’m supposed to, and Ella and I move in perfect sync—so different from the cold, awkward affair of Saturday. Tonight, it’s as if we’re sharing one mind. If she pivots, I follow, and vice versa. She places her hand on my chest, and I hold onto her waist. We turn slightly, and then my hand is on her lower back. It’s as if we were both made to do this together. The photographers eat it up.

“You’re fucking killing me in this dress,” I whisper in her ear, selfishly wanting a piece of her to myself, to bring her attention back to me and off the adoring crowd.

“I’m glad you like it,” she says through a smile, eyes forward on the photographers.

“I can’t stop thinking about how that dress would look on the floor of my bedroom.”

Shit. What am I saying?

She turns and gives me a flirty smile. But then she speaks mostly through her teeth so no one can read her lips. “If you think this dress will be anywhere near your floor, you’re delusional.”

A flash of anger licks at my chest, but we are directed down the carpet by one of the ushers before I can respond.

“Asher!” Drew, the film’s executive producer, calls out. “So glad you could make it!” He gives me a handshake and a pat on the back.

“Wouldn’t miss it.”

“And who is this beauty?”

I want to snort. He knows exactly who she is; she’s the reason we’re here.

“This is my girlfriend, Ella Hale.”

“It’s nice to meet you,” she says. “Thank you for the invitation.”

“A pleasure, but I should probably thank you. I’m rarely successful at getting Asher out of the boardroom. I’ve invited him to several red carpets in the past, and he’s declined every time.”

The paps call for more photos, and we pose again, this time with Drew and his producing partners, so I still can’t speak to Ella. Why am I so frustrated at her words? She’s right. There can’t be anything like that between us. I’ve said that from day one. But for some reason I can’t figure out, I’m pissed off about it tonight. Because if this were not a business arrangement,tonight would be very different. If Ella really was mine, I don’t know that we’d make it through the movie before I’d be whisking her back home to get her in my bed. It’s the worst form of torture to have her like this, by my side, looking like a fucking wet dream in the flesh, and not be able to do anything about it. I suddenly feel like a starving man who has the most delectable food in the world waved in front of him, but he isn’t allowed to partake.

It’s infuriating.

The cast of the film walks toward us now, and we move aside for them to take their photo op. But I notice Ella’s eyes light with appreciation as she takes in Jared Aiken, the film’s star. We watch the cast of the film pose for their photos together, and then Jared Aiken heads purposefully toward us. I pull Ella in close, resting my hand possessively on her hip.

“You almost look too good tonight,” I growl in her ear. “None of the men here can keep their damn eyes off you.”

“Drew!” Jared says, clapping him on the back. “Who are your guests?”

I lock my jaw to avoid rolling my eyes. As if he doesn’t know who I am. Not that I care or that I get an ego trip off people knowing who I am, but the feigned ignorance as a posturing tool is annoying as shit and stupidly transparent.

“This is Asher Langford and his girlfriend, Ella Hale,” Drew says, introducing us.

“Ah, Asher Langford, the businessman. The name rings a bell.”

I don’t respond; I’m not about to get into some inane pissing match with this slimy actor.

“But I’ve never heard of you.” Jared flashes his most charming smile at Ella and steps too close for comfort. He holds out his hand, and she goes to shake it, but he lifts her hand to his lips and presses a kiss to it instead. “What a delight to meet someone new at one of these red carpets.”With him closer, I can smell a faint trace of alcohol on his breath.

“A pleasure,” she says, practically buzzing. It’s clear that she’s star struck and trying to hide it. “I’m a big fan. I can’t wait to watch the film.”

She’s fucking flirting with him right in front of me. I squeeze her hip in warning.