Chapter Twenty
Sadie
I’ve managed to avoid Ashton all weekend. But now Monday has arrived, and with it comes the inevitable; I can’t avoid my father and Jake forever. I’m standing in my father’s office, my sweaty hands clasped behind my back, feeling like I’m fifteen again.
“You are not to see Ashton anymore. Do you understand me?”
“You can’t tell me how to live my life. I’m an adult.” I’ve been an adult for nearly five years now. Maybe Ash is right. When am I going to grow a backbone and stand up to the indomitable Joseph Sawyer? Problem is I stood up to him the day I announced I wasn’t continuing my education in law school, and I’m not sure I’ll survive another confrontation like that.
But marrying Jake isn’t an option either, and neither is giving up Ashton’s friendship.
“Legally, you’re an adult,” my dad says, running a hand through his hair, “but your judgement suggests otherwise. I’m only trying to protect you, Sadie. I don’t want you around that Levine kid anymore.”
“What do you have against him?”
“Where do I begin?” He rises from behind his monstrous desk and takes a casual stroll around his office, ticking off the reasons on his fingers. “He spent the majority of high school in detention, was arrested for possession, had an absent father, not to mention he’s a college dropout.” He stops in front of his giant bookcase full of law books, his mouth a severe, disapproving line.
“Well, you’ve obviously done your homework.”
I don’t tell him how Ash was arrested his sophomore year because he took the fall for Bryce’s pot. Bryce already had a troubled past, and one more charge would have sent him away for a while. Instead, Ashton took community service and probation and helped his friend clean up his act.
I also don’t point out that the absence of Ashton’s father wasn’t his fault, but it did cause him to act out in high school. As for dropping out of college…I’m kind of wishing I’d done the same at the moment. Or at the very least, I wish I’d explored what I wanted in college instead of following someone else’s plan for me.
“I’m not heartless, Sadie. I see how Ashton has turned his life around for the better. That still doesn’t mean he’s good enough for you.”
And that’s when I realize he isn’t going to back down, no matter what I say. “If you can’t understand that Jake and I aren’t happening, then I might as well clear my shit out of here now.”
He clenches his jaw, and I fear that look on his face—all hard lines, unforgiving angles, and a turbulence in his gaze that is all too familiar. “You know how I feel about such language.”
“I’m sorry,” I say, more out of habit than an actual sense of remorse.
“I did not fight tooth and nail to get you to where you are today just to watch you throw it away on some punk. He’s not good enough for you, sweetheart. You need a man with ambition.”
“Jake has ambition all right. He’s very ambitious when it comes to screwing around with his assistant.”
“That is enough!” He takes a deep, calming breath and glances at the watch on his left wrist. “I’m due in the conference room in five minutes. We’ll discuss this later.” He picks up a pile of folders and hands them to me on his way to the door of his office. “Going through these should keep you busy for a while. Highlight anything with a July date.”
I grit my teeth as I take the files from him. It’s grunt work—something an assistant would be asked to do. This is my father’s way of punishing me.
Seems he isn’t the only one with punishment on his mind. I’m mind-numbingly deep into the task when my cell vibrates on my desk. At first I ignore it, but I’ve read the same paragraph of this boring transcript about six times, so when my phone goes off again, I peek at the screen.
Ashton: We need to discuss your punishment.
Even as a flutter of…something goes off in my chest, I clench my jaw as I tap out a reply.
Me: I’m still angry at you.
Ashton: I thought we put that past us Friday night. What’s going on?
Me: My dad is on the warpath. He’s not happy about the stunt you pulled at dinner.
Ashton: Be angry at me all you want. What I said to your father is true.
Me: You didn’t have to cause a scene.
Ashton: You weren’t going to stand up for yourself, so I had to do it for you. If you think I was going to let that asshole put a claim on you, you’re insane.
Me: I wasn’t about to get engaged to Jake.
Ashton: You weren’t about to express your outrage over your old man’s underhanded tactics, either. Admit it, Sawyer.
Me: You had no right to interfere. It’s my life.
Ashton: It’s about time you started acting like it.
Someone clears their throat, and I tilt my chin up from my phone to find a man standing next to my desk. “Can I help you?” I ask.
“Sadie Sawyer?”
“Yes, that’s me.”
“Got a package for you.” He sets a rectangular shaped box on my desk then holds out a screen for an electronic signature. After I scrawl a pathetic version of my name, I thank the delivery guy.
A good five minutes tick by before I find the courage to open the box. It’s white with silver embroidery accents, and I’d bet money it’s from Ash. I can feel it—especially since he stopped texting me the instant the delivery guy appeared at my desk, almost as if he knew.
Because he sent whatever is in this box.
I lift the lid, and one glance at the contents has me shoving it back on. Cheeks warming, I sneak a peek around the office, but it’s just as empty as it was ten minutes ago when I gave in to boredom and started arguing with Ashton via text. Everyone’s been holed up in the conference room for the last two hours.
It’s just me, the temptation of Ashton’s texts, and this damn box.
Me: What did you send me?
Ashton: Didn’t you open it?
Me: For like two seconds. Jesus, Ash. You can’t send that type of stuff to me at work!
Ashton: What’s the matter? Would your father and JJ the Jerk find it in poor taste that I sent you crotchless panties?
My eyes go wide. All I’d seen was a pile of plum purple lingerie—very sexy and expensive-looking lingerie.
Me: What the hell, Ash?!
Ashton: I take it you didn’t explore your gift. That’s okay. You’ll have plenty of time later at the hotel.
Me: What hotel?
Ashton: The one you’re going to after work. The key to our room is at the bottom of the box. Room 381.
An anxious butterfly takes flight in my gut. There’s something about a hotel room that inspires sex, and a large part of me wants to give Ash my virginity. The other, more logical part of me realizes he’s already taken too much of my heart as it is. Every time I’m near him, he chips away at my resistance. Determined to stay strong, I fire off a reply, my thumbs flying over my phone’s screen.
Me: I can’t do this.
Ashton: Yes, you can.
Me: You know I’m not ready for this.
Ashton: Ready for what?
Me: Sex.
Ashton: Are you saying you might be ready for it eventually?
Me: Well yeah. I don’t plan to stay a virgin forever.
Ashton: Let me rephrase that. Are you saying you might be ready for it eventually with ME?
Shit, he would have to ask the tough question.
Me: I can’t answer that.
Ashton: I didn’t think so. That’s why I don’t plan on fucking you, so you can chill out.
Me: But you’re going to “punish” me.
I hope he can detect the sarcasm in that statement.
Ashton: Fuck yes. And you’re going to enjoy every minute of it. Except for one thing.
Me: And what would that be?
Ashton: The part where I don’t let you come.
That does sound torturous. So why am I tingling between my legs at the thought? I don’t have time to think about it further. The door to the conference room opens, and my father and several of the partners start to trickle out.
I put my phone away and get back to work, determined to keep busy enough to edge out thoughts of Ashton in a hotel room, but there’s no amount of willpower in the world that can keep me from wondering what he’s going to do to me tonight.