He follows up immediately with a screenshot of our textthread, which clearly shows that I “read” every single message he sent last night. Shit, I must have turned that on by accident when I was messing around with my settings the other day.
Whatever.
Ashton: Your comebacks are filled with such intelligence and wit. Takes my breath away.
Bite me. How is that for wit?
He doesn’t respond right away, and I immediately regret my words. He’s probably going to print out this conversation, march straight to HR, and have me written up for inappropriate workplace conduct or some shit. The typing bubbles appear and disappear several times before a text comes through.
Ashton: Don’t tempt me with a good time, Alexandra.
The way my stomach dips and heat floods to my core as I read those words is downright mortifying. Thank God he’s not here to see the blush that creeps up my cheeks. I take a shuddering breath and finish getting ready. I’m on season five of that text when I make the last-minute decision to head straight over to Baybridge and work from a coffee shop near the inn. All I need is some Bad Religion and an iced mocha to help me clear my head.
I can’t let Ashton have the last word, though, so I type out a reply before heading out the door.
You couldn’t handle me on your best day, Rich Boy.
As soon as I close the door to my cottage, I know I’m fucked. It’s freezing out, probably near thirty degrees, and theentire walkway is made up of a thin sheet of ice. There is no way I’m getting into my car.
After thirty minutes of pulling, pushing, banging, and kicking every door, I slide down the side of my car in a sweaty heap. I even tried Craig’s stupid trick a few times, but with no luck. I can see the ice in the thin cracks locking the doors in place, and there’s no way to get it to thaw without starting the engine, which I can’t do from outside the damn car.
Motherfucker.
My article is due tomorrow, and I have to include the Baybridge burger on the list. I run through my list of options. It’s still early. I just have to get there before they close. Emory is working a double shift today, and Nate is in New York on business. Maybe Luke could take me after he finishes work. As I go to pull up Luke’s contact, my phone lights up with an incoming call.
Ashton.
I answer before I can think better of it. “What?”
“Now, Alexandra. Is that how you answer a call from your boss?”
“It is if I’m knee-deep in ice and can’t get my fucking car door to open!” I yell. “What do you want? I need to call for a ride.”
“You’re stranded?” he asks. Nothing gets past this guy.
“My car is essentially a block of ice and my door is frozen solid, so yes, I would say I’m stranded. Don’t worry. I’m calling Luke for a ride. You’ll still have your precious article on your desk by the end of the day tomorrow.” I brace myself for whatever snide comeback pops into his head, but it doesn’t come.
Instead, there’s a brief moment of silence on the other end, and then a sigh. “I’ll take you.”
There’s no way I just heard that right.He’s offering to drive me to Baybridge?
“Excuse me?”
“My morning is pretty light. Skylar can hold down the fort. I’ll take you to the inn, and we’ll still be back in time to tie up loose ends at the office.”
“Thanks, but no thanks. I can find my own ride.”
He lets out a sardonic laugh. “So let me get this straight. Rather than swallow your pride and let me drive you, you’re going to make Luke skip an entire day of work when he has bills to pay and a baby on the way? You know he’ll say yes. Damsels in distress are his kryptonite.”
“I was going to ask if he could take meafterwork, smartass. I’m not a damsel in fucking distress. Not all of us can afford luxury cars that don’t freeze shut at the slightest drop in temperature.” I’m pacing back and forth in my driveway now, my blood pressure rising with every step. My gaze lands across the street on Mr. Bellamy, who is throwing salt down on his front steps. He notices me and waves. I wave back and muster a smile. Maybe he can take me. He’s almost ninety years old, Allie.Get a grip.
“Alexandra.” Why does Ashton’s voice sound so close? Like it’s in two places at once. I turn around, and sure enough, his BMW is idling in my driveway, his window rolled down, our call still connected to his car speaker. I’m so enraged; I didn’t even hear him pull up. How did he get here so fast?
“Get in the car, Alexandra.” His tone is upbeat, but at the same time, it leaves no room for negotiation.
“No,” I huff, still clutching the phone. “I was just about to ask Mr. Bellamy for a ride.” I end the call and shove my phone into my coat pocket.
Ashton glances over at the man in question who has made maybe an inch of progress in salting his steps. Wait, no actually he’s still in the exact same spot as when I first saw him. Ashton gives me a look that lets me know he can smell my bullshit from a mile away. I think he’s going to spit out some snarky comment when he suddenly shuts his engine off and gets out of the car. Not giving me a second glance, he walks right over to Mr.Bellamy. He says something and the old man nods his head, his smile spreading wide. I watch in complete shock as Ashton takes the bag of salt from him and starts to shake it along the steps and walkway. All the while, he and Mr. Bellamy appear to chat as if they’re old friends. When he’s salted the entirety of the path, he hands the bag back to the man and shakes his hand before walking back over to me like nothing happened.
