There's nothing normal about the way his best friend stares at me like I'm prey he's trying to decide whether to kill or keep alive. And there's nothing normal about the way I grip my purse,trying to decide if I want to set it down or bash Asher over the head with it.
His lips curve into a taunting smirk, as if he knows precisely what I'm thinking. That irritates me. Actually, everything about Asher irritates me.
His stare burns as he slides into the seat across from me. I feel it on my skin, seeping into every secret place on my body…just like always.
He hasn't spoken since we stepped into the dining room, but Liam is oblivious as usual, babbling about his next project, some political thriller he's filming in the UK.
Asher isn't listening to him. He's waiting, the same way a python waits for a mouse to move a single muscle before striking.
Like usual, he's the snake…and I'm the mouse.
If I flinch, he'll know I'm nervous.
If I call him out, he wins.
So I dig my nails into my thigh under the table, force my lips into a smile, and pretend I don't notice the way he's watching me.
"Who did you cast for the lead again?" I ask Liam because I know ignoring Asher will piss him off.
It works.
His hazel eyes narrow in warning, his long fingers plucking impatiently at the label on the bottle of Peroni my brother ordered for him. His jaw works like he's determined to grind down his own teeth. Part of me hopes he breaks them and shatters his own damn jaw in the process.
But even if he did, it'd probably only make him more beautiful. Just like the small scars scattered across his gorgeous face do. I know every single one of them by memory. I also know for a fact that there are others beneath the starched collar of his shirt. There are tattoos, too.
I know because I've been obsessed with him for longer than he's hated me.
I hate myself for it almost as much as I hate him.
"What's next for you, baby sister?" Liam asks.
"What?" I stare at him blankly.
Asher makes a sound that's part amusement, part impatience, and I want to gnash my teeth in frustration. He knows he's getting to me. Dammit.
"What's next for you?" Liam repeats, oblivious to the way Asher is staring at me. "You just graduated. What's the plan?" His green eyes dance with amusement. "Are you ready to come to work for me yet?"
"Absolutely not," I blurt, horrified at the thought. "I'm going to work for one of the management agencies in the city." At least, that's the plan. I have resumes out with most of them.
Entertainment is in my family's blood. Both of our parents were big movie stars before they were killed in a boating accident when I was fourteen. Liam is a big-shot director. But my interests have always fallen more on the business side of the industry. I want to help nurture and manage the people who turn into stars, not become one myself.
The world watches me enough, thank you very much. There's not a chance in hell I'll ever willingly invite people to keep prying into my life by following in my mom's footsteps.
Asher goes perfectly still, his fork hovering midway to his mouth. There's a moment, a single heartbeat, where I'm sure he's going to launch himself over the table, but I resist the urge to turn and meet his eyes. If I do, he'll see everything. He always does.
Hell will freeze over before I ever admit that I'm following in his footsteps. In addition to a dozen other ventures, he owns the most successful talent management agency in the country.A-List celebs kill themselves trying to convince his firm to take them on.
He doesn't manage anyone directly, but everyone dances on his strings anyway. The whole damn industry quivers when they hear his name because they know he will make life hell for everyone if they don't play by his rules. It's ridiculous how much power he has, but when every big star in the country is signed to his company, even studio execs break a sweat when he isn't happy.
A small army of waiters appears at the door, covered dishes in hand. The table falls silent as they serve us, topping off glasses and fussing with our silverware until they're placed just so.
"I want to start at the bottom and work my way up," I add once they've cleared out. "No freebies, no handouts." That last part is for Asher; I want him to hear it. I want him to know that I'm not a pawn for him to move around a chessboard. One way or another, I will be free of him. He may have inspired my career choice, but he doesn't get a say in how it unfolds.
Liam laughs, his fork already in hand. "You're such a goddamn purist. You could run a whole studio by now if you just—"
Asher cuts him off, his voice a low, controlled drawl. "Maybe she wants to see what failure tastes like before she gets bored and comes crawling back."
The insult is so casual it almost slides right off, but I'm so keyed up, it hits the mark. I force a saccharine smile. "Not as much as you'd like to watch it happen."
