Page 127 of Twisted Truth

Blech.

I finally make my way over to the Langford team, and they give me small whoops and hoots and applause when I reach them. They came into the launch terrified because of the last-minute changes three weeks ago, but thankfully all of their hard work and persistence paid off. The launch was a huge success, and I can practically see them all deflate now that it’s over.

“You may be Langford Holdings’ new little ace in the hole,” Emily says as we say our goodbyes and leave the Vericom building. “I haven’t seen a launch with that much excitement in years.”

“I don’t know about that.”

“Ella, I just got a thank-you email from Chanel. Between the school charity this morning and this, their website and stores are being flooded with purchases of the shirt and pants you’re wearing. Whether you realize it or not, you are a living, breathing billboard. The clothes and accessories you wear are gobbled up as soon as you’re photographed in them.”

“The world has only known my name for, like, three weeks.”

She shrugs. “But it’s known the Langford and Rothschild names for decades. And now that you’re associated with them, you’re the shiny new toy.”

I let out a sigh. It’s all so overwhelming at times.

Emily leans low and whispers in my ear. “At least when things end with Mr. Langford, you’ll have lots of options. Mr. Covington was openly smitten with you. He may not be a billionaire yet, but he’s on his way. It’s good to have options.”

“Oh, god. You’re trouble.”

She gives me a devilish smile. “Just don’t tell Mr. Langford I said it.”

I make a “cross my heart” motion, and we both laugh. And while part of me feels a little weird and guilty about that line of thinking, I can’t help but accept the logic of it. Everything between Asher and me is a confusing mess. I can’t deny the power and draw of our connection, but he has made it very clear that this is a professional and physical relationshiponly. And he has never wavered on the fact that the relationship has a to-be-determined end date. It goes against my gut to think about future options, but what choice do I have when that is, in fact, the plan?

I let Emily’s words sink in a little deeper, and now I have some hope that when it’s all over, I may come out on the other side okay. Maybe if I quietly keep my options open, I’ll have a life to salvage on the other side.

And maybe I’ll even come out ahead.

36

ASHER

Sterling and I sit in a lavish club eating dinner with the executives of Lennox Rose Group, a UK based conglomerate that owns ten different luxury brands. We’ve been working on this acquisition for two years, and we’re close, but our deal took a major hit last week. An Italian based company is now interested in purchasing Lennox Rose Group, and gave them a more favorable offer—which is why I flew out abruptly last week. This deal can’t fall through. We’ve spent too long on it to lose now.

My phone vibrates in my pocket with an alert, but I ignore it. I need my full attention here and now.

“The offer from Italy isn’t as viable long term,” Sterling says to the executives.

“Why not?” one of them says with a haughty shrug. “Europe as a whole is more known for high fashion than America. Many Europeans consider Americans to be sloppy dressers, and Europeans make up a large majority of our consumers.”

“While it can be true that Americans don’t dress lavishly in many places around the country, New York and LA are two major cities in the world for fashion. Most celebrities live in LA,and sponsorship deals with some A-list celebrities, if we can secure them, will push major sales.”

“We can get those celebrities whether or not we’re in bed with Americans.”

I almost snarl at him in frustration. We’re talking in circles. Lennox Rose refuses to admit to the fact that their European markets are not as multidimensional as they need them to be in order to continue with growth in the long term, and that branching out into the American markets is where the real money is.

My phone vibrates again and again, so I decide to take a look while the executives are caught up in their own conversation. Alerts about news stories pop up one after another, all about Ella. Matthew is sending them in rapid succession.

The first few are from charity work she did this morning—or a few hours ago for her—at a school. I skim over the headlines, which are glowing. I don’t get into them, but they mention something about a friend from school she shared lunches with. Not sure what that’s about, but Matthew also sends snippets of thoughts and tells me it’s all glorious news.

Then he sends some photos of the Vericom launch—why was Ella there?—with more headlines, posts, and pictures of her wearing their new smartwatch. I scroll through them, but stop when some pictures pop up of Blake Fucking Covington holding her wrist and latching the watch onto her himself. I see red at his smiling, smug face. I text Matthew.

What the fuck is that with Covington?

Ella was at the launch to help the team, and as soon as the press realized it, he pounced.

Sterling gives me a look.“What are you doing?” he hisses. “Put your phone away.”

“Something has come up,” I snap.