Without answering, he reaches out, taking my hand. His warm palm feels like a heavy weight in mine as he pulls me through the threshold. The doors close behind me, and it suddenly feels like I've walked into a completely different world, and any chance of backing out has vanished.
"The penthouse," Asher clarifies. "Do you approve?"
"Yes." I nod quickly. "It's beautiful."
Another smirk, but before I can say anything else, he changes the subject. "Lisette will take your coat."
Confusion swirls as a middle-aged woman wearing all black greets me. Was she there the whole time, and I've been so distracted by Asher and this beautiful view? A blush rises to my cheeks as Lisette takes my coat and gives me a slight nod.
"Come." Asher presses a palm to the small of my back, and little sparks of electricity ignite. I push the feeling down, ignoring whatever’s happening to me when I'm around this man.
I'm here for business. We made a deal, and I plan to see it through. What's not a part of the deal is developing a crush on the rich billionaire who's about to be my husband.
He leads me to an oversized table in the dining room. Like a gentleman, he pulls out my chair before taking the seat next to me at the head of the table.
There’s a bottle of wine sitting in front of him, with two glasses on either side. Asher uncorks the bottle with ease and pours us each a glass.
“So, let’s discuss our marriage.”
6
ASHER
Grace takes a long sip of her wine, tilting the glass back like she’s relying on the alcohol to help get her through this. For a brief moment, I wonder if I should be offended that she needs wine to be in my presence, but I brush it off, chalking it up to her nerves.
We’re silent as Lisette enters the dining room with two dishes of salad. She serves us and then looks at me to make sure there’s nothing else needed before she goes back to the kitchen.
“You have staff?” Grace says. I’m not sure if it’s a question or an observation.
“I do.” When I find her hazel eyes still focused on me, I assume she wants me to continue. “Lisette is my house manager.”
“What does a house manager…do?” Her brow furrows adorably, and I’m reminded of the fact that Grace and I come from completely different worlds. She’s not used to having staff at her beck and call, and she surely doesn’t realize that my two employees are basically nothing in comparison to what I grew up with. Telling her that won’t earn me any points, though. So instead, I answer her question.
“Lisette works five days a week. She makes sure everything in the house is running smoothly, prepares all my meals, cleans, etcetera. She’s worked for me for a few years now.”
She nods, unfolding her napkin and smoothing it over her lap. “I met your driver. Is there anyone else?”
“No.” I stab a piece of lettuce with my fork and bring it to my mouth.
Grace presses her lips together and nods, and we sit in silence, save for the sound of forks against plates and soft chewing.
Lisette comes back in and removes the finished salads before replacing them with plates of grilled chicken, Brussel sprouts, and brown rice. My preferred dinner always consists of a lean protein, a vegetable, and a complex carb. Grace drags her fork through the rice as if she's assessing it. I get the feeling that this isn't how she normally eats.
She'll just have to get over it.I bite back the question in my throat that wants to pick at her eating habits, knowing I'll sound just like my father if I do. So instead, I steer the conversation in a different direction.
"Tell me about your family."
Grace slowly chews a piece of chicken while I wait for her to answer.
"I grew up on a Christmas tree farm."
I feign surprise, not wanting to reveal that I've already had her looked into and know this particular fact. All I know about Grace is a list of facts. Where she grew up, where she went to school, etc.
"Sounds like the beginning of a Hallmark movie," I settle on saying.
Grace smiles and lets out a dainty little giggle, and I decide I love the sight and sound. I can't remember the last time I heard someone laugh and wasn't annoyed or plotting something. Iguess I am plotting something with her, but something about her laugh feels real, not strategic.
"Have you ever watched a Hallmark movie?" Grace asks, one eyebrow raised and her fork midair.
