There’s no asking when it comes to Asher, I’m quickly realizing. He’s telling me what to do, and a mixture of annoyance and excitement buzzes through me. The annoyance, I understand, because who orders around someone they just met? The excitement is a different story, one that doesn’t quite make sense. Why would I enjoy this behavior?
Grace
I can get there myself, just send me the address. Thanks!
Asher
Take the car, Miss Morgan.
I repeat the text in a mocking voice that has Kacey giggling.
“Damn,” she says, reading the exchange. “Dom energy, for sure.”
Kacey helps me get ready for dinner, which leads to an argument over my outfit. I don’t wear dresses in winter, and Kacey doesn’t think I should wear jeans. We settle on jeans, but Kacey forces me into a skin-tight black top that she tucks in at the waist and grabs one of her designer belts to finish off the look. She’s happy, minus the jeans compromise, when I leave, and I don’t feel that self-conscious in the outfit, which is a win in my book.
When I exit the building at seven p.m., there’s a black Range Rover waiting for me, the driver dressed in a suit and standing outside.
“Miss Morgan,” he greets, like he knows exactly who I am in a city of millions of people. “I’m Wallace, Mr. Caine’s driver. I’ll be taking you to the penthouse.”
“Grace. You can call me Grace.”
Wallace is an older gentleman, with graying hair peeking from under his cap. He smiles and nods as he opens the door for me, repeating my name. “Grace.”
“Do you need anything? Temperature okay?” he asks as he pulls out into the New York City traffic. I find his energy comforting, even though I’m filled with nerves. I try to relax in the cushioned back seat, but my leg is shaking and my eyes are glued to the window, wondering what kind of place Asher lives in.
“How long have you worked for Asher?” I ask, trying to strike up a conversation to ease my nerves.
“Eight years,” Wallace replies. “I think I’m the only driver he’s ever had.” He chuckles. “He’s a good man.”
“Do you drive a lot of women around for him?” I’m not sure where the question comes from. Surely, not jealousy. But there is a part of me that wants to know if I’m just one of the many women Asher has done this with.
Wallace meets my eyes in the rearview mirror. “No, Miss Morgan—Grace—I can’t say I’ve ever driven a woman for Mr. Caine who wasn’t a family member or his assistant, Mel. This is a first for us both.”
The honesty in his voice has me relaxing into the seat. It’s not long until we pull up to the modern high rise. The lit-up letters on the building's facade readSanctum.
I've heard of Sanctum before, a glamorous hotel and spa in the financial district. AKA, a retreat for New York City's richest inhabitants. But I didn't think they had apartments here…
“Mr. Caine will be waiting for you upstairs,” Wallace interrupts my thoughts as he gestures for me to enter the building.
"Thank you, Wallace," I murmur as the doorman welcomes me.
Entering Sanctum is like walking into a world of opulence. Polished marble stretches beneath my boots, and crystal chandeliers hang from the ceiling, scattering light in soft prisms that dance across the walls. Water trickles from a central fountain, its rhythm steady, pulling my gaze to the koi gliding below the surface, orange flashes in clear depths.
The concierge must know who I am immediately, because he gives me a curt nod and greets me by name before escorting me to a private elevator. He taps a card against the reader, and the light flashes green as the metal doors slide open. There's no button for the floor, and I'm about to ask, but the door slides closed and the elevator begins to ascend.
I fidget with the zipper on my coat, pulling it up and down while my heart pounds fast and hard. If my mother were here, she'd reach over and place her hands on mine to halt the restless movements.This is anxiety.I know that, and still my breathing barely calms.
With a ding, the elevator comes to a stop, and the heavy metal doors slide open to reveal Asher waiting for me. He's still dressed in the suit he was wearing earlier, sans the jacket and tie. The top few buttons of his shirt are open, and the sleeves are neatly rolled up. It's annoying that even slightly undone, he's still the most handsome man I've ever laid eyes on.
“Miss Morgan,” he greets with a curt nod, his body towering, tall and stiff.
Behind him is a beautiful penthouse. The space is expansive, with floor-to-ceiling windows that give a stunning view of the Manhattan skyline lit up at night.
It takes me a moment to get past the shock before I can even acknowledge Asher. His home looks like it came straight from the modern luxury edition of a home decor magazine.
"Do you approve?" His tone has a lilt to it, and when I refocus my attention on him, I notice his head tilted and the slight smile rising on his lips.
"W-What?" I stammer, realizing I’ve been ogling his apartment without even say hello to him first.
