GRACE
I'm officially Asher Caine's fiancée.
Correction:fakefiancée.
And as such, we have to live together. However, I didn’t expect things to move quite so quickly. But by the third week of January, I’m moving into Asher’s penthouse. And by moving in, I have two suitcases with clothes, toiletries, and, of course, books. Asher told me I won’t need any furniture, and he plans on having his personal stylist bring me a new wardrobe–something I argued against, to no avail. Therefore, I don’t have much to relocate. And since he’s still paying for my apartment, I leave everything else with Kacey for the next year.
Duke Fluffington stretches out on the couch before I leave, and the little jerk almost looks happy that he’ll have the apartment and his mom to himself. I scratch his chin to say goodbye, and he swats at me.
Kacey comes with me to Asher’s penthouse, dragging one of my suitcases behind her into the elevator. “Jesus, this thing is heavy,” she whines. “Please don’t tell me you have your whole bookcase shoved in here.”
My lack of response is all the confirmation she needs, and she groans. “You’re so weird!”
“You’re weird!” I shout back. “I have special editions in there.”
Kacey rolls her eyes as the doors close and the elevator ascends. “You sure about this?” she asks softly as we rise.
“You told me this was a good idea.”
“No.” She wags a finger. “I said you’re not insane. But if at any time you hate this, or you hate him, or he sucks even the tiniest bit, I need you to tell me, and we’ll figure something else out. Okay? I just want you to be happy, Gracie.”
All hints of joking have been removed from her face as she looks at me, dead serious. That’s the thing about Kacey; while she’s free spirited and always lightens the mood, she’s also ride or die, and I know she’d do anything for me.
“I know.” I reach over and squeeze her hand. We’re still looking at each other when the elevator stops, and the doors slide open, so it takes Kacey a moment before her attention redirects to my new home.
But once it does, she squeals. Straight up shrieks as she abandons my hand and my suitcase to step into the penthouse.
“OHMIGOD. Are you really going to be living here? This place is craaazzzy.” She spins around to take everything in.
A blush creeps up my neck when I think about how I'm going to be living in this penthouse. It's larger than the house I grew up in. I didn't even realize there were places this big in New York City. I thought everyone lived in a tiny apartment with closet-sized bedrooms like us.
"You must be the roommate." Asher appears in the foyer before I can shush her, wearing a crisp pair of dress pants and a white shirt tucked in neatly, buttons done up. He looks over us, me in my leggings and oversized NYU hoodie, and Kacey wearing a skirt and tights with a black sweater with embroideredcherries. He extends his hand for her to shake, and my best friend, despite her excitement, eyes it suspiciously with her arms crossed over her chest.
I recall what I saw the first time I laid eyes on Asher. An obviously rich, kind of smug-looking man, and I assume Kacey sees the same. We've encountered a lot of insanely wealthy people working at Haven. I always just served their drinks and ran away, but Kacey did more interacting.
"So you're Asher." I recognize her tone of voice from college parties when we'd get unwanted advances from men we had no interest in and who clearly weren't looking to be just friends. Kacey always had a knack for putting them in their place.
Asher stands tall and eyes my best friend. I think he's probably used to people just doing what he wants. I wonder if he's had practice having to sway people, but then again, he's the COO of a billion-dollar company. My chest tightens, feeling like there’s about to be a showdown between my fake fiancée and my best friend, and I'm not sure who's gonna win.
"Asher Caine." He shakes Kacey's hand, and without feeling it, I know he has a firm grip. "Grace's fiancé."
"Kacey Anderson," she replies. "Grace's best friend."
Somehow, their use of my name has me feeling like they're playing tug-of-war, pulling me between the two, proving who has the tighter hold on me.
"You're Wren's brother," she says.
"You work at his club." It's the same tone, like they're showing off their knowledge of the other in this game.
"Yep. Do you normally use your brother’s club as a match-making service?" Kacey's words are served with attitude. My eyes widen, but Asher’s lips tic up at the corners.
"Not usually. Grace is an exception."
She rolls her eyes, unamused by his charm.
I watch the exchange like a tennis match, my pulse climbing with each volley. Kacey shifts her weight, one hip cocked, arms crossing again.
Asher hasn't moved an inch. Still perfectly postured in his tailored slacks and crisp white shirt, sleeves rolled to his forearms. His steel-gray eyes assess Kacey the way he probably analyzes quarterly reports.
