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I say nothing, but I’m starting to understand what Stella is saying. What if she’s right? What if I asked too much of Asher like he said? What if I was too impatient? What if I didn’t really give him a chance?
~
I’m still thinking about those questions as I cross the lobby of The Mistral.
What do I do? Do I just forget the fight Asher and I had and all the hurtful things he said to me? Why do I always have to be the one to do something, to give in, to take a leap of faith? Why can’t he? Then again, can I stand not doing anything? Can I just leave things as they are?
Either way, I lose. And I hate losing. Isn’t there another way?
I’m almost to the elevator when I hear someone call my name.
“Violet!”
At the thought that it might be Asher, my heart leaps. But then it sinks as I turn my head and realize it’s not. It’s just Liam.
Wait. Liam? All the way from Switzerland?
“Violet!” He puts his arms around me. “How are you?”
“Good,” I answer automatically before giving him a puzzled look. “Liam, what are you doing here?”Chapter Twenty-ThreeAsher
What am I doing here?
Yesterday, I caught Violet hiding in a cubicle on the verge of tears. After that, she disappeared. Today, she didn’t come in to work. According to Dylan, she isn’t feeling well but it’s nothing serious. Is that true? Something tells me it’s a lie.
If it is, shouldn’t I go check on her and ask her what’s wrong? What if she’s thinking of quitting because of me? And if it isn’t a lie, shouldn’t I go check on her and bring her something to make her feel better? She’s still one of my most valuable employees.
Why am I still here at the office?
It’s not because I no longer care. From the moment I saw her in her office the day after we had the fight, I realized I still do. And these past few days when Violet and I haven’t been able to talk—talk, not just discuss things about work—these past few days when I haven’t even seen Violet smile, I realized just how much.
I miss her. I miss her smile and the laughter which she always seems to be trying to suppress. I even miss her glares and her pouts and the way that she rolls her eyes and turns her nose up at me. I miss her hair and how it smells. I miss the warm softness of her lips. I miss the heat of her skin. I miss every nook and cranny of her beautiful body. I miss her pancakes. I miss her competitiveness, her stubbornness, her charm, her confidence and the vulnerability she’s only showed to me.
I miss her. I miss all of her.
But do I have a right to? Do I have a right to miss her after I hurt her so much? Do I have a right to still care about her when I’m still not sure I can give her what she wants? Do I have a right to want her back?
I think about that for a few seconds. Then I slam my hands on my desk as I get out of my chair.
Fuck it. I’m going to go see her.
~
Almost as soon as I ring the doorbell, I hear someone rushing to the door. My heart races. My fingers tighten around the bouquet of flowers I have in my hand.
Then the door opens and I see a man in the doorway, a tall man with blond curls and pale skin wearing the Canadian flag sweater that Violet and I bought at the gift shop of CN Tower. I frown.
He gives me a huge smile. “Hi.”
Who the hell is this guy? Why does he sound like he has a French accent? Or is it German? Most importantly, what is he doing in Violet’s apartment?
He looks at the bouquet I’m holding. “You must be Asher.”
He knows who I am?
“Yeah.” I offer him my hand. “Asher Hawthorne.”
“Liam O’Connell.”
O’Connell? So he’s Irish? That still doesn’t explain who he is and what he’s doing in Violet’s apartment.
“Are those for Violet?” he asks about the bouquet.
I nod. “Yeah. I heard she wasn’t feeling well. I’d like to see her and give this to her in person.”
The man doesn’t budge. He shakes his head.
“I’m sorry, but that’s not possible.”
I wonder if it’s possible to punch him instead. But no. I’m not going to let my temper get the better of me this time.
I square my shoulders instead and stick my chest out.
“Maybe you didn’t hear me. I’m Asher Hawthorne. I’m her—”
“I know exactly who you are.”
And the hostility that has suddenly taken over his expression tells me how much else he knows.
Who is he that Violet confided in him so much? Her brother? I don’t think she has one. Besides, they don’t look at all alike.
