I’m no longer going toactivelypiss him off, but I offered my olive branch and he turned it down. Ball’s in his court now.
“Why now?” he mutters furiously. “It’s been years. Why are you changingnow?”When I was so close to being done with you, he doesn’t add.
My eyes stray back to the pavilion. Victoria’s still there and still with her brother.Sterling’sthere, as well—the three of them seem deeply engrossed in conversation. Elio follows my line of sight, and a sardonic, angry chuckle leaves his lips. “Over a woman.Pathetic.”
“Careful, Elio,” I drawl. “Keep it up, and your attitude will give mine a run for its money.”
I clink my empty glass against his, stand, and find someone else relevant to chat up. Getting into it with Elio only lit the fire under my ass to do what’s in my blood: be #1.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Asher
Two hours and several glasses of sparkling water later—even if the liquor’s good, I can’t afford to get drunk—I’ve gotten the interest of three more potential sponsors, and made nice with every team investor I’ve spotted. Every interaction has started out strained, but each time I want to punch someone for being an idiot, I instead ask myself what Victoria would do.
It's working like acharm.
Elio is silently fuming in the corner of the room; I’m smiling with genuine enjoyment and trying not to glance at Victoria more than once per minute. Mostly because, each time I turn to ogle her, I’m met with her brother’s cool stare.
When I feel the edges of my smile start to crack beneath the weight of being so fuckingpersonableall evening, I make my way over to the bar for a refill and a break. Several people stand around it, mingling and talking among each other.
I’ve just flagged down the bartender when a shadow falls over the empty seat beside me. My shoulders tense when the other patrons around the bar all start to step away, casting glances in my direction.
What the fuck?
Hunter Aster drops into the seat. A quick glance around reveals that his security team—three burly men I hadn’t even noticed before—are creating an unofficial perimeter around us.
I’ve attended enough of these events to understand that this behavior, this sort ofinfluenceis unusual—even in the company of some of the wealthiest people in the world.
I turn to Hunter, tilting my head to the side. He must have connections as deep as his pockets to cause this sort of stir.
“Asher.” Hunter runs a sharp, predatory gaze over me. A faint smile touches his lips, as if he’s sharing a private joke with himself. My eyes move to the pavilion, looking for Victoria; she’s deep in an animated conversation with Sterling. She even has hertabletout, which probably means she’ll be lost to the world for at least an hour.
“Hunter,” I reply. “Wonderful to meet you.”
“Mm.” One of Hunter’s security men steps forward and hands him a manilla envelope.
What the hell is he playing at?
Hunter places it flat on the table in front of him, and makes a show of flipping it open. My blood chills to ice when I see a picture ofmyself,leaving the gym where I train with Gio. Judging from the shirt I’m wearing, this isfrom the first session I had with Gio this season—the one not long before the press conference.
“My stalkers aren’t usually so high-profile,” I clip.
“I see you’ve turned a corner recently,” Hunter says, flipping to another photo—this one of me in front of HQ. “Asher Lawrence has gone from the never-was, pathetic playboy of F1 to someone who’s just beginning to realize some of his potential.” He meets my eyes. “And I don’t think I need to ask why.” The next photo he reveals sends fear skittering up my spine like a thousand invisible spiders.
It's of me in front of Victoria’s apartment. Then of us comingoutof the apartment. It’s the day I took her to the pizzeria.
Hunter holds my eyes as he slidesanotherpicture across the table, placing it neatly in front of me. A quick glance down reveals that he apparently has eyes all over the goddamn world, becausethisone is of me and Victoria in the hotel lobby. I’m drinking her smoothie, and she’s arching an eyebrow at me, a slight smile playing on her lips.
“No, I certainly don’t questionwhyyou’ve seen such immense improvement.”
“What’s the point of this display?” I question. My tone might be careless, but the rest of me is tense enough to pass as one of the marble statues lined up against the walls.
Hunter goes on as if I hadn’t spoken. “In all of these pictures, Victoria looks happy.” Heleans forward. “My sister’s happiness is very important to me, Asher. I like it when she’s happy. You share my opinion, of course.”
It’s not a question, so I don’t give an answer. This is a classic case of an older brother giving the man in his sister’s life thewhat are your intentions with my sistertalk. In this case, the aforementioned brother just happens to be something approximating a sociopath, with billions in his bank account and a penchant for doingdeepbackground research on people.
He pulls out a white piece of paper with a collection of numbers. “Here, I have Victoria’s phone records.”
