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I feel myself flush what I know is probably a deep, deep shade of red. I quickly straighten up, trying to regain some semblance of composure.
“Can I get you anything else?” I force myself to say, looking at anyone except Asher.
“A vodka tonic,” one of the guys say.
I nod, retreating as quickly as I can.
Every nerve in my body is on fire as I dash across the club toward the bar. Holy shit. Holyshit. Asher fucking King is currently sitting twenty feet away from me. And he’s seen me. Oh my god.
I feel like I’m going to throw up. Like my entire life is coming to an end.
Never in a million years did I ever think I would see anyone I know here. It’s a gentlemen’s club, a club where women walk around half naked and dancers do stripteases on a stage. And it’s highly exclusive. Expensive as hell.
Which … now that I think about it, Asher King is the only person I know who could probably afford to be here. The only person I’d have a chance of running into. And just my luck, here he is.
I want to sink into the floor and die.
The bartender hands me the vodka tonic I’d ordered, and I turn and face the room. I see the group on the far side. They’re still chatting, their backs to me. Asher seems stiff, although he always seems that way.
I glance around, and just then, I see Courtney walking by. I reach out to grab her arm. “Hey,” I say.
She stops, raising her eyebrows in question.
“Can you do me a favor? Bring this drink to that group in the corner, okay?”
“Sure,” she says, taking it and adding it to her tray. “Everything okay?”
I nod. “Yeah, everything’s fine. Just—I’ll tell you later.”
She shrugs, walking off.
I stand there for a moment, observing the group, and then I shake my head and approach the nearest table. I still need to finish my job for the night. Seeing Asher doesn’t change that. I’ll just do my best to avoid him.
I spend the rest of the night acutely aware of Asher’s presence and careful not to venture too close to the far side of the club. I can feel him looking for, see him scanning the room from time to time, but I do my best to avoid being detected. All the women are dressed alike, after all, and I’m staying as far away as possible.
And when my shift finally draws to a close, a scamper away to the locker room as quickly as possible. My relief, I know, is short lived. While I may have avoided a horribly uncomfortable conversation tonight, it doesn’t change the fact that come Monday morning, I’ll have to face Asher.
The best I can hope for is that he didn’t get a good look at me. That he thinks he made the whole thing up, hallucinated or some shit. But I know I’m kidding myself. He’d looked me directly in the eyes. He knew it was me.
I groan internally as I get dressed, dreading the next week. Work was just starting to get better, and this had to fucking happen. Just my luck.
I make my way to my locker, pulling it open to retrieve my purse. As I do, something small flutters to the floor. I reach to pick it up. At first, it looks like a napkin, but then I realize it’s a piece of paper. A piece of paper with something written on it. I turn it over. A note.
You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.
An uncomfortable knot forms in my stomach. I frown. My first thought goes to Asher, but then I push that aside. Just because two weird things happen in the same night doesn’t mean they’re connected. Besides, how would he know which locker was mine? And even more to the point—he is myboss. Our fleeting encounter would not have prompted this.
I shake my head, crumpling up the note and tossing it into a nearby trashcan. Whatever. Who knows? Maybe the note is old, having been stuffed into the locker for months—years even—and not meant for me. Whatever it is, it doesn’t matter. I have bigger issues to deal with.
Like the fact that my boss hasn’t only seen me naked one, buttwice.
I roll my eyes. Fuck.
Chapter 11
I spend the weekend dreading Monday. And when Monday finally rolls around, driving to work feels like walking into a death trap.
I don’t think I’ve ever been this nervous in my life. I’m dreading seeing Asher. Seeing his face, knowing what he knows. Part of me wants to just play if off, pretend I wasn’t even there, gaslight the shit out of him. But deep down, I know I’m not capable of it and that he’ll see right through me.
