"Porter," he hissed, leaning down closer to me. I assumed it was so that Asher didn’t hear.
He had no problem letting his frustration be known behind Asher's office door. This was meant to be contained to my desk only.
"Mr. Locke," I said dryly, hoping he got the point that I wasn't interested in being chewed out.
I did my job well, and while it wasn't the job he specifically asked me to do—or paid me to do—I was helping this company one way or another and earning the salary.
But before he could get a word out, Asher emerged from his office looking just as disheveled as his brother.
He didn't even look up before turning back to lock his door, and I cleared my throat to make sure Clayton knew what I saw.
He glanced over his shoulder and grumbled, "Remember who signs your check," before he stomped off.
I breathed a sigh of relief, though I was under no illusion that would be the end of it.
He'd get wasted and drunk text me later on with more threats and reminders, but for the moment, I was in the clear.
Clayton didn't have to remind me of what I owed him. Every time I saw Asher, I was reminded.
I took that man's money with the intention to help him and so far, I had reneged on my verbal agreement. An agreement he could—and probably would—use against me if I didn't actually come up with something to make the entire board toss Asher to the wolves.
I sighed and stood, deciding the proofreading could wait until the morning.
If Asher was going out, I wanted to walk with him.
That way, there was no chance of Clayton cornering me somewhere. Besides, if he did watch me walking out with Asher, he'd think I was finally doing what I told him I'd do.
It was a win-win.
When Asher walked toward me, I grabbed my coat and purse and stepped out into his path.
He looked rough, like he was beaten down and feeling discouraged. After a blow up like that, I worried that he'd go home and drink himself into a funk again, which he didn’t need.
He'd been doing so well, not drinking at work at all lately, and I wanted him to keep that momentum up.
"Hey," I said quietly as he approached and he looked up at me, seeming dazed. My desires didn't align with what Clayton wanted for me to do at all. I knew that.
I just had a crisis of conscience every time I thought of entrapping Asher into some scandal or lawsuit just to make Clayton feel better that Daddy didn't choose him as CEO.
And I had no way of backing out without coughing up almost half a million dollars to pay him back.
But it didn't stop me from falling into step with Asher as I slid on my coat, hoping to help him relax a little before he got to his car.
"Hi," he said glumly. "You worked late."
"Finishing up the press release…" I sighed. "I heard Mr. Locke blowing up at you…" Wincing, I bit my lower lip as we approached the elevator and he pressed the button.
"Yeah, who didn't hear?" he grunted, and I got the feeling he didn't want to hear it.
His head hung as he stepped onto the elevator and held the door for me, then pressed the P to take us to the underground garage.
The doors slid shut and the carriage started to descend, but we both stood there in awkward silence staring at our feet. I didn't know a lick about finances or what "horrible mismanagement" Clayton was accusing Asher of, but I felt bad for his having to take the brunt of that awful man's bad attitude.
The elevator hummed downward, fluorescent light flickering once over Asher’s tired face.
He rubbed the bridge of his nose, tie askew, sleeves rolled past his forearms.
“God, why can't something go my way for once?” he muttered, more to himself than to me.
