Gross.
I jerk back, glaring at him. “That's disgusting, Ash. I don't want to see your private shenanigans.”
“What?” He jerks back, offended, checking his phone. His mouth twitches. I’ll kill him if that’s amusement.
He pins me with a stare that almost looks apologetic, but the dark rings in his eyes darken. “Sorry about that, Venom. But!” Then it's gone. “Did you see the poster, or were you too busy stalking my texts?”
I unclasp my belt as the light flicks off. “First of all, ew, I wasn't stalking your texts. They were forced onto me and burned my retinas, along with a few brain cells, but no, I admit I missed the poster.”
I gesture for the phone back and he hands it over without hesitating before turning to the air host.
The first annual Winter Games will be held on the winter wonderland of Veilarath. Consisting of three of the deadliest slopes recognized by man, this prestigious island has agreed to host our first games, with thanks to our major sponsor, Asher Jameson. Asher is the grandson of Wickham Jameson the fifth, but carved his own path amongst the snow community when he was twelve years old after winning an Olympic medal at his age. Well, I guess you'd know the rest, unless you've been living under a rock.
Participants areINVITE ONLY
To secure your limited tickets, follow the following link.
Please note: Veilarath is renowned for its privacy laws and we adhere to them. No paparazzi.
I pause, tapping on the link. I'll shelve the questions about how Asher got an entire island appreciated for its reclusiveness to agree to what could turn into a circus.
The link loads onto a webpage.
Tickets to purchase a front seat spot of Winter Games select from one of the two charities. Minimum buy-in $5,000.
Charity One: Universal Mental health facilities for public health boards.
Charity Two: Shelter for domestic violence and sexual assault victims.
Accommodation and flights not included and good luck securing them.
I hand his phone back, the words churning in my head at speeds I need to stop.
“I have many questions.” All of which should be how he got to Veilarath, but none of them outweigh the one.
Why those charities?
Over the past two months, Asher has made it his mission to fill my time with himself. Every day. All day. Sometimes allnight. Not once have I asked anything personal. Not once has he offered it. I prefer it this way.
“Tell me I'm great.” He flashes me a wicked smirk that makes my heart race.
I wipe my palms. “You're great, Ash.”
My smile dies because I meant it. He was great.
After thanking the air host, we climb down the stairs and the arctic air hits me.
I shiver, tightening my jacket, but it does nothing to cut the freeze.
Asher drapes his arm over my shoulders, pulling me in as we approach an idling gray Range Rover.
“You didn't have to come…” I say as he opens my door and I slide into the warmth.
He rounds the driver's side as I shake off my coat and toss it in the back seat.
Slipping into the driver’s seat, he shuts out the cold. “I told you, I wanted to, but also, I have an idea.”
“Oh no.” I joke, pulling the belt down over my body. “Your ideas are brutal, so put me out of my misery.”
