A chuckle shakes his chest. “No problem, sweetheart, but somnophilia isn’t my thing. Let’s get some sleep, there’s always time in the morning.”
I’m halfway gone before he can finish his sentence.
The scents of sizzling bacon and eggs gently lure me from my sleep. I frown before my eyes even open—I haven’t had someone cook for me since Delilah and I roomed in college. Has she dropped by for an impromptu visit? Wouldn’t be her first time breaking into my house for shits and giggles.
I crack my eyes open.Since when are my sheets dark grey?And since when do I have such a niceview?
Oh, shit. The prior night’s events—the charity gala, the bakery, confessing my insecurities to Asher, and themind-blowingsex—all flit through my mind on a reel. I shoot up and gaze around frantically. I didn’t set an alarm last night—what time is it?
My phone’s neatly laid out on a black, antique nightstand, plugged into a charger. Asher must’ve done that before going to sleep.Surprisingly thoughtful. When I check it, I see that it’s only 6am. I still have an hour before I need to head to HQ, which should be enough time to run home and shower.
“Morning, sweetheart.”
I startle so much my phone flies from my hand, and lands on the floor with a distinctcrack.
Shit. If the screen’s cracked, I can’t afford to replace it for a while…
Asher crosses the room and picks up the phone, examining it. He winces, and my stomach falls. “Cracked,” he says with a grimace, turning the phone to face me. “Sorry about that. I didn’t mean to scare you.” His lips curve with a hint of a smile.
I let out a long sigh, pulling the sheets up a bit higher to fully cover myself. There’s no reasonable explanation to why I suddenly feel so shy after what we did last night, but wild sex under the cover of night is vastly different from early mornings when I probably look like shit.
“It’s fine.” It’snotfine. I need my phone to communicate, and the screen looks thoroughly shattered. But it is what it is.
Asher looks between the phone and my sullen expression, and comprehension dawns in his eyes. “I’ll take care of it.”
Tension stiffens my muscles. I’m not a charity case. “I don’t need—”
“I’ll take care of it,” he repeats slowly. “I need to be able to contact you.”
His tone tells me that this isn’t up for negotiation. Relief makes my shoulders sag, even if I dislike the thought of him needlessly spending money on me. I want to protest, but I literally can’t afford to, and he’s right. There are too many people I need to stay in contact with.
“Thank you,” I say softly.
“Mm. Come get some breakfast. I managed to find some bacon my chef’s been hiding from me in the back of my fridge.”
“Would you happen to know where my dress from last night is?” I ask shyly. I’mnotjoining him for breakfast naked.
He nods at an armchair in the corner of the room, where my dress is neatly folded. “You might want something more comfortable for breakfast, though.” He opens a dresser drawer, rummages around, and pulls out a black shirt. He brings it over to me. “Get dressed, sweetheart. I’ll drive you home after we’ve eaten.”
Fifteen minutes later, I’ve freshened up in the bathroom and emerge from the bedroom wearing Asher’s shirt, which is long enough to pass for a dress. I find him setting two overflowing plates on the dining table, each filled with bacon, scrambled eggs, and some cut up fruit.
“Asher Lawrence cooking for someone.” I shake my head. “I did not see this coming.”
“I used to hang out with my grandparents’ chefs during the summer.” Asher’s eyes shadow. “The kitchen was the only place I could actually act like a kid.”
I take a seat at his dining table to the right of him, tucking one leg beneath me. I know he spent his school years at international boarding schools, but I didn’t know about his summers with his grandparents. “Are you close with your grandparents?”
“Closer than I am with my parents, but that isn’t much of an endorsement.” He eats a piece of bacon. Butterflies take flight in my stomach as I watch his Adam’s applebob with his swallows. “My grandfather’s a businessman. Luxury imports and exports. His company acts as the middleman in the high-end supply chain, and his infrastructure is genius. He wasalwaysworking when I was growing up—he retired a few years ago and handed the reins to my brother, but when we were younger…” He shakes his head. “Running an empire doesn’t leave much room for family.”
“I’m sorry,” I say softly. “What about your parents?”
“They were too caught up in each other to spare me any mind.” Asher shrugs, as if it’s not a big deal, but obviously this subject pains him, which painsme.I’m used to being second-best, while he’s used to being ignored altogether. I’m not sure which is worse.
“Were you close with your brother?”
“No, and that hasn’t changed. He’s the opposite of me—cunning and calculating. I’m the reckless and angry one in the family.” A bitter smile overtakes his lips, and my heart aches for the image of him, as a directionless boy, with nobody to root for him or protect him. Bounced around between boarding schools but otherwise ignored.
No wonder he struggles with change so much; it sounds like he never had a consistent home base or anythingrealto return to. Venturing out into the world is a lot more terrifying when you don’t have a safe space.
