Page 63 of Twisted Truth

“No. I just had an individual session with her. Now we have to do the couple session.”

Asher groans. “Just what I wanted to do when I got home.”

“I know, I’m sorry. It was Matthew’s idea.”

“Well, we don’t say ‘no’ to Matthew, do we?”

“We most certainly do not.”

“Step closer,”Rhonda commands Asher. “Pull her all the way into your side; we don’t want a gaping hole between the two of you.” She snaps photos and issues directives and commands as she bends and moves about, photographing us from every angle. “Ella, remember to keep that shoulder down, you tend to lift it when you’re uncomfortable. Mr. Langford, turn this way more. Now look at each other. Not like that, with love in your eyes. Now, look like you’re whispering something into her ear. Ella! Don’t flinch!”

“Sorry, it tickled my ear.”

“Explain that to the Sunday morning headline that says, ‘Asher Langford’s New Girlfriend Flinches Away From Him at Gala.’ People will assume you are upset with him, and there’s no way to explain that he simply tickled your ear while speaking to you. Honestly, you two are too stiff. And you’re not moving in sync. It’s almost like we need an intimacy session, not a posing session.”

“What’s an intimacy session?” I ask, horrified.

“It’s where we work on being more comfortable in each other’s presence and finding chemistry with one another. I typically only do it with actors or models who need to work together but are having a hard time finding a spark.”

My cheeks heat. Asher clears his throat but doesn’t say anything. Matthew and Emily are both tapping their feet and clucking their tongues at Asher and I, as if they could will some chemistry into the room with their frustration alone.

“Will you excuse us for one moment?” Matthew asks Rhonda. He snaps his finger for Asher and me to follow him to the bedroom, and Emily follows as well, her heels clacking impatiently on the floor.

Once we’re all in the bedroom, Matthew and Emily give uslooks that say they want to scold us like we’re uncooperative school children.

“This is a big problem that needs to be fixed immediately,” Matthew says, pointing his finger between the two of us.

“Do you want this to fall apart before it’s really even begun?” Emily adds. “If you two are photographed tomorrow night looking like you just did, you’ll be a laughing stock in the press. How is it that the two of you looked to have a thousand percent more chemistry on Tuesday, the day after you met, than you do today?”

I’ve been wondering the same thing since Asher got home. And I feel like an idiot. Have I imagined the connection, the heat between us this whole time? Am I so stupidly attracted to Asher that I invented a spark between us in my mind that isn’t really there?

Matthew sighs dramatically. “Asher, we may have to forgo the no sex rule if you two are going to be as hot as cold fish together.”

I twitch like I’ve been shocked.

“That’s a tricky line in the contract, though,” Emily chimes in.

“Enough, both of you,” Asher growls. “Leave us alone for a bit. Have the chef put out dinner, and you two eat with Rhonda while we figure out what to do. But bring us some drinks first.”

They both give us lingering, “you’d better figure it out” looks as they leave.

I let out a long breath once they’re gone, and Asher and I remain in an awkward silence as we wait for Matthew to return. A moment later, he brings a bottle of whiskey for Asher and a bottle of wine for me and sets our glasses on the small table in the corner of Asher’s bedroom.

“So, what do you have in mind?” I ask Asher when Matthew leaves again.

He knocks back his drink in one go and refills it. “I don’t really know.”

I sip my wine. “What if the photographers shout out for us to kiss or something?”

“This isn’t high school. I’m not going to kiss you on the spot because some photographers shout at me to.”

“I know that,” I snap. “But like Emily and Matthew said, if we look uncomfortable at the thought or suggestion of it, we’re going to be in the headlines for all the wrong reasons.”

“So, what do you suggest?”

“The obvious answer is that we need to get comfortable with it,” I say, my cheeks heating for the ten-thousandth time this evening. I’m trying to keep all emotion out of this and just look at it from a logical, unbiased position, but that means expressing things that are super uncomfortable and that I would never voice otherwise.

He slips out of his suit jacket, then undoes his tie and unbuttons his collar. I sip my wine and try not to ogle him. I force my eyes away from the tanned skin beneath his throat that hints at the sculpted chest and abs beneath his shirt. Good lord, here I am undressing him with my eyes when the thought of him getting comfortable with me, physically, seems to have put him on edge. He knocks back another drink of whiskey.