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Those dimples dare me to deny him. Under any circumstances. Would I if my job wasn’t at stake? Would I if I didn’t need a fence and or have a neighbor threatening to sue me? Would I if his sweet little guard dog granny wasn’t barking up my tail end?
My head screams no, but my ovaries scream yes, and isn’t that just sickening?
“Dinner? Uh, I thought we should…that it would be better if we kept a low profile?”
“I’m not exactly sure what that is.” There’s that wickedly charming smile again. People like Asher prove that the world is a totally unjust place. No man should be given so many…assets. And dimples on top of it all.
“Well, I am. I don’t want my photo taken and put in magazines, and I also don’t want anyone talking about me.” I lower my voice to a hiss. “It’s bad enough that everyone here is. I can feel it. They’re all staring at me weirdly. They all think I’m that nasty cliché who bangs the boss. They also probably all think that soon enough, I’ll be tossed aside, and won’t it just teach me when I have to come back down to earth?”
“Holy pickles,” Asher snorts. “That’s a very depressing way to look at life. Are you always so pessimistic?”
“Are you always so un-pessimistic?” Maybe if he didn’t like to have so much ‘fun,’ his granny wouldn’t have come around threatening me, but also maybe half begging me to show him what something real actually looks like. Not that I’m going to do that. He’s going to get some grudging friendship if he’s lucky, and that’s putting it nicely.
Asher shrugs. And smiles. I grind my teeth. “Alright, say we do it your way. Maybe that’s what needs to happen to have everyone forget about me. Maybe if I make it clear I want to keep things private, they’ll just quit.”
“Doubtful. When you tell someone not to do something, it usually just makes them want to do it more.”
Well, bloody fuck pants, isn’t this a fine mess?
“I do want to keep things private as I’m not a very public person. And I still have to explain to my family and friends what’s going on. Uh, I…if we’re doing dinner, I’d rather cook.” Did I really just say that? Offer an invitation to my house?
“That’s great because I’m staying at a hotel, and it’s not the kind that provides a luxury kitchen. Maybe I should change rooms.”
“No! We can order in if needed.” I’m definitely not going to get myself trapped in a hotel room. “To my place.”
“Good. I have a surprise for you. It should be arriving at your house around five-thirty today. I assume you’ll be off work and at home to sign for it by then.”
“I hate surprises.”
“Clearly. Especially after the backyard incident. Although, I’d call that more of a mistake, seeing as you didn’t choose to surprise yourself by lighting the fire and letting it get out of control. Anyway, this is a good surprise. One you’ll want.”
I lower my voice and glance at the closed door. “What I want is for you to give me the money you promised and also give me assurance—signed assurance on a legal form—that my job is safe no matter what.”
Asher’s blue eyes flash. “What do you mean? You think I’d…that I would fire you?”
I remember what his granny said about him not knowing she talked to me. I almost gave it away yesterday and had to scramble to recover. Yet, here I am doing it again. “I…I don’t know. I just want to be sure. I’ve worked here for a long time, and I do enjoy it. At least, I did before all the scandal and whatnot. If I lose my job, the money you’ll give me won’t matter. I need some assurance that this won’t ruin my whole life.”
He doesn’t shoot back at me about how I should have thought about that before I locked lips with him so recklessly. Instead, Asher just nods. Honestly, I expected him to be more of an asshole, though it’s probably coming. Guys like him are most assuredly always assholes. How can they not be? Having everything handed to you and the world at your disposal your whole life definitely wrecks most people.
“I’ll have something on your desk by the end of the day. And if you provide me with your banking information, I can transfer the money right away.”
“Shouldn’t we have some other sort of contract drawn up? About longevity or rules about faking it?”
“I trust you. A handshake would be enough for me.”
“Do I have to spit on my hand first?”
Asher studies me, his face so handsome—even when it’s purposely devoid of emotion—that my lady bits start pulsing. I’m wearing a skirt, and of course, underwear, and they’re getting that uncomfortable damp sensation again.
