Page 33 of Twisted Truth

Is that worth five million dollars?

Zahra and Alec get home around two, both of them tired and worn from a long night of work, but Zahra perks up when she sees me still in my clubbing outfit.

“How did it go?” she squeals.

“It didn’t go as expected, that’s for sure.”

“What happened?”

I slide the contract back into the fancy envelope it came in and set it down on the table.

“I . . .” Shit, I don’t know what to say. I can’t explain this to her with the NDA. But if I’m going to do this, I need to start planting some seeds, right? I can’t just start dating Asher out of literally nowhere. “I spent a lot of time with Mr. Langford.” Good, at least it’s not a lie. “And it’s the weirdest thing, I think we have . . . something there. Like a really strong chemistry.”

“What?” she shrieks. “Billionaire, the Lion of New York, Asher Langford?”

“Yes.”

“What does ‘spending time’ with him entail?”

“I rode in his car to and from the club, and sat next to him at the table, and then a few of us had a small meeting at his penthouse afterward.”

“A small meeting at his penthouse? After clubbing?”

I laugh. “I know, it sounds ridiculous. But there was definitely heat between us. And he told me to call him Asher, not Mr. Langford.”

Zahra squeals again and practically throws herself onto the sofa next to me. “Tell me everything.”

10

ELLA

Wednesday morning I sit at my desk and pull out my laptop, a bit frazzled. I emailed back and forth with my new lawyer about the contract on my way into work, and it was a lot to take in. The lawyer was quite surprised at how generous the contract is in my favor, and only had a few minor changes to propose, so that makes me feel better. But I’m still not one-hundred percent decided on whether to accept the offer or not. The contract seems like a dream and a nightmare all rolled into one package. The dream of what the money will do for me—the nightmare of what the media attention will cost me.

I have until lunch to decide.

My hands haven’t stopped shaking all morning from anxiety.

The PR team’s meeting was pushed back to this afternoon, so I’ll work on engagement strategies until then. But as I dig into the project, the realizations come crashing down. Now I have to work on strategy for these knowing thatIwill be the one following through and executing those strategies if I say yes. I won’t be part of the team explaining it to another woman,talking her through it, and setting up the logistics. I’ll be talking myself through it with my colleagues.

My weird job just got even weirder.

My phone buzzes on my desk. It’s a call from a number I don’t recognize. I hate answering calls from numbers I don’t know, but what if it’s my lawyer?

“Hello?” I answer.

“Hello, Ella,” Asher’s deep voice purrs through the phone. My stomach drops. “I would like to see you in my office.” He hangs up without another word.

Shit.

I step out of my cubicle, and Brad, a coworker in marketing, sees me and starts toward me.

“Hey, Ella. How’s the new project?”

“It’s good. Crazy, though.”

“What is it? We’re all dying to know.”

I shake my head, wincing. “You know it’s quiet. We aren’t allowed to discuss it with anyone outside of the team.”