The French sun has no business being that generous to one man. It paints his skin a beautiful soft molten gold, catches the edges of curls of his hair, throws a glow across his jaw that makes him look less like someone I’m supposed to hate and more like someone I could very, very easily fall for.
Maybe I already have.
I open the door before the driver can, desperate for the distraction of movement, but Asher is faster. He offers his hand as I step out of the car. His palm is warm against mine as I step down, and when his thumb brushes the inside of my wrist, my brain just about short-circuits. It’s a soft touch but it feels like being struck by lightning in slow motion.
For a heartbeat, maybe two, everything narrows to just him.
He’s close enough for me to see the flecks of hazel in his irises and the faint crease at the corner of his mouth as he fights off a smile.
Then Sloane’s voice cuts through and I come crashing back to reality.
‘Oh, for God’s sake.’
I blink, startled back into my body, and Asher drops my hand so quickly it’s almost comical.
Sloane rounds the car, sunglasses perched on her head, expression thoroughly unimpressed. ‘Can you twonot? Honestly, the eye-fucking is getting out of hand. You do remember you’re supposed to hate each other, right? Or am I the only one still committed to the plan?’
We both take a step back at the exact same time. When had we become so close?
Asher clears his throat and releases my hand. ‘Right. Yes. Can’t stand you.’
I nod. ‘Loathe you entirely.’
Sloane folds her arms. ‘Yeah, I’m not buying it. You’re still smiling.’
I glare at her. ‘I am not.’
‘You are,’ Asher says, a hint of laughter in his voice.
I shoot him a glare that I’m hoping conveys mortal hatred, but from the look Sloane gives me, it probably reads more like hopelessly flustered. Sloane groans and presses her fingers to her temples.
‘You’re doing it again,’ she hisses, then leans closer like she’s about to hug me and murmurs in my ear. ‘People are watching.’
The grand entrance of the hotel is crawling with press and opportunists. The air is thick with perfume, flash photography, and that distinctive hum of self-importance that follows the filthy rich wherever they go. Journalists, influencers and shareholders mingle on the marble steps, everyone pretending not to look for the cameras even as they angle towards them.
And then I see her.
Emmy.
Perched at the edge of the crowd in an impeccably pressed linen sundress, phone in hand, pretending to scroll while her gaze slices through the chaos with surgical precision. Her sunglasses hide her eyes, but I can feel them on me anyway. When she lifts her phone slightly, the camera conveniently pointed in our direction, I can practically hear the @TrustFundTea caption writing itself:
Vouvalis vs Davies Round… Oh I’ve lost count! The saga continues
I attempt a scowl, but it’s harder than it should be when Asher’s standing close enough that I can feel the heat from his arm. His hand brushes briefly against mine again in that infuriatingly casual way that makes my pulse skip.
I lean towards him, voice low. ‘We should go inside before we end up on @TrustFundTea before the weekend’s even started.’ I tilt my chin towards Emmy, who is now loudly pretending to laugh at something no one said. ‘Maybe meet up later?’
He nods once, jaw tight. ‘Right.’
Then he steps back. I know it’s an act and just part of the choreography we’ve perfected over the last few months, but the sudden distance feels like a door slamming shut. His expression twists into a dirty look and I pretend like it doesn’t sting. Voice low, he says, ‘I’ve got a few behind the scenes things to handle now, but I’ll come to your room before the cocktail reception. We can go over the plan then.’
‘Fine,’ I say, forcing my own voice to be terse and clipped in case anyone is listening.
He gives me one last, lingering look and then he turns and disappears into the crowd.
Sloane slips her sunglasses on and sighs dramatically. ‘You two are either going to destroy this merger or get married for real. There’s no in-between.’
‘Not helping,’ I mutter, starting towards the doors.
