Page 24 of Twisted Truth

“You fucking bitch! What did you do?”

Mr. Langford pulls me behind him, out of Craig’s sight, then holds out his other hand against Craig’s chest, keeping him at bay. A second later, the security guard moves in and pulls Craig away from Mr. Langford.

“Say one more word, and you’ll regret it. I promise you that.” Mr. Langford’s voice is low and menacing. A moment later, Craig pushes past us in a huff and heads toward the stairs.

Mr. Langford lets go of my hand, and I move toward the table. The others quickly scoot to make room, still shocked and wide-eyed. Matthew moves into the booth before me, then Mr. Langford moves in behind me. I’m buffered between them again, and the rest of the table tries to act casual, as if a coworker wasn’t just fired in the club out of nowhere, and I hadn’t walked up holding Mr. Langford’s hand.

“Is there anything else, Mr. Langford?” Emily asks, uncharacteristically timid. “Or should we begin?”

“Go ahead.”

“Yes, well. A few reminders as we are searching.” She’s careful with her words as she speaks. We’ve all been reminded on several occasions that while out in public we must watch what we say, for fear of being overheard. “Age must be at least late twenties, some of the options you sent me from the gyms were far too young. And a respectable career is a must. Please use your best judgment to weed out any who seem to be eager to social climb. We may have to resort to that if we can’t find someone tonight, but it isn’t ideal. Do you have any other particular preferences?” she asks Mr. Langford. “Blond? Brunette? Height? Anything that is an absolute no for you?”

Mr. Langford looks uncomfortable. He lets out a long breath, as if defeated.

“No. No preference. Just someone . . . who the public will accept. And who will agree to all my terms.”

8

ASHER

Just as everyone moves to disperse, the waitstaff brings two trays of cocktails.

“On the house,” one of the servers says.

“That’s not necessary,” I insist. “All costs for the table will be taken care of.” Matthew takes that as his cue to settle up with the club. He’ll make sure everything gets paid for.

The team is all smiles as they try out a variety of drinks.

“Ooh, this one is delicious,” Ella says. “I’ve never had that before.”

“What is it?” Emily asks.

“I don’t know, something tropical. It’s strong, though.” Then she swears and puts the drink down. Emily gives her a quizzical look. “I didn’t have time to eat dinner after the gym. So that hit fast, and I’m a lightweight as it is. One and done for me.”

She slides out from the booth and follows the others to the dance floor. The loss of her presence next to me gives me a twinge of unease. Ella may have made a bumbling entrance into our meeting yesterday, but since then, I’ve come to see her as not only a major asset to the team, but as a sort of . . . comfort, maybe? She has a calming presence and an astutemind that helps to steady me. Because as insane as this fucking charade is, I know it will work much better with a good team behind me. And as of now, the only worthwhile members of the team are Matthew, Emily, and Ella.

My eyes track her as she makes her way to the staircase, and I’m no longer just thinking about what a good employee she is.

Because that fucking dress almost looks painted on.

And her ass is swaying in it.

And all I could think about, sitting next to her in the car on the way here, was how much I wanted to see what lies beneath that dress. Because that dress gives all the hints, and dammit if I don’t want to go exploring.

Fuck.

I should not be thinking the thoughts I’m thinking about her. And I shouldn’t have so blatantly checked her out when we pulled up to the club. She’s my employee for Christ’s sake.

I like her near me because she’s a valuable member of my team,I reiterate to myself.

Not because I’m attracted to her.

Problem is, both are true. I need to get my shit together.

I slide to the edge of the booth now that I’m alone. It’s time to focus on the task at hand, no matter how much I’m dreading it. From this position I have a good view of both the first and second floors, and I sip my scotch as I scan over the crowd to see if any women catch my eye.

The atmosphere of the club is electric. Pulsing colored lights skitter across hundreds of swaying, writhing bodies moving in time with the music, and yet none of that electricity seems to be able to reach me. There are many beautiful women here, but I give none of them a second look. Is it because there’s another woman in a little black dress on my mind tonight or because I just can’t seem to find any enthusiasm while I feel like an ass watching my employees hunt for potential fake girlfriends for me?