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I stare at the boxes I’d started packing lining the living room. I’d hoped to be moved into my parents’ home by now. Oh well. I guess I’ll need to reup the lease here. A pang of heartbreak hits me, and I try to push it away.
When a knock at my door pulls me from my TV show, I look up, startled. Courtney is my only friend who’d ever come over unannounced, but I doubt she’d be here tonight. I haven’t told anyone about the news of my parents’ house, so she wouldn’t know to come comfort me.
A sudden wave of fear hits me, and I wonder if it’s Michael Harrison. I spring from the couch, creeping slowly toward the door to look through the peephole.
Relief floods me when I see it’s not Harrison, but then a wave of confusion replaces it. It’s Asher.
I quickly glance in the mirror in my hall, running my fingers through my hair and trying to smooth out the redness under my eyes. I don’t want him to know that I’ve been crying, but at the sight of me, it’s probably hard not to notice.
With a sigh of frustration, I open the door anyway. Asher stands on the threshold, looking as hot and put together as ever. It makes my mood even worse.
“What do you want, Asher?” I ask quietly. I’d meant it to come out accusatory, angry, but instead, it just sounds tired.
“Can I come in?” he asks gently.
I want to say no, but instead I simply step aside, allowing him in.
He walks into my living area, and I follow. He stands in silence for a moment, glancing around. “So this is your place,” he finally says.
“Yeah.” I cross my arms over my chest, almost as if hugging myself.
“It’s very cute.”
I shrug. “It’s not a penthouse.”
He turns to me, an unreadable expression on his face. “Olivia, I felt like we needed to talk.”
Exhausted, I reply, “About what?”
“About …” Asher takes a deep breath, suddenly uncomfortable. “About what you said in my office before you left.” He glances up to meet my gaze, seemingly hoping for some sort of response, but I have none to give. “You’d mentioned … feelings,” he says.
I roll my eyes, frustrated. “What do you want, Asher? To come to my home and rub it in my face that allowing myself to develop feelings was stupid? I already know that.”
Asher is shaking his head. “No, that’s—”
“You don’t have to placate me. I’ll get over it, I will. You had fun fucking your assistant and now it’s over. It’s just—just that this week has been absolute shit, and I need time to process everything.” I rub my temples, holding back tears.
I spin, unwilling to let Asher see me cry, but he grabs my hand, pulling me back around. “Is that what you think?” he asks desperately, his expression crestfallen.
I glare back at him. “What else would I think after you’ve ignored me all week?”
He stares at me, his mouth part way open, seeming lost for words. Finally, he says, “Olivia.” He shakes his head. “That’s not the case at all.”
“Then what is it?” I demand.
He stares back at me, biting his lip. His fingers tighten around my hand. “I … I thought—I was worried I’d taken advantage of the situation and that you’d feel … used,” he finally admits. “I felt bad. I didn’t want you to feel like what we did was somehow expected now.”
My eyes widen. “You were worried I’d feel pressured?” I repeat.
“Olivia,” he says again. “You have it all wrong.”
I look up, meeting his gaze questioningly.
“Whatever feelings you were having, I can promise I was having them too. If not more so.” He sets his jaw, seeming uncomfortable. “I’ve never—I never thought …” he trails off, taking another deep breath. “I’ve never allowed myself to develop feelings like this before. I always stop myself, never allow myself to trust. And then you walked into my life.”
I stare at him, taking it all in. What is he saying?
“You walked into my life, and at first I thought we’d just have some fun, and then … and then you meant more and more to me, and I was unable to deny my feelings any longer.”
