Page 30 of Twisted Truth

“Dinner is served,” Asher says, placing a steaming bowl of soup in front of me.

“Thank you.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever said those words before,” he muses.

“I bet you haven’t.”

He chuckles. “It’s a good thing. I can’t cook to save my life. My culinary skills end at reheating what the chef prepares.”

“I can’t cook either,” I say with a laugh as I dig in. I almost let out an embarrassingly loud moan because the soup is incredible, but luckily I manage to stifle it to a reasonable hum of approval, thank god.

Asher washes the pan while I eat, and I can’t help but notice him sneaking glances at me. I’m not sure what to do, what to think. I don’t know him well, but he’s acting a little stiff and uncomfortable. Out of place. Which is weird because we’re in his home. But then, we’re his employees in his home, so this must feel out of place for him. My kind-of-drunk brain can’t process it all.

The soup warms my insides, but that only makes the stark cold against my skin more noticeable. I shiver involuntarily, and goose bumps rise across my skin.

“You should have left the jacket on,” Asher observes from across the kitchen island, drying off the washed pan.

“I didn’t want to spill on it. And the sleeves are too long.”

When I finish, he takes my bowl and places it in the sink but tells me to keep my water with me to keep drinking. He wants me to sober up a bit before the meeting. I stand and let out a big yawn. It’s not that late, only ten p.m., but it feels much later, and I’m a sleepy drunk at the best of times.

“You’re tired?” Asher says, frowning. “Let’s do this: you rest up, and we’ll start the meeting. You can join us after a bit.”

“No, it’s okay, I’m fine,” I say quickly, blushing furiously again. God, could I make a worse impression?

“Ella, I insist. Follow me.”

Mortified, I follow him as he leads me across the penthouse. I want to insist again that I’m fine, but I can’t seem to find my voice to form a coherent argument. This is all such uncharted territory.

I follow Asher through a doorway and he flicks a switch. Several lamps turn on, casting the room in a soft glow, and I almost gasp at where I’ve found myself. It’s his bedroom. It must be. It’s massive, with two walls of floor-to-ceiling windows that hold breathtaking views of the city, a king-sized bed at the center of one of those glass walls, and luxurious but simple furniture throughout. A short hallway on my right leads to what looks like a closet the size of a room and another door sitting ajar leads to a bathroom that is bigger than Zahra’s apartment.

“Take a quick nap,” Asher says, his voice breaking me out of my reverie. I didn’t even notice him make his way across the room. He pulls back the comforter and motions for me to climb into the bed.Hisbed.Am I dreaming? Hallucinating?There is no way this is actually happening. “I’ll wake you in thirty minutes. That should help you take the edge off and let the food get into your system. We’ll just be going over minor details to start. We won’t discuss anything major until after I come get you.”

I open my mouth to argue.

“Ella, this isn’t up for debate. The sooner you take a little nap, the sooner we can begin our meeting.”

“O-okay.”

Still reeling, I kick off my heels and climb into Asher Langford’s bed like this isn’t the most insane Tuesday night ever. I’m still not fully convinced I’m not dreaming or was drugged at the club. But those thoughts fade as Asher pulls the comforter up over my shoulders, tucking me in. His eyes meet mine, and they seem to soften, though his brows furrow ever so slightly. I can’t discern the expression beyond the fact that he seems . . . pensive, maybe? He reaches out and brushes a stray lock of hair off my forehead, and I take a stuttering breath as the current of electricity that pulsed between us at the club seems to thrum in the air once again. I swallow hard.

“Sleep,” he says, in a low, quiet voice, before turning and crossing the room. He switches off the light on his way out the door, and I blow out another shaky breath as darkness settles over me.

My mind is both wired at the insanity of the situation and fogged with tiredness as I close my eyes. I try to slow my racing heart by focusing on the pure luxurious comfort that is Asher’s bed; on the silken sheets that glide like butter against my skin, and the pillow that feels like a cloud beneath my head. After a moment it seems to work, and despite all that’s happened tonight, a haze washes over me and I drift off.

“Ella,”a low voice murmurs.

Warm lamp light flicks on. I shield my eyes.

“Sorry,” the deep voice says. “It’s been thirty minutes. Are you okay to come join us for the meeting?”

I stretch and sit up. I’m in a massive bedroom that is so much nicer than any place I’ve ever slept in. Apparently, I fellinto a mini coma for my nap, because it takes me a moment to reorient myself before the night finally comes back to me.

I’m tired as hell, but no longer drunk and no longer hungry.

“Yeah, I’m ready. Do you have coffee? I may need coffee to get through the meeting.”

“I have coffee,” Asher says, offering me his hand.