“Good. I was first.” He kissed my forehead. “How was the test?”
“Congratulations, peque. The test was shitty.”
He squeezed my waist. “Language.”
“Una mierda.”
Asher laughed. “Much better. I missed you. And I’m sorry the test sucked. I should’ve helped more.”
I buried my face in his chest. “No. You’ve got too much to deal with.”
His hand slid under my hoodie, warm palm drawing circles on my skin that made me tingle. “Your father should’ve hired a tutor. There’s nothing wrong with getting help. You’ve studied every day since I came here.”
“It’s okay,” I murmured. “I’ll study harder. I just wanted to make Mom proud.”
“She already is.” He brushed his thumb along my cheek. “Look at your desk.”
A stunning bouquet of red roses sat in a vase. I slid off the bed and leaned closer. The tiny card readFor the smartest girl I know—in Asher’s handwriting.
“I love them.” I buried my nose in the petals, inhaling their sweetness. “Thank you, Ash.”
His soft footsteps followed. He wrapped his arms around me from behind, lips brushing my neck. “I’m sorry about yesterday. I was a mess. I didn’t want you worrying, and I hated that you stayed up waiting when you needed rest.”
I turned in his embrace. “No, Ash. You don’t have to—”
“I do.” His thumb traced my bottom lip. “I’m sorry being with me is so complicated. I’d take you to Spain if I could and fuck them all. The team, Ethan, everyone. I just want us to have a goddamn break.”
I kissed his thumb. “Me too.”
Our parents’ voices rose downstairs. Ash groaned, letting me go. “Guess I need to leave. Don’t worry about anything, peque. I love you.”
He brushed a quick kiss over my lips and strode to the door.
“Ash,” I called as his hand closed on the handle.
“Yeah?”
“I love you too,” I said. “And I don’t mind complicated.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Asher
On Monday, I sat at the oval glass table in the conference room at headquarters with Ale and Sean, the lawyer Ale had found. Lack of sleep left my eyes dry and itchy, and sweat dampened my white shirt. Ethan was doing better, which should’ve calmed me, but anxiety still pressed heavy against my chest.
At a quarter to ten, the door opened. Two men walked in. The shorter one—Ethan’s agent—greeted us and sat across from Ale. The other, a lanky man with a bald head, gray suit, and black-rimmed glasses, nodded once before lowering into the chair beside him.
“My name is Mark Jones,” he said. “I represent Mr. Ethan Brooks.”
I glanced at Ale. His concerned gaze met mine, and all I wanted was for this to be over.
After the introductions, Mark placed a thin black folder on the table. “Mr. Brooks endured a brutal beating, resulting in both physical injuries and profound emotional distress. Taking into account the financial burdens from medical expenses, it is our position Mr. Williams owes compensation for the extensive damages he caused.” He slid the folder toward Sean. “Our settlement offer outlines compensation for both tangible and intangible losses suffered by Mr. Brooks.”
Money. That’s what Ethan wanted. The asshole had egged me on, and now I’d have to pay. Dread churned in my stomach as Sean opened the folder, skimmed the pages, and handed them to me. I set the contract flat so Ale could read too.
As my eyes swept the document, dread flared into rage. My hands shook, and I bit my tongue to keep from telling Mark to go fuck himself—even though the six zeroes staring back at me weren’t his fault.Neither was the line stating that if I refused to pay, Ethan would go to the media.
“This is a fucking joke,” Ale muttered.
