Page 113 of Twisted Truth

I gasp, and curse myself for the heat coursing between my legs, for my now wet panties.

“Then . . . I’ll . . . I’ll sleep in your room while you’re gone, so you can’t watch me.” My voice sounds weak, even to my own ears.

“Mmm, I like the thought of you in my bed. But it will do you no good; I have cameras in there as well, love. My entire penthouse is full of them for your protection and my peace of mind. I told you, once you’re mine, you’re mine wholly. I don’t do things by halves.”

Pieces of rational thought click back into place. I might be fucking turned on because Asher makes me into the worst kind of hussy, damn him, but I’m still pissed. “But youaredoing things by halves. This isn’t real, remember? You say I’m yours, but I’m not really. You don’t do long-term commitment. So when this is over, I’ll be someone else’s. And you won’t have a say in anything I do, and you sure as hell won’t be able to plant cameras in my room.”

I hang up on him even though this is far from over. I dial Zahra.

“Hey, babe!” she answers. “I haven’t heard from you in days! How are you? What’s going on?”

“I desperately need some girl time. Isn’t it your night off?”

“It is. What did you have in mind?”

“I just need to get out and have some fun, you game?”

“Hell yeah! And Lucy’s in town; I’ll call her.”

“Oh my god, yes! I didn’t know she was in town! Nowtonight will be even better. Not perfect since Maya’s in London, but close to it.”

I hang up and go into my closet. I pick out a dress made for a night out. It’s silver and shimmery, and tight as hell. I go to my chest of drawers and pull out my sexiest black bra and panties.

My phone rings.

“Yes, Asher?” I answer, innocently. I put the phone on speaker and toss it down onto the bed.

“What are you doing?” he growls.

“I’m going out with my friends. It’s Saturday night, after all. But don’t worry, I’ll have security with me. I was just about to text Jenkins to call ahead, but I can’t decide if I just want to go to a restaurant or if I want to go clubbing too.”

“The hell you’re going clubbing.”

“There are no clauses in our contract to keep me from going clubbing. Only that I can’t go out without security, which I just told you I’ll have.”

I look back at the camera and smirk as I slip my pajama shirt over my head. Twenty minutes ago I was ready to wash my makeup off and call it a night; I was actually looking forward to the quiet. But now? Fuck that. I’m feeling reckless and petty, and a night out with my girls sounds like a perfect remedy for that.

I keep smirking as I slip off my shorts. Asher wants a show? I’ll give him one. And then I’ll go out and dance with other men at a club. Wait, I can’t do that with the paparazzi potentially seeing it, and that’s the last thing I need . . . but I can dance with my friends and it will still piss off Asher.

I take my bra off and toss it into the corner. I think I hear a faint growl from the speaker of my phone. Next, I lose my underwear. I slowly slide up my black, lacy thong, then “accidentally” drop the black lacy bra. I turn around and bend over to pick it up. I slowly clasp my bra into place then slip into the dress that’s basically like wearing a disco ball. It will bring meloads of attention—not that I really want it, I just want to make a point.

“You’re not going out like that without me, Ella,” Asher growls.

“But you’re all the way over in London, so I guess you’re out of luck. Don’t worry, you’ll be able to check in on me when I get home with all the cameras you have in place. But you should get some sleep first because it’s already late in London, and I plan to be out until the early hours here in New York. You can check back in at breakfast time.”

I hang up again and go into my bathroom to bump my makeup up to an evening look and touch up my hair. Asher calls me three times, but I ignore his calls. He can go fuck himself. Which he’s apparently a pro at while he’s watching me in various states of nakedness in my room.

The thoughtdoes notturn me on.

Twenty minutes later, Jenkins is looking nervous and shifty downstairs.

“Mr. Langford insists you stay home,” he says as I walk into the foyer.

“Mr. Langford isn’t here, and I am not a prisoner. I’m going out whether anyone likes it or not, so you can follow along or you can stay here.”

Jenkins grumbles under his breath as he follows me into the elevator.

“Where are we going? I need to call ahead,” he asks, pinching the bridge of his nose.