Page 29 of Twisted Truth

Finally, Emily makes it to the car, and we head for my penthouse.

“I excused the team and gave them your instructions,” Emily says, tentatively. “Is . . . is everything alright, Mr. Langford?”

“Another change of plans. Matthew has had an idea that we agree might work, but I don’t want the rest of the team involved yet. I don’t want them to even know about it unless it’s agreed upon.”

“Oh?” she asks.

“We’ll speak about it back at my penthouse.”

I won’t bring it up until after Ella has had something to eat and sobers up a bit. I can’t spring this on her while she’s not in a state to fully consent. Not that I expect her to answer right away. I just want her head clear before anything is even suggested.

Because if she consents, her life will be flipped upside down. I know that too well.

And I’m still enough of a selfish prick to ask her to do it.

9

ELLA

The car pulls into an underground garage. All I see outside the windows are luxury cars. Row after row. The driver lets us out near the elevator before driving away to park the car, and the five of us step into the elevator. Mr. Langford’s bodyguard pulls out a card and scans it, then touches his finger to a sensor, and the elevator ascends.

The elevator goes all the way up to the top floor, of course, and opens into a marble foyer. The guard swipes the card again at the large double doors on the other side of the foyer, and then opens them and takes a quick look inside before letting us enter.

I have to physically clamp my jaw shut to keep it from popping open as I cross the threshold because . . . Holy. Shit. Mr. Langford’s penthouse ismassive. I crane my head as I take it all in. High ceilings, a sprawling layout, and a kitchen bigger than any apartment I’ve ever lived in. Knowing Mr. Langford is a business mogul is one thing, but seeing the fruits of that in person is another. He invites everyone to take a seat in his living room, but asks me to follow him into the kitchen.

“Let’s take care of this dinner situation,” he says, opening the fridge.

My cheeks burn. “It’s okay. You don’t have to feed me.”

“We have an important meeting that will probably take some time. I won’t start it until after you’re fed.”

My cheeks now full on flush.

He rifles through the fridge’s contents. “Hmm. I have spaghetti bolognese, a mushroom and rice soup, or enchiladas.”

“Soup sounds great,” I say quickly.

“Soup it is.”

He pulls out a glass container with soup in it then pours some of it into a pan and heats it on the stove.

“You don’t have to cook it. The microwave is fine, Mr. Langford,” I say, horrified to watch him go to the effort and mess of heating the soup on the stove.

“My chef would threaten to quit if he saw me use the microwave with his meals,” he says with a smirk. “And it’s Asher. No more ‘Mr. Langford’ for you.”

“Oh, right.” I wonder about the sudden change, but I don’t dare ask him.

“Have a seat.”

I sit on a stool at the island and watch him work. While he waits for the soup to heat, Asher—it feels weird to think of him like that—pulls out a loaf of French bread, cuts a slice, and sets it on a small plate. Then he pours a large glass of ice water and sets them both in front of me.

Anxiety trickles through me as I sit while Asher works in silence. I can’t believe I’m here, in his house, about to eat his food. Then I remember I’m wearing his suit coat, and I stand up to take it off, hanging it over the stool next to me. What if I accidentally spilled on it? I would die.

When I sit back down, I rest my head in my palm, trying to calm my anxiety, and stop the spinning in my head. I’m still alittle dizzy, but not because I’m drunk, drunk. I’m a little drunk and have nothing in my stomach. Not a great combination for a work night.

The quiet echoes of Matthew’s and Emily’s voices filter through the massive space from the living room, but I can’t make out what they’re saying, and it makes me wonder what they’re talking about. Do they know what this small, secret-ish meeting is about, and why we’re all here in Asher’s penthouse, of all places?

I really do have a weird job.