Page 66 of Asher Black (The Five Syndicates)
It takes a few minutes, but he finally speaks. “I cried the first time Vince bought shoes for me.”
“What?” My eyes are clear now, and I’m fully turned to face him. I’m flummoxed by what he’s telling me, that he’s confiding in me to make me feel better.
He lets out a derisive laugh. It’s empty and gut wrenching. “It was the first pair of shoes anyone ever bought me. Before that, I used to steal them from neighbors or trash bins. I fucking cried when Vince took me in and bought me shoes.”
My heart weeps at the thought of a young Asher, crying at the first kind thing to happen to him. “Why are you telling me this?”
His eyes look earnest and void of judgment when he says, “It’s okay to cry at kindness. This is the first time someone has stood up for you, but it won’t be the last. I’ll always look after you, okay?”
“How did you kno—” I cut myself off.
Of course, he figured it out.
This is Asher Black.
I laugh a little as I repeat the words he said to me the second time we met, “You’re different than I thought you’d be.”
Back then, I thought he was cruel, calculated, and perceptive.
A lethal weapon.
I was right.
But I was also wrong.
He’s so much more than that.
He’s witty, protective and also kind. This depiction of Asher is at odds with so many of my previous misconceptions of him, and I find myself promising to let my bias go. To judge Asher by the way he treats me, not what other people claim he is.
I’ve been prejudiced from the start. I know that now.
Asher is so much more than foregone conclusions, and what I’m learning about him, I really, really like.
Chapter Twenty
One man with courage
makes a majority.
Andrew Jackson
The next week, I’m happy to find an invitation to Wilton’s senior networking cocktail party sitting in my email inbox. The school hosted event is an opportunity for graduating seniors majoring in the sciences to meet the who’s who of the medical field.
It’s exclusive to the seniors graduating magna or suma cum laude. As a junior, I shouldn’t even be getting an invitation. Asher is probably behind it, and I find the gesture surprisingly sweet.
It’s custom to take a date, so when I ask him if he’ll go with me, I’m glad Asher agrees. I’m tempted to ask him how he got me an invitation, but if something illegal is involved, I’d rather not know. Because this, an invitation to the hottest networking event on campus, is too big to turn down.
On the day of the party, I dress in the jeweled burgundy dress Tommy made me, the first dress I tried on when he came over last week. I’m feeling confident when I step out of the bathroom, done with my light makeup.
Asher is exiting the closet with his head down, but he looks up when he hears me. I stand still as he takes me in, his eyes traveling from my heeled feet to my hair, which is pulled up into an elegant French twist.
“You look stunning,” he says, the compliment sounding foreign on his lips but still genuine.
At his approval, I force myself not to make a fool of myself. I still manage to blush, which causes him to shake his head and smile. He walks back into the closet, and when he comes out, he’s wearing a tie the same color as my dress. It goes well with his all black suit and white button down.
I’m surprised when he hands me his cuff links and lifts a questioning brow, the blackness of lust still lurking within the depths of his eyes. I’ve seen Asher put on cuff links himself at least a dozen times. He doesn’t need my help.
I know this, but I help him anyway. When I take the cuff links from his palms and slip one into the cuff of his sleeve, my fingers brush lightly against his skin, and I immediately know why he asked for my help.
