Page 9 of Scandal
“So you know why Daddy asked me here.”
“I do.”
I roll my eyes. “You’re usually the chatty one, Mom.”
“I’m trying to give you the opportunity to be the chatty one for a change.” She gives me a pointed stare. “Isn’t that why you came up here? To talk.”
I let out a sigh. “Yeah.”
“Okay, so talk.”
I press my lips together, trying to gather my thoughts. The sound of the waves through the open window steadies my pulse. “I don’t know why they want me to do this, Mom. I’m—”No one, I want to say. Instead, I go with, “Not a good choice.”
“Why do you think that?”
“Because Asher and I hardly know each other. We’ve basically had one conversation.” Two, if you count that time he rescued me at my father’s award ceremony.
I was standing in front of a thousand cameras and felt so awkward and uncomfortable. I felt all their eyes on me, and all I wanted to do was run. But then I looked up and suddenly, there he was.
Asher Knight.
He walked up to me, cool and confident, then leaned over and whispered, “The trick is to act like you don’t give a shit.”
I laughed, and that one laugh felt like letting go of a ten-pound weight. I relaxed for the first time all evening, then he wrapped an arm around my waist, and suddenly I couldn’t breathe again—but for a very different reason.
I thought for sure he would notice, but he just turned, smiled, and said, “See?” and that was it.
That was the last conversation I had with him.
You would think the press would have gone wild over those photos of us together. But the next day, the captions simply read, “Asher Knight with business manager’s daughter, Mercury Creed.”
I wondered if I should take it as an insult that no one even stopped to consider we might be together. I mean, it wasn’t that ludicrous, was it? Eight years wasn’t that big of an age gap.
But eventually, I decided it was a blessing. I didn’t want my life to be under that kind of scrutiny anyway. I can barely handle a few cameras. There’s no way I could be in the kind of spotlight Asher attracted.
“What did the boys tell you?” my mom asks, her voice even and calm.
I let out a sigh. “That they think I might be able to get through to Asher because we both like music or whatever.”
Yes, I know I sound like a sullen teenager.
An amused smile curls my mother’s lips. “I think what Asher needs more than anything right now is a friend?—”
“He has plenty of friends!” I interrupt her.
She gives me a placating look, one I remember well from my childhood. “Sorry.” I wither instantly.
“Most of his friends have a vested interest in his career because it impacts theirs. And while I don’t doubt any of those men would set aside their own self-interests for Asher, I’m not sure that he trusts anything related to the band right now.”
“But won’t I just be a reminder of all that?”
She shrugs. “You could be. Or you could be exactly what he needs.”
A friend is what my mother thinks Asher needs.
Just a friend.
How could I say no to that?
