Page 56 of Twisted Truth

“Then you can’t go to Marco’s. If you go out, it must be to a restaurant with private dining areas.”

Everyone is silent for a moment.

“It will be fine,” I try to assure Asher.

He glares at me. “After the paparazzi frenzy of this morning, something makes me highly doubt that.”

“Those types of places are way too expensive. No one can afford to drop that kind of money on a work lunch,” I say.

“Then take my card and pay the bill. But you’re not eating outside this building unless the restaurant can provide privacy for you.” He reaches into his pocket and pulls out his wallet. He slips a black card out of it and holds it out for me.

I want to hide under a rock as I reach out and take it from him in front of everyone. I also want to argue with him, but with the conversation we just had before this meeting, I don’t want to push my luck.

“Fine. We’ll find a place with private dining.”

The whole team silently watches our back and forth with rabid interest. It’s obvious to everyone that the dynamic between Asher and me has changed significantly in the last day. He’s no longer just the big, demanding, detached boss. The possessive, protective boyfriend side of him is showing, and I can tell it’s disconcerting to everyone.

Asher smirks and walks in my direction on his way out of the conference room. “Good girl,” he whispers in my ear. He gives me a small peck on the cheek, and it takes all of my mental strength not to jump in shock. He hasn’t kissed me in any way yet, and the first time he does, it’s in front of the team—all casual. Like he kisses me goodbye on the cheek as a rule.

“I’m working late, but I’ll see you at home tonight,” he says, as he walks toward the door. He gives me one last smirk before he’s out of the conference room.

Yet again, everyone’s eyes are on me. Wide and shocked.

Home,Asher said. Notmy home,ormy penthouse.Home.Essentially telling my coworkers I live there with him, which they didn’t know until now. I can only imagine what they’re thinking.

Damn Asher Langford and his possessive, territorial ways.

17

ASHER

Iclimb in the back of my car at the end of the work day, exhausted. I spent the afternoon volunteering at a soup kitchen, and then it was back to the office for more meetings. But the volunteering was actually a nice change of pace. I served soup and got to tour the facility and talk a bit with some of the men who frequent the shelter. It was . . . humbling to say the least. I’ve always tried to do charity work, but I realized that in the last decade, I’ve slowly, unintentionally shied away from the actual work of it, and got into the habit of simply donating money.

No wonder my parents have been frustrated with me over the last few years, I think, massaging my temples. Not only has my personal life been empty and vapid, but I’ve been so caught up in work and success for the last decade that I’ve all but forgotten the principles they worked so hard to ingrain in my brothers and me. My parents may have raised us in the glittering world of New York society, private schools, and glamorous events, but they also made very intentional efforts to show us what the world looked like beyond our privileged life.

They even took us to a war-torn country one summer sothat we could see other people’s realities with our own eyes. I’ll never forget my mother in tears as she spoke to my brothers and me about how she could never understand why some people were born with so much, while others were born with nothing. She’s always struggled with religion, with God, and with her noble title because of it. Because she couldn’t fathom why she was born into wealth and glamor, while the women’s organizations she worked with were filled with women who had been displaced, abused, trafficked, and had seen the worst in humanity first-hand and had lived through it. She pleaded with my brothers and me to see those women, fighting with every fiber of their being for their children, worrying that their children would starve, worrying their children would die of easily-cured illnesses, because of a lack of resources.

It was something I thought I’d never forget. And I haven’t forgotten it—but I sure have let it slip into the back of my mind in my laser focus to grow Langford Holdings. This need for good PR has been a wake-up call in more ways than one, and as much as I still resent the board for it, I can’t help but feel like maybe this was an intervention I didn’t realize I needed.

Silver linings, I guess.

I loosen my tie as the elevator takes me up to my penthouse. As soon as I’m through the doors, the blaring sound of the TV hits me. At first, I assume Ella must be watching something, but then Declan strolls out from my kitchen, holding a full plate of food and a beer.

Shit. The game. I forgot.

“You’re late, man,” Declan says through a mouthful.

“Where’s Ella?”

Declan’s brows raise. He swallows his giant mouthful of food dramatically. “Nice to see you, too. She’s upstairs in her room, I assume. I only saw her for a second when I got here.”

“Did you let her know dinner was ready?” I snap.

He clears his throat. “Not yeeet,” he says, drawing out the word. “But I was going to.”

I give him a glare. “Sure you were.”

I push past him and head up the stairs to Ella’s room. I knock lightly.