Page 89 of Twisted Truth

My room is still dark when my alarm goes off, but I’m already awake and have been for an hour. I stayed up late last night researching photos from movie premiers, particularly with action films, and did a deep dive on theLast Bloodfranchise. It’s supposed to be at least three films, which explains why the producer is nervous if the second film isn’t getting the attention it needs. If this film bombs, there may not be a third.

I pick up my phone and call Matthew. He answers on the fourth ring in a groggy voice. “Hello, Ella darling.”

“Sorry, did I wake you?”

“No, I’m awake, but I’m having a hard time getting moving this morning.”

“Well, I feel like an ass calling so early, but I need to get a jump on the fittings. I have something very specific in mind for the look for the premier tomorrow night. And I figured the more time we had the better.”

Matthew yawns dramatically. “Okay, babe. What did you have in mind?”

An hour later,as I’m finishing getting ready for work, I’m cautiously optimistic about my plan for tomorrow night. It’s a little bold, but I think it can work. I just have to pull it off.

No pressure.

I reapply some extra concealer under my eyes, then set it with powder. My four hours of sleep last night clearly weren’t enough, and I want my appearance to be on point today. I am not in the mood for another day like yesterday. If I have to walk through the PR and marketing floor with all eyes on me, and if I have to listen to the comments and questions and plans of my PR team, I at least want to feel better about it by looking my best. I don’t usually think of myself as vain, but I can’t deny how much better I feel when I’m put together.

I’m just putting my heels on when there’s a knock at my bedroom door. It’s barely seven.

“Come in?” I say it like a question.

Asher opens the door and stands in the doorway like he did last night, but instead of looking stupidly perfect in pajamas, now he now looks stupidly perfect in a suit. It’s a good thing I’m pissed at him or I might drool on myself.

“You’re not going to skip out on breakfast again today,” he says, smug.

“I was going to go in early. I have a movie premier appearance to plan, after all.”

He makes a show of checking his watch. “Good thing I had the chef come early this morning. Breakfast is ready, and Andrew won’t be driving us until after we’ve both eaten, per my instructions.”

I open my mouth to argue, but Asher cuts me off.

“I won’t have you skipping meals to avoid me. I know I fucked up, and I want to make it up to you. But I draw the line at youflitting in and out of the penthouse like a ghost. You live here, and you should feel comfortable eating here. Plus, you don’t want to offend Pierre. He’s worked extra hard on this morning’s breakfast.”

Without another word, he turns to leave.

Damn him.

Breakfast is disgustingly perfect and delicious, which makes me even more annoyed. It consists of fluffy scrambled eggs, bacon, fresh fruit, sweet pastries, and made-from-scratch croissants that almost make me orgasm. Plus, there’s freshly squeezed orange juice on the table, and Pierre is currently preparing our gourmet coffees to go.

To think I almost ran out the door without eating.

“I’d like to give you something before we go,” Asher says as he finishes his breakfast.

“Oh?”

“Well, it seems as though my flowers didn’t register last night,” he says, nodding to the arrangement on the kitchen side counter. “So I have another idea.”

“Were those for me?”

“Yes, but you hurried to your room before I could give them to you.”

I bite back a retort. “They’re lovely, thank you,” I say instead. Remaining professional is taking all of my patience, but I refuse to be anything else. I’m here for a job, and I will perform that job. I’ll just scream at Asher to go fuck himself in my mind, that at least makes me feel better, and I can do it while remaining detached and professional on the outside. Win, win.

Asher stands just after I take my last bite and empty my glass of juice. He walks toward his room, and I follow him, reluctantly. I don’t want to have anything to do with his room anymore.

Luckily, we pass through the room and into the closet. And holy hell, his closet is massive. Probably twice as big as Zahra’sentire apartment. He stops at an island counter with drawers in the middle of the closet and presses a button I can’t see on the underside of the countertop. A rack of his shoes to our left swings open slowly. Behind the rack of shoes is a massive, black pewter safe door. Asher steps to it and spins the lock combination. It clicks a second later, and the heavy door swings open a crack.

Asher grabs a box off a shelf and brings it over to the island counter. He opens the lid, and I can’t help but peek inside. Several different sizes and shapes of jewelry boxes sit inside, and Asher takes them out, sorting them until he finds the box he wants. It’s a deep green box with worn velvet and chipped brass finishings.