Page 62 of Pure Abandon

“Afraid someone might think we’re being… Oh, what’s the word? Inappropriate?” Golden eyes leer at me.

“Did you enjoy your Twinkie?” I say, referring to the woman who just left Asher’s office. I hope he can hear the disgust in my voice.

“That,” he says, pointing toward the door, “was not a Twinkie. That was a Simone Davenport.”

“Do Simone Davenports not have the same cream filling as the rest?” I sneer.

Asher waves me into the room and motions toward one of the barstools. “Simones are part of the business world. Daughters of men with a lot of money and power. So if you fuck over a Simone, you better have your balls in a vise.” He makes a mock cringing face like he was just kicked in the balls. “But we do have an arrangement. We see to each other’s needs.”

He is so full of himself.

“All men are swine.”

“Only the good ones.” His chiseled chin rises as he holds up a glass. “Drink?”

There is one thing to say about Alexander Asher. He doesn’t hide who he is. Sure, he has secrets. But women know what they’re getting from him. They know he’s a cad and non-committal. He doesn’t lie and he certainly doesn’t sneak behind anyone’s back.

The thought is lightly refreshing. I could use a good dose of honesty right about now. I let out a deep breath and toss back my shoulders making my way toward the bar. “I don’t drink on school days.”

“Only school nights?” he teases.

“That was a special occasion.”

“Heather’s birthday was a special occasion? Are you two becoming buddies or something?” Asher lifts the rocks glass to his lips and takes a sip. The alcohol must burn a little because his throat clenches.

“As much as I’d love to banter back and forth with you, I have a gala to produce.”

“Right,” he says, putting the glass down on the bar. “I have something to show you.”

He is giddy with excitement. Its so un-Asher it makes me smile for the first time today.

Asher walks over to his desk. Propped up against the side is a large poster-sized picture. He lifts it with both hands and turns it around. He is wearing his megawatt smile in anticipation of my reaction.

I can’t help but let out a small laugh. In his hands is an original vintage movie poster for the film It Happened In Brooklyn, starring Peter Lawford and, my namesake, Kathryn Grayson.

“I thought we could hang it in the conference room,” he proposes, looking down at the poster in his hands and then back up at me, waiting to see how I react.

I can’t argue with him about buying it for me, because he didn’t. He bought it for the office. That’s acceptable. I won’t admit it out loud, but I kind of like that he bought it because of me. It’s a sweet gesture. “It will look great in the conference room. I approve. Now let’s talk about the gala.”

“Yes.” He places the frame back on the ground and suddenly becomes very serious. “The gala. Come, take a seat.” We walk over to the small conference table and Asher holds out a chair for me. The swell in my belly that was dancing earlier with every emotion from anger to excitement and absolute anxiousness is settling. Maybe it’s the scent of vanilla or the way his voice has this melodic sound to it, but I am undeniably relaxed in his company.

Crazy, right? I know.

Right now, I’m a far cry from the anxious twit I was this morning. Working together, we have a commonality in this job that puts us on the same playing field. When we went to the tomb, we shared stories of family and honesties reserved for intimate friendships. I feel like he’s known me forever. We’ve come so far in a short amount of time.

Maybe Asher can give me some advice. Malory is no use. “Can I ask you a question?”

“Of course.” There is vexation in his voice.

I twist the words around in my head for a minute. I don’t want to give too much away. “If you believe something in your gut, but you have no physical proof it is what your mind thinks it is… do you…?” My mind can’t find the words. Crap, why am I even talking about this with him? My eyes feel heavy as tears try to inch out from behind them. I swallow them back to the point my throat feels like it’s going to burn.

My eyes betray me by letting go of a single tear.

“Kathryn.” His warm, strong hands grab mine and hold tight. He tries to catch my gaze, but I sit, staring at the empty space around me. “Look at me.”

Tentatively, I raise my head and compose myself, the drop falling down my cheek. “I’m sorry. I feel so foolish.” My head falls again in embarrassment as I wipe away the solo tear with the back of my hand.

“Never say you’re sorry to me.” He dips his head until it’s within my gaze and holds his eyes to mine, forcing me to raise my head along with his. He’s not touching me physically, yet he can control me with just the look of his eyes. “And never lower your beautiful face.”