Asher's mouth twitches. He's amused, which means I've lost.
Liam snorts. "You're wasting your time, Brie. If you want to do something meaningful, you should work for Asher. He runs the best agency in the city—hell, the country."
"Absolutely not," I snap, sharper than I intended as I cut into a piece of roasted duck. "I'm doing this on my own." I don't say that I'd rather be set on fire and rolled down Fifth Avenue, butit's the truth. I don't care how powerful he is, I'd rather die than work for him, and I'm not even joking.
A muscle in Asher's jaw flexes. His amusement is gone, replaced by a cold sort of focus that makes my blood run cold.
"You're making a mistake," my brother says, stabbing a green bean like it pissed him off. "Nobody will give you more insight and knowledge than Asher's firm. If you want to make it as an agent, you need him, whether you want to admit it or not." He grins, using that older brother tone that implies he knows better than me. "Besides, he likes you."
I glare at him. "As if that ever stopped him from ruining my life."
The table goes silent.
Asher's grip on his bottle turns white.
"Jesus, Brie," Liam mutters, dropping his fork. "That was an accident. You know that."
I flinch as I realize what they think I'm talking about.The accident.My skin prickles with embarrassment. "That's not what I meant."
I think it might be, though. Isn't that really where Asher's psychotic obsession with ruining my life started? If I could gather every second of my life that's ended in humiliation and string them together, the worst of them would spell Asher's name. And they'd all start in the very same place: the night of that damn accident.
He's staring at me now, unblinking. There's no anger on his face, just a flat kind of interest, as if he's waiting to see if I'll actually admit the truth. That look on his face makes my stomach churn, dredging up every memory I've tried to bury of that night…the night I kissed him, thinking everything between us might finally become something real.
It was a week before my eighteenth birthday. Liam had a big party, which he claimed was for me, but no one I knew was there.Asher caught me talking to some guy and made me leave early. He drove me home in his Mercedes, his eyes fixed on the road ahead of us, not even speaking to me.
I was tipsy and reckless and thirteen kinds of heartbroken over the fact that the only time he ever seemed to see me was when I was talking to someone else.
I asked him why he always ignored me unless I was talking to some guy.
He didn't answer. He just drove faster, like he could outpace the question.
I told him that I loved him. That I always had. I said it softly, staring out the window, so he'd have to strain to hear it. Iwantedevery ounce of his attention focused on me and my confession.
When I glanced over, he was gripping the wheel so tightly the leather creaked. He turned to face me, his eyes dark and wild. "No, princess. You don't."
"I do," I whispered, reaching for him, because I was young and stupid and had never learned how to take no for an answer. Because I was convinced he wanted me the same desperate way I wanted him and was just too noble to admit it. Why else did he try so hard to keep me from talking to anyone else with a dick?
He jerked away, his voice harsh. "You don't know what you want, Brielle. You never have. You're just a spoiled little girl who thinks the whole world should bend for her. Newsflash, princess: It's not fucking happening. I don't love you."
I hated him for rejecting me with such contempt, for making me feel small and childish. So I did something even more reckless. I unbuckled my seatbelt, leaned across the console, and kissed him before he could stop me.
I didn't really expect him to kiss me back, but he did. It was nothing like I'd imagined. It wasn't gentle or hesitant. It was a collision, a mouth-to-mouth crash that seared the inside of my skull. His hand shot to the back of my head, crushing me to him,his lips parting mine in a bruising, hungry press that tasted like whiskey and desperation.
I was lost in him and the way he growled my name…right up until he shoved me away so hard my head hit the window. He said my name, a broken, terrified rasp of sound. I barely had time to register the red light he'd run, or the garbage truck before it slammed into my side of the car, turning the world to chaos around us.
Asher pulled me out of the wreckage before the paramedics arrived. I remember the blood on his shirt and the frantic hammer of his heart against my cheek. I remember the way he pressed his face into my hair, choking on a wild sob as he tried to stop the bleeding. I remember how every inch of my body hurt, and I couldn't breathe as I stared at him, thinking maybe he was the last thing I'd ever see.
"Don't you dare close your eyes," he'd whispered, his face swimming in and out of focus. "Don't you dare fucking die on me, princess."
I wanted to obey, but I closed them anyway.
I woke up in the hospital a few days later to learn that I hadn't just closed my eyes. I'd died for three whole minutes. I had a concussion, a missing spleen, a punctured lung, several broken ribs, a broken arm, and a new, bottomless reservoir of self-hatred.
Everyone said Asher did CPR until the paramedics arrived. They said he saved my life that night. They never mentioned that I almost ruined his. He never told them what really happened, not even when he was arrested for reckless driving and a felony DUI because of the accident.
Eventually, the DUI charge was dismissed, and his lawyer got him off with probation for reckless driving, but everything was different after that. He took blame that wasn't his, and he hatedme for it. He never mentioned the kiss. He never touched me again. And he's spent every moment since making my life hell.
It's probably what I deserve, but I hate him for it anyway.
