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“You waffle on. I think you’re stalling. Broken bones- one toe and left wrist. Favorite sibling?” I smirked after that one.
“Not fair. They all have good qualities, but if I have to pick one, I guess Murphy. Lasagna or spaghetti?”
“Spaghetti every time. Favorite holiday?”
“Christmas. Biking or Hiking?”
“Hiking, because I’m a better walker than you,” I said. “Snow or beach?”
“Snow. I’m not a fan of being roasted in the sun. Potato chips or pretzels?”
“Both, I like to mix them.”
“And time’s up. We’re getting so good at this game. You feeling better yet?” Asher asked, turning on the couch to lean back and put his feet up on the table. “I could go more if you want to.”
“You said you hate baking in the sun, but that video I saw on the news showed you on a beach doing exactly that,” I said, confused.
“True, but I was drunk, so I didn’t willingly do it,” he answered as if it were an everyday question and no big deal. “Why an old Camaro?”
“My grandpa had one. He took me out in it every Sunday afternoon with the convertible top down,” I said, leaning back on the couch and putting my feet up too. “My parents have the car and one of these days I’m going to restore it.”
“I’m going to get some sleep. You should too,” Asher said, not moving from the couch.
“Not yet, Mr. Hawthorne. I asked you where we’re going to be living?”
“New York, most of the time, but I travel fifty percent of the year,” he mumbled, falling asleep. “You don’t have to travel every time I do, though, if you’re worried about that.”
“I’m not worried, it’s kind of exciting. Can we go back to Australia at some point?” I asked. “Well, first I have to make sure Brice is done stalking me.”
“Brice is done stalking you and we can go back anytime you want to,” he said. Then I heard a faint snore.
What’s that supposed to mean?
Chapter 68
AUGUST
I’d perfected the art of a faint snore to get people to leave me alone when I needed time to think or when they were driving me crazy. In this case, I just didn’t want to answer too many questions about where she would be living. The guilt was becoming unbearable.
“Asher, are you asleep?” I heard her whisper. Then I felt a blanket being placed across my legs. “Good night.”
Once she went to the bedroom, I tossed the blanket off and went to my bedroom. I called in to the pilot as usual for the hour heads up, then climbed under the covers. My cell chimed in with a text from Gunner. I didn’t really want to face him right now, so I laid my phone on the charging pad and drifted off to sleep.
“Mr. Hawthorne, you know what time it is,” the intercom crackled like a bad dream. “Imogen is landing the plane this time unless you get up here and save us all.”
I had to laugh from under my pillow. She had won the hearts of everyone who worked for me. I knew she was perfect for me, but the end of this charade was coming and I couldn’t figure out how to fix the ending. I knew one thing for sure, she had to hear it from me first.
“Get up here, sleepyhead, the clouds look so pretty,” Imogen said over the intercom.
I pushed the intercom to answer. “I’ll take my chances. I need to shower and answer some messages,” I croaked, then cleared my throat. “Maybe you’ll be better at flying than walking.”
“That was a low blow. You’re up a creek now,” she answered back.
I had a good laugh, then crawled out of bed and into a hot shower. My cell was vibrating so much when I walked back into the room you would have thought it was playing a full concert. I sat on the edge of the bed and swiped through the onslaught of texts from the family.
“I’m in Paris, August. When you land, meet me in Asher’s penthouse, “Mom texted.
Mom in Paris could only mean she was upset about something with the hotels or she was on to the switch. My next text was from Asher.
