Page 44 of Asher Black (The Five Syndicates)
Nope!
Not even a little!
I eye her ridiculously long legs again.
Is my face turning a little green?
Monica is still staring at me with narrowed eyes when I’m done with my perusal of her. Her eyes focus on my hands, which are bound by his, and I realize that our position looks way too intimate. To be fair, it feels that way, too.
Judging by the pained look on her face as she sees Asher and me in a compromising situation, I realize that she’s not stupid for working for the same company—the same man—for more than half a decade without a promotion. She’s stupid for doing all that because she loves her boss despite the fact that he clearly doesn’t feel the same way.
And he definitely doesn’t.
I could tell this when he dismissed her so easily earlier, his tired tone I now know was from exhaustion over her infatuation. I can tell this now, too, in the way that he doesn’t give a damn about how close we are, that we’re doing this in front of her. He’s still looking at me, a stormy expression in his exquisitely blue eyes.
The things I can do to you will…
Gosh, I still want him to finish that sentence.
It is Asher’s unnerving attention that makes me sit up quickly, pushing him away. He lets me, though I feel even more self-conscious without him covering me. My legs are in plain view under his t-shirt, which hitched high up my body when he tackled me. I push it down, thankful that it didn’t raise high enough to reveal my girly bits. Jumping up, I pretend to be unfazed.
“Let my help you with that,” I say, eyeing the takeout bags in her arms.
She has two bags, which look to be holding more than just the Pad Thai and Pad See Ew Asher and I ordered. That’s fine by me. The more food the merrier.
She pushes my hand away and says, “Nonsense. I can do it.”
I hold my hands up in mock surrender, hiding my smirk at the annoyed look on Asher’s face. She’s his assistant. If she irritates him, he should show her the door. From what I’ve seen, she’d just walk back in… without knocking.
We follow Monica downstairs, my stomach grumbling a few times along the way. I shove Asher with my shoulder when it makes him laugh for the millionth time. Monica looks on in contempt.
I almost feel bad for the girl. She clearly has the hots for him, and here I am, a complete stranger in a position she desperately wants to be in. She’s been here for five years. I’ve been here for just over a day, and I’ve made more progress. That has gotta suck.
I watch as she unloads the bags. I’m right. There are three takeout containers instead of just two. She places the three of them down on the dining table. The one labeled “Pad Thai” is placed on the tablemat on the left of the one labeled “Fried Rice.” On the place mat to the right of the Fried Rice, she places Asher’s Pad See Ew. I see what she’s doing. She’s putting herself between Asher and me, separating us so she can sit next to him.
Asher studies her as she takes a seat. She has a nonchalant expression pasted on her face, but I see how tense her shoulders are. Does she really think she can pull this coy shit on someone as smart as Asher?
Asher doesn’t sit. Instead, he grabs both of our food containers and makes his way into the living room. “You’re welcome to stay in the penthouse while you eat your food, Monica, but Lucy and I will be eating ours over here.”
He’s drawing boundaries between them, and I wonder how often he has to do this. From the look on Monica’s face, I would say it’s not often enough. She looks crestfallen and heartbroken rather than used to it. I briefly wonder if they have a history together. If they do, I need to know about it if I’m going to play his fake fiancée well.
When I take the seat on the floor next to him, I say under my breath, “Is she going to be a problem?”
Asher shakes his head, opening my takeout box for me. It’s placed on the coffee table in front of us.
“Nah. She just has a little crush on me.” He hands me a fork after I shake my head at the chopsticks he offers me.
“Little?” I snort, my voice still low. I point back and forth between us. “I take it she knows that this is fake?” I remember that she was the one to drop off the green card questionnaires.
“Yeah,” Asher sighs. “It can’t be helped. She’s my assistant, so she has to know everything. She signed an NDA as part of her employee contract, though.”
“And you trust her?”
“She hasn’t let me down thus far.”
I nod, but my mind isn’t at ease. Over the past 24 hours, I’ve come to realize that I have something to l
ose in this, too, beyond the financial benefits. I’m already a part of this. My fate was sealed as soon as I was introduced to people as Asher’s fiancée.
