CHAPTER 11
Asher
I pick up my mug, then finish the last of my coffee. It’s my second cup, but not my last. I have a slight caffeine addiction.
Glancing at the clock on my desk, I wonder when Hannah will arrive. I chose to work from home this morning for the sole purpose of seeing her, if only for a few moments.
Really, I only need a glimpse. Just a few words. Perhaps reassurance that she’s still committed to this job. I’m more than a little pissed she has weekends off and beyond frustrated I couldn’t spend the last few days playing with my new employee at The Wicked Horse.
Oh, I tried to play at the club without Hannah, but that didn’t quite work out liked I’d hoped. I spent a few lonely hours there Saturday night, finding that not one woman or orgy in progress interested me. Everything looked… dull.
Uninspiring.
I left frustrated and went home, jacking off to thoughts of Hannah before I went to bed.
I spent Sunday afternoon over at Christina’s hoping good food, football, and conversation would at least keep my mind occupied. Normally any time spent with my twin passes by in what seems like a matter of moments. Our bond makes it so we never have a lack of things to discuss, but Christina could see I was preoccupied. She asked me about it a few times, and I had to lie to her. When I said I was mired in a complex property swap, she seemed to accept it.
Outwardly, that is. Inside, my twin knew I was lying but didn’t call me on the carpet in front of her husband, Jack. She’d never call me out about anything in front of someone else because we always have each other’s backs.
Now, she’d totally do it in private and has on many, many occasions. Even though I often don’t want to hear a damn thing critical she has to say to me—especially if it involves all the ways I’ve changed since Michelle died—I always respect that her love for me is what causes her to care so much. Which is why I can tolerate my sister’s antics.
For example, Christina invited a “friend” over to eat with us on Sunday. And by friend, I mean a beautiful, single female who was incredibly outgoing, intelligent, and engaging.
I made it almost through the third quarter of the game before I faked an important business text that necessitated an emergency trip into the office. Christina’s friend bought it, but my sister did not.
She followed me out to my car and “called me on the carpet”. “Come on, Asher. What could possibly be wrong with Simone? She’s perfect, and you should ask her out.”
“Not interested,” I’d muttered as I unlocked my car, refusing to engage in this age-old debate.
I tried to open the door, but Christina leaned her entire body against it, stubbornly crossing her arms over her chest. Her look was pointed and concerned. “It’s been five years.”
“Not lost on me,” I gritted out. “You remind me often.”
“Because I love you and want you to be happy again.”
“I am happy,” I pointed out. “Incredibly happy being single. Why can’t you accept that?”
Her smile was sad when she stepped away from my car, making a sweeping motion with her hand that told me I could leave. Her last words struck me hard. “Because I know you, and you are not happy. What you are is protecting yourself. It’s going to make you miss out on something amazing one day.”
When she paused, I leaned in to kiss her on her cheek. “I love you for caring. But please… stop trying to push me in a direction I don’t want to go.”
“Never,” she assured me, and I couldn’t help but laugh. God love my sister, but she’ll always think she knows what’s right for me. If she had a clue I channel any loneliness I might have into a sex club, she’d flip out. It’s something I won’t be sharing with my twin.
The sound of my apartment door opening shoots a bolt of intense awareness through me at the thought Hannah is walking into my domain. I grab my coffee cup and push up from my chair, heading toward the kitchen.
There she is, already with the dishwasher opened so she can unload it.
And why in the fuck Hannah Madigan looks better than anything I’ve ever seen merely wearing jeans and a cotton t-shirt is beyond me. In my social circle, women dress radically different from her. During the day, my peers wear Chanel and Gucci. At night, they wear expensive silk and leather.
But Hannah is one of those women who’s just blissfully unaware of her beauty, so much so it makes her more attractive. It’s one of the reasons I obsessed about her this weekend, which is a stark and quite painful reminder that she has intruded just a little too deeply into my life.
This pisses me off.
I mean… I’m pissed off at myself, not her. She can’t help being who she is, but I sure as fuck can do something about the way she affects me.
The first order of business is to take a little control back from her, although she has no idea she took it from me in the first place.
“Why are you so late?” I ask as I stroll into the kitchen and head straight for the coffee pot.
Hannah jumps, putting a hand over her breastbone. “You scared me. And how can I be late when you never set a starting time for me?”
“Most people know a standard work day starts at eight,” I reply, which is the lamest of all comebacks. I’m aware she does not have normal work hours, since I have her working until the wee hours of the morning at The Wicked Horse. Still, I feel like being an ass, so I’ll be an ass. I need it to remind myself she does not control me.
She gives me a slight bow of acquiescence. While her words are apologetic, her eyes are filled with challenge. “My sincere apologies, Mr. Knight. It won’t happen again.”
I grunt in acknowledgment, realizing she’s not going to let me win this little war of words because she fully understands I’m being ridiculous. Also, I’m assuaged slightly just by seeing her.
By being in her presence.
Refilling my cup of coffee, I say, “I’m working from the house today.”
“Understood, Mr. Knight,” she shoots back, giving me another smart-ass bow.
When I glare at her, she smirks back. I make sure to turn away quickly before she sees my lips curl up, because it’s clear she knows how to manipulate me. She realizes if she’s bad, I’ll want to spank the shit out of her, which is something I did plenty of the night she was in the stocks.
She enjoyed it, but she knows I enjoyed the fuck out of it, too.
For a moment, I consider fucking her now, but that does breach the boundaries we’ve set. Besides, I have more control over myself than that, no matter how much I lust after her.
♦
It’s a relief when I’m able to get lost in work for a while. Back-to-back phone conferences helped, then I spent a glorious hour responding to emails. In that time, I didn’t think about Hannah once.
That lucky streak ends when she walks in through the open doorway of my office, carrying a carafe of coffee. One of those insulated thermos types I didn’t even known I owned. Probably something Michelle bought that had made the move with me to this apartment I’d bought after she died. I simply couldn’t stand being in our marital house, surrounded by the homemaking stamp she’d put on it.
“Made you some fresh coffee,” Hannah says as she strolls right up to my desk and sets it down. No cream or sugar, but then again, she watched me pour a cup of black earlier in the kitchen.
“Thank you,” I tell her.
When Hannah smiles, it causes my pulse to skitter. Jesus, that a woman’s smile can cause a physical reaction is disconcerting.
I turn my gaze back to my computer screen, but my entire body tenses when Hannah asks in a somewhat tight tone, “Do you have a girlfriend?”
My head snaps her way, and I narrow my eyes. “What?”
She nods toward my desk, right to the picture of Michelle. It was taken before we got married. I think we were in New York City for some function or other. It was a candid shot out on the streets. Smiling, she appeared radiantly happy.
Except now I have to wonder if Michelle ever truly was happy.
“She was my wife,” I reply curtly, clearly implying I’m unamused over her curiosity into my personal life.
“Oh,” she says with confusion. “Was?”
“She’s dead,” I state flatly.
“Oh my God,” she exclaims, but then claps a hand over her mouth. When she removes it, the sympathy in her voice is unbearable to me. “I am so sorry.”
My voice is flat in return. “Why? You didn’t know her.”
If she’s taken aback by my rudeness, she doesn’t show it. Her expression stays sorrowful, and her words make me feel like I’m touching a live electrical wire. “I’m sorry because it must have caused you pain.”
There’s a tiny part of me that’s sorry for what I’m about to do. She doesn’t deserve to feel the brunt of my rage, but it is indeed rage I’m overwhelmed by. Anger and fury at Michelle for doing what she did, with equal parts directed at me for not being able to save her. And there’s even a tiny bit directed at Hannah for bringing this shit up.
My inability to control these feelings is something I’ve struggled with over the years. The only thing I can do in moments like this is reassert my control of the situation. It’s the only way to overcome feelings of vulnerability, which I detest.
I let my gaze slide nonchalantly back to my computer screen, but I lace my voice with pure steel. “I want you at The Wicked Horse this Saturday evening. There’s a special event I want you to attend with me.”
I’m being truthful. Jerico is unveiling a new sex machine he had specially made, and I’m more than anxious to see it. Can’t wait to put Hannah on one of the specialty toys in the club.
“Sorry,” she demurs with her hands now gently clasped in front of her. “But I can’t work on the weekends. I told you that.”
“You can have Friday off in Saturday’s place,” I tell her with a magnanimous nod of my head.
“No,” she replies firmly. “I need Saturday and Sunday off. That was our deal.”
“I’m changing the deal.” My chin tilts up, and I give her a cold smile. “I’ve paid you a lot of money already, and I’m quite confident you’re making more than you ever have before for far less hours. Are you really going to give that up?”
I expect her to drop her gaze, hunch her shoulders, and submit to me. Instead, she raises her chin higher than mine. “Yes. I’ll regretfully have to give it up. I can’t be available to you on the weekends. It’s just not possible, so if you have to fire me for it, I understand.”
“For fuck’s sake,” I growl as I push up from my chair to press clenched fists into my desktop. She’s thwarting my efforts at taking back control. “What could be so goddamn important you’d give up this type of money for so little effort on your part?”
Hannah’s golden-brown eyes darken as if they’re filled with malevolent shadows. As she leans across my desk to get in my face, she snarls right back at me as. “I think my effort at my job is stupendous—or at least the way you call my name out when you come seems to indicate it is. But your money will never be as important as my freedom on the weekends.”
The gritty determination in her tone gives me pause, making me curious. “What exactly is so important about your weekends?”
“I spend them with my daughter.”
I jerk back, stunned by this revelation. “Daughter?”
She ignores my request for a clarification. Instead, she coldly says, “I busted my ass at three jobs so I could make enough money to hire an attorney to fight for custody of my daughter. So while the money you pay me to do this is incredibly important, I’ll go back to working three jobs before I’ll give up my weekends with my kid.”
Well, shit. That knocks the wind out of my sails. I’d never ask her to give that up. I might be a douche a lot of the time, but I do still have a moral compass.
“Why don’t you have custody?” I ask. Well, more like demand.
Hannah grimaces. “Because the judge was a golfing buddy of my ex-husband’s, and I didn’t have the means to hire a very good attorney to represent me when we split.”
Rage hits me again, except this time it’s all for Hannah’s ex. I feel an overwhelming desire to hunt this man down and beat the shit out of him.
The judge, too.
Pushing those insanely inappropriate protective feelings aside, I stand once again and grab my phone from the desk. “You can add my office to your regular schedule of cleaning. I’m going to work the rest of the day at my office.”
No sense in keeping her out of here. She’s seen Michelle’s picture, which was really the only private thing in this space.
I don’t feel the need to let her know I’m capitulating on the weekend demands, feeling she’s smart enough to understand that since I just opened my personal office up to her cleaning schedule.
As I walk past her to exit, she asks, “Do you need me at the club tonight?”
Fuck, I need her right now, but I shake my head, determined to put some distance back between us. Giving into my needs means giving up control. “Not tonight. Maybe tomorrow.”
Yes, I need distance. It will help me get over the fact I feel like a fool for demanding time with her this weekend, just so I could win a battle with her. I feel like a fucking fool, of course, because she won that battle fair and square.