Текст книги "Pure Abandon"

Автор книги: Jeannine Colette

сообщить о нарушении

Текущая страница: 13 (всего у книги 20 страниц)

“A week!”

I’m pacing the hallway outside our bedroom. Is he kidding me? Chicago? Now? We were supposed to talk.

“I have no choice, Kat. I told you. If I’m going to get this guy a good deal, it will take a lot of work.” Gabriel pulls his suitcase from under the bed and starts to pack.

“I don’t give a shit about your work. What about my work? The concert and gala are in three weeks!” I throw my arms up in a dramatic gesture.

“Really, you think your job is more important than mine? Last I checked, I was the one paying the bills around here.” Gabriel knows I despise when he throws it in my face that he makes more money than me.

“You’re an asshole, Gabriel Monroe.”

“And you’re being unreasonable,” Gabriel says, placing his dress shoes in the bag. “I have no choice. My client is taking off for a few days so I can get into his office and go through every piece of paper he hasn’t shredded yet. This case goes to trial in four weeks.”

I storm around the bedroom, looking for something to throw. “How can you think it’s acceptable to tell me at ten o’clock at night that you’re hopping on a plane at six in the morning to head to Chicago? Do you comprehend how wrong this is? You have a wife and a baby. You can’t just take off on a whim!” I stop to catch my breath. I didn’t realize I was screaming.

“Kat, please, you know I don’t want to do this, but there really is no option.” Gabriel places two suits in a garment bag. “Besides, you have Carmen.”

He just doesn’t get it. I have to work late this week. I can’t leave Jackson with Carmen all day and all night. It’s not right.

The phone rings and I fall onto the bed. I can’t deal with whoever is on the line. I motion for Gabriel to answer it. I immediately know it’s bad news.

“Fuck!” Gabriel slams the phone down.

I shoot up from the bed. “What is it?”

“That was Carmen.” Gabriel runs his hands across his forehead. “Her mother is sick so she’s taking the train to Philly to tend to her. She said she’ll be in Philadelphia through next week.” Gabriel is now equally as pissed as I am.

Good, welcome to my world.

I fall back on the bed. Great, this is just what we need. No husband, no nanny, and I can count down the days until my event.

“What about your mother?” Gabriel suggests.

“My mother just left, Gabriel! She is not driving from upstate to stay with Jackson for a week.”

“Bring Jack up there, then.”

“No, Gabriel, I am not going a week without seeing my kid. “

“Well, Kat, you can’t have it all.”

Gabriel can be such a jerk sometimes. My feet find the ground faster than my mind can grasp words for a comeback. I storm out of the room and grab Jackson’s bag to pack. Ten o’clock at night and I’m driving upstate.

By the time I get back home, it’s almost four in morning. My mother insisted on talking about my argument with Gabriel. She, of course, took Gabriel’s side. The woman is in love with the man. If I didn’t marry him, I’m sure she would have.

As I turn into the driveway, I consider calling out sick. How am I ever going to get to the office on time?

I turn off the ignition and undo my seatbelt. Unplugging my iPhone, I open the center console and put the charger away. As I place the white cord inside, I feel something soft at the bottom of the compartment. I hadn’t noticed it when I took the cable out earlier. My fingers pinch the soft material and lift it out.

Just breathe, Kat.

In my hands is a black lace thong. What is this doing here? I own lace thongs, but the label inside, Agent Provocateur, confirms this lacey undergarment is not mine. Upon further inspection, I see the thing has a clasp at the bottom where you’d attach a garter belt. This is the kinky stuff you give your friends at their bachelorette party.

I panic and shove the thong back into the center console and close it. Whose could those be and why are they in our car? Like flashes from a movie, the scene plays before my eyes. That little tramp, Becca, buying underwear at Bloomingdale’s. She was on the phone, talking about some guy she met in the park.

My body begins to spasm as I punch the steering wheel in front of me with the palm of my hand. I am such a moron! I knew it. I absolutely knew something was up. But instead of saying something, I decided to let it go.

What I should have done was hired a private investigator. I should have had documentation of this little affair. I should have gotten a lawyer. I should be making him pay.

“Just breathe.” I attempt to say the words out load just as I have almost my entire life.

Well, not anymore!

I storm into the house, looking for Gabriel. Taking the stairs two at a time, I call out his name, but he’s not there. He must have left for the airport already.

What time was his flight again? I can’t think. I can’t breathe. My chest heaves. I place my hand over my heart to calm my erratic pulse. I think I’m having a heart attack. What is going on? Where is my husband? Why is there another woman’s underwear in our car?

Our bedroom is empty, the bed is made, and the light is turned off. I turn to his dresser and start rummaging through his things—pants, sweaters, shirts, everything—trying to find a clue, any clue. Isn’t this what they do in the movies, go through the husband’s things after suspicions of an affair? But to look for what? What am I looking for? More underwear? I don’t know.

I virtually spray the room with Gabriel’s clothes, pulling pant pockets inside out and finding nothing, before heading to his closet. Suits! In the movies, the wife always finds an incriminating receipt in their husband’s suit jacket.

One by one, I inspect his suits—inside the chest pocket, the inside pocket, the pants—but I find nothing.

Putting my hand on my forehead, I try to get my bearings. What am I looking for? What can I look in next?

The dirty clothes!

Running into the bathroom, I dump the hamper upside down, digging through its contents. I even smell each shirt, looking for a sign of perfume, and inspect the collars for lipstick stains, anything.

My breath quickens. My heart is leaping out of chest. I’m anxious and nervous for what I might find. Do I want to find something? Is this what I suspected all along?

As I inspect the last shirt to find… nothing, my body gives way and collapses on the floor. The tears discharge and fall down my face. I cry big, heavy, ugly tears. My breath hitches and my nose runs. I rub my face with my shirtsleeve and try to pace myself. The release is refreshing as I finally begin to catch my breath.

What has happened to my life? Where did we go wrong? I stop and lift my head to peek into the bedroom to take a look at the warpath I’ve left behind. Clothing on the bed, dresser, across lamps, and on the floor. It looks like a mental ward.

I’m going insane. That’s it. I have officially lost my mind. Maybe I made up finding the thong in the car. It was really there, wasn’t it?

My head in my hands, I sob and release weeks of frustration and disappointment. Hell, I’m releasing two years of frustration and disappointment. What happened to us? What happened to the young couple that met on a stairwell and couldn’t resist the passion they ignited in each other? What happened to the young couple that promised forever and dreams to each other on a sailboat?

Well, one is crying on the bathroom floor, and the other is on a plane to Chicago.

I lie on the bathroom floor for what feels like forever. I lift my head and see the sun is threatening to make an appearance. After my sobfest, I feel weak and numb. Slowly, I retrieve myself from the floor and mechanically pick up each piece of laundry from the bathroom floor and place it in the hamper. Next, I move into the bedroom and carefully place every article of clothing back in its respected drawer or hanger, exactly as I left it.

Looking in the mirror, I can see but a shadow of myself. Eyes puffy and splotchy. My hair is a mess. I’m exhausted, but I can’t stay home. I can’t stay in this room. There is only one place I can go. After a quick shower, I throw on a new skirt suit and head out the door.

The morning’s events have left me distracted. Gabriel is seeing someone else? As much of a confirmation I have in the form of sexy underwear, I can’t help but wonder how the hell this happened. If you asked me a week ago if I thought Gabriel was capable of cheating, I would have told you no. There’s no way.

God, I’m so naïve. Even Malory saw the writing on the wall, but I kept pushing it to the side. It was easy to. Gabriel is the most dedicated husband and father I have ever met. His parents have been together for forty years, and he always said he wanted to grow old together just like them. No, this is not my Gabriel. The man I’ve been with for ten years. The only man I’ve ever been with.

Could that be the problem? Am I boring in bed? Have I become unattractive since having the baby? When Gabriel and I met, he loved my inexperience. He indulged in teaching me how to love my body and use it for pleasure. We spent the first years wrapped in each other, all arms and legs and wet kisses. No matter where we were, we found a place to escape to be alone.

But then what happened? Life happened. Gabriel started spending more time at the office than he did at home. I found myself traveling for work and going out for dinners with colleagues when he wasn’t around.

And then Jackson came and romance went out the window. Quickies were the new norm. Both with conversation and in the bedroom. But was it enough to drive him into the arms of another woman? I was available. I would have responded.

Maybe he doesn’t want to be with me anymore. Especially the last few weeks, I’ve been distracted with work and… Asher. No, that has nothing to do with it. No matter how attracted I may be to my boss, that is where it ends. I would never… ever do anything to jeopardize my marriage.

Would I feel the same way if Gabriel had a little crush? I know the answer. I would be furious. But it’s different. Women have more control than men do. Don’t we?

And now Gabriel is in Chicago, doing God knows what. The thought leaves me feeling ill. I’ve never heard him speak of another woman. Who could he have met when he wasn’t working? It has to be someone at work. Some beautiful, smart someone who doesn’t have a post-baby body, and now her lace panties are sitting in my car. My beautiful husband’s car.

Oh, Gabe, what mess have we made of our marriage? Only five years in and infidelity casts her ugly head. I feel like I’m sitting in a fog.

“Lost in thought?” Asher startles me, awakening me from my daze. I realize I’ve been absentminded tapping my pen on the desk. How long have I been absent?

“You look upset.”

He’s the last person I want to see right now. My head is clouded with my husband’s lack of desire for me. The last thing I need is to talk to Mr. I-have-absolutely-no-interest-in-you Asher. Just looking at him in his herringbone suit and pale-green tie, I’m reminded once again that I am not one of his beautiful models.

“Gray, what’s wrong?” His eyes widen with concern.

I can’t tell him about Gabriel. It’s so embarrassing. He’ll probably sympathize with him too. Men will be men, and no one knows that better than Alexander Asher, the male whore.

“I’m fine. I have a lot on my plate.”

Asher looks genuinely concerned. “If it’s work, I can get you help.”

Oh no, he can’t think this is about work. He’ll give my responsibilities to someone else and then everyone will think I’m inadequate.

“It’s a personal matter. I’m fine, Alex, really. I promise.”

Asher looks at me curiously. “I don’t know what you’re going through, but please know you can talk to me.”

I give him a nod in understanding.

He eyes me up for a few more seconds and rubs his full lips together as if trying to decide if he should pry further. He must decide not to because his body relaxes and he walks backward toward the door.

“I just swung by to tell you I’m heading out of town so I won’t be able to go through the final rundown with you.”

Leaving? “Where are you going?”

He stops with his back to the open doorway and places his hand on the frame. “Miami for a few days. I’m going there to wine and dine some donors. Malory was supposed to go, but she’s off to L.A. for the weekend, so that leaves me to seal the deal.”

I find myself relieved that he isn’t attending an event with anyone. Why does it matter so much to me?

“Actually, I was going to ask you if you could join me, since we’re soliciting money for your event. I understand it probably isn’t enough time to let your husband know.”

Under normal circumstances, I would never dream of leaving town without Gabriel and Jackson. But one is upstate with my mother and the other is in Chicago doing… I don’t even want to think about what he’s doing.

I thought I had this job under control. Instead, I have a world of work ahead of me, and after talking to Erik, I know if this production isn’t top notch, I’m out of a job.

“Thank you for the offer, but Erik requested final production notes by tomorrow.”

Asher’s face lights up. He releases the doorframe and takes a step toward my desk. “That’s perfect. We can do everything on the plane. I have a phone, a fax, Wi-Fi and… me.” His smile broadens as he raises his hands and points his thumbs in his direction. “You can’t hand in anything to Eric without me looking over it anyway.”

I roll my eyes at his arrogant approach. He has a really good point. There is no use doing all this work and then waiting days for him to get back to give me an answer. I could get a lot done with his undivided attention and I’d be able to hand in a final packet with Asher’s seal of approval.

This is also my event we’re getting money for. I should be the one to go. This is my job. I am one hundred percent capable of wining and dining some business people, getting the deal closed. And I could use a day or two away from home. Get my head together.

“I’ll go.”

Asher’s jaw drops. For the first time, I think I’ve completely shocked him. I like this feeling.

“Really? What about your husband?”

“He happens to be away on business as well. This couldn’t have come at a better time.”

“Excellent. I’ll let Erik know you’re traveling with me. However, my plane leaves in an hour. You won’t have time to go to Long Island and back. We’ll have to buy you some new clothes.”

“No!”

Asher knows my strong position on no gifts.

“Yes.” Asher is stern, his voice commanding. “You will buy new clothes and expense them. Don’t think of them as being a gift from me. They are a necessary business expense. That’s final.”

I have never been this impulsive in my life. Leaving home without a thing on me. This is crazy.

I run through the checklist in my head. The alarm is set, the iron unplugged, the lights and televisions off… all the things that would concern me if I were going away for a day or two. I call Gabriel to tell him I’ll be in Miami, but I get his voicemail. Part of me is relieved. I want to yell and scream at him, but I can’t be too impulsive. If he is having an affair, he’ll just lie, say they were someone else’s lace panties. I have to be smart about this. I feel nauseous at the thought of Gabriel being with another woman.

Asher and I sit in silence on the way to the airport. We are in his massive SUV, the one that drenched me the first day we met. We have come so far since that day. I was furious with him, but now I’ve grown to enjoy his company.

He was right. We could be friends.

I never would have thought it possible.

I turn my head away from the window to see he’s staring at me with a puckered brow. I reply to his expression with a softhearted smile. I don’t want him to worry.

For someone I have known only a few short weeks, I feel like I’ve known Asher forever. He said I could tell him anything, but this matter is just too personal and I fear he’ll tell me exactly what I know is true—that my husband is having an affair. I’m just not ready for him to know. I already feel like a failure.

We pull through a gate and into the private departure gate at Teterboro. The car stops at the bottom of a stairwell, leading to a private plane with ASHER emblazoned on it. A beautiful brunette waits at the bottom of the stairs. She opens our car door, surprised to see me exit. Perhaps she was hoping for some alone time with Mr. Asher at twenty thousand feet. She definitely looks like the president of the mile-high club.

Asher greets the stewardess with a knowing glance. Yes, these two have been acquainted before. Gross.

The plane is more than I ever could have dreamed of. There is ample seating for eight passengers, with plush leather seats and a place for dining. The table and consoles are a shiny birch veneer, and a large plasma television screen hangs on a wall adjacent to a kitchen. Beyond the seating area is a bedroom of the same colors. The full-size bed looks inviting, and I imagine the mile-high club has their weekly meetings in here.

I take a seat in one of the deliciously comfortable leather seats. Asher takes a seat next to me, pulls the newspaper out of his briefcase, and grabs my hand again. We haven’t said a word to each other since he asked me to join him in Miami. It’s amazing to be so comfortable with someone and sit in silence. I rest my head back on the seat and drift into a quiet slumber, pushing thoughts of Gabriel and his lace panties out of my head.

“Wake up, sleepy head.”

I don’t know how long I’ve been sleeping, but I wake to Asher gently rubbing my cheek. Somehow my head has found its way onto his shoulder, his arm tucked around my back, holding me tightly to his chest.

“We’re starting our decent. You should sit up for this.”

I blush at the thought of lying in such an intimate position with my boss for the last three hours. I didn’t realize I was so tired. The stress of last night has given me a mental and physical workout. Not to mention the fact I hadn’t slept a wink.

So much for getting work done on the plane.

I look out the window and see crystal-blue waters and miles of beaches. I still can’t believe I left the city without a thing on me.

When we arrive at the airport, Devon greets us at the foot of the plane with a Mercedes SLS-Class Roadster with a black exterior and matching interior. Asher and Devon speak for a few minutes and Devon hands Asher the keys. He nods for me to get in the car, and I follow.

We drive down state road A1A with the top down and the sun beating down on us. I wish we were enclosed with the air-conditioner on. My hair that was neatly done up in a bun earlier is getting disheveled, stray hairs flying around my face.

Asher looks cool and comfortable behind the wheel, despite the fact he’s wearing even more layers than I am. Not shaking my mood from earlier, I turn my head away from the sun and let out a sigh.

Damn, it’s hot. Well, at least I brought my sunglasses.

Asher plays with the radio dial, skimming through static and talk radio. His broad white smile lights up when he hears a fun Latin song. His shoulders immediately start to move. My mother always told me never trust a man who can dance.

Asher breaks out in fluent Spanish, singing every line of the song. The sounds from his mouth are smooth and sexy. His voice is gorgeous. I could listen to him sing in a foreign tongue all day. He looks vibrant and free. I like this Asher.

With his coat lying across the backseat, he undoes his tie and throws it back as well. I watch him unbutton his top two buttons, unveiling a sneak peek of his perfectly sculpted chest.

Asher reaches his arm out toward me. It takes me a moment to realize he wants me to remove his cufflink. I raise my hands and unclasp the diamond and onyx cufflink from the French cuff and roll his sleeve up above his elbow. When I’m done with his right arm, he crosses his left toward me and I do the same to the other arm, having to reach over him a bit to do so.

Wearing black aviator sunglasses, the man has transformed in our short drive from polished CEO to fun, sexy, and cool. A thousand light-years from how I feel right now.

I glance down at my beige skirt and matching jacket. It is a thousand degrees outside and the wind from the ride is doing nothing to relieve the heat. Following his lead, I take off my blazer and throw it into the backseat. I unbutton one button from the top of my cap sleeve blouse and let the wind skim up my arms and inside my top. I take the hair tie out of my bun and shake the strands down my shoulders. This feels good.

Asher casts one of those gigantic white smiles my way and starts to sing louder to the music. I don’t know the song, but it’s rather catchy, and I slowly start to move my shoulder to the music. My head sways a little as the chorus picks up, and I let go a little.

I throw my arms up and start moving to the beat of the music. A smile creeps across my face, and Asher lets out a laugh. He grabs my hand and kisses my knuckles. Yes, this is what I needed.

We pull up to the W Hotel Miami. As we exit the car, Asher walks to the trunk and removes two shopping bags. A bellboy quickly retrieves the bags and the overnight bag Asher brought with him from the office.

Asher has secured two rooms, a penthouse suite for himself and a room on the sixth floor for me. He insisted I stay in the suite with him since there is another bedroom, but I would never feel comfortable sharing a room with a man who is not my husband. I have boundaries. Thick, cemented floors boundaries. A single room for me is perfect. I don’t need the bells and whistles.

Well, I may not need the bells and whistles, but my hotel room certainly comes with them. Modern and chic, the room is decorated with white and silver. The spacious room has a king-size bed and an ocean view. The luxurious linens rival anything I could ever imagine. The bathroom has a shower that could easily host a small party and a soaking tub made for two.

“You like?”

Asher follows me into my room and places the shopping bags on the bed.

“I love. The view is amazing.”

Asher’s eyes focus on me. “I couldn’t agree more.”

I blush, thinking that comment sounded like he was talking about me. I look over in the mirror and see I’ve regained some color in my face since the early morning hours. The nap on the plane and sunshine from the car ride agree with me. I’m relieved.

“I have a meeting I have to attend to, but I’ll catch up with you by the pool.” His glowing skin also agrees with the little bit of sunshine from the car ride.

If he has a meeting, then I should go. That’s why I came here. “I’ll freshen up and go with you,” I offer.

“It’s a private meeting.” Asher glances at his Rolex. “Why don’t you put on a bathing suit and meet me by the pool in two hours.”

“I have work to do,” I say, walking over to the desk where I left my bag and all my files.

“You can do it by the pool. Put on a suit and enjoy yourself. When I get down there, we’ll go over everything.” He assures me.

I assess the situation. I don’t have a bathing suit. I don’t have anything for that matter. I still can’t believe I traveled thousands of miles with, literally, just the shirt on my back.

Asher sees the hesitation on my face and points to the bag on the bed. “Devon went out this morning and bought you a few items.”

Bought me a few items? Devon? The driver?

My jaw falls as I try to take in just how insane that sentence sounds. My boss sent his driver out to buy me a few things. What kind of things? If that bag contains more gratuitous offerings, then I cannot accept them. I have my own money and can easily head out to Deco Drive and buy myself something to wear. I give Asher a knowing look, but he’s already read my mind.

“Stop thinking, and just accept them. End of story. I’ll see you by the pool.”

When he leaves the room, I inspect the contents of the bag. There is a pale-blue sleeveless dress and metallic-gold sandals, a black bikini with gold rings on the hips and bust with a matching black cover-up, a long, green one-shoulder dress, gold strappy stilettos, a nightie, and two bra-and-panty sets.

Before I can even get upset about my boss having his driver buy me underwear—or shall I more appropriately call it lingerie?—I find a card from a personal shopper named Avalyn at the bottom of the bag. I feel better knowing a female third party selected these items. The card suggests I call if something doesn’t fit.

To my surprise, everything fits perfectly. I organize the items in the closet and make outfits into them. It’s a sparse selection, which means they were specifically chosen for meetings I’ll be having this weekend. They’re not necessarily my style for the workplace, but this is what the boss wants.

After a long shower, I dive into the bag and put on the bikini, cover-up, and sandals. I can’t help but notice I look pretty good. I should, considering the price tags. Thankfully, the full-service hotel sent up a razor, toothbrush, and all the toiletries I need to get bikini ready. I’m also thankful Avalyn threw in a mascara and lip-gloss. She was clearly informed I traveled down here sans everything.

With my hair tied in a ponytail and my sunglasses in place, I make my way down to the pool area. The lounge chairs are soft and luxurious. As the sun hits my skin, I relax into the much-needed therapy.

I don’t have a laptop, so all my work is in printouts on my lap. I go through each document and make markings of the changes that need to be made. Eric was right. I am behind on my work. I compile a list of what needs to be done. I’ve found myself making a lot of lists these last few weeks, without actually accomplishing everything on my list. Glancing at my phone, I see it’s already close to four in the afternoon. I can’t believe I lost an entire day traveling. I will feel a thousand times better when Asher and I get to work.

A Pitbull song plays through the pool area, and I absentmindedly sway my hips to the melody. I’m not a dancer, at all. I love music but have always been rhythmically challenged. Even still, I am a fantastic seat dancer. Kind of like how I was dancing this morning in Asher’s car. I smile at the thought of Asher letting loose, too. It was a completely different side of him I’d never seen before.

“Enjoying yourself?”

My sashaying hips are halted by the sounds of said fellow seat dancer. If I thought him dancing was a new experience, seeing him in shorts is another. He looks so casual.

Wearing a black bathing suit and white shirt, Asher saunters up to my chair with two drinks in hand. I grab mine from him and take in how his highlights almost dance in the sunlight.

He must sense my embarrassment by the way he quickly settles himself in.

“Glad one of us is having a good time. I just had the meeting from hell. The fucker won’t give in to my offer.” Asher takes the seat next to me, his skin glowing against the crisp white of the lounge cushion.

I sit up slightly. “Sorry the deal’s not going to happen.”

His enigmatic smile crosses over his face. “Oh, it’s going to happen. I always get what I want. Some things just take a little more time.”

He kicks off his shoes and leans forward, grabbing the back of his shirt and hoisting it over his head. The muscles in his back flex as he raises his body back up. His arms pull the T-shirt over his head in what seems like slow motion.

My jaw unlocks at the site of perfectly formed abdominal muscles… six… no, eight of them. I’m thinking this is what the term “washboard abs” is supposed to mean.

His waist is narrow and widens, revealing a broad chest and broader shoulders supported by two beautifully sculpted biceps and forearms. Asher lifts the shirt farther over his head and throws it on the end of the chaise. He’s like Thor, but without the hammer.

Thank God for sunglasses. I place my head back on my chair and wipe the drool from my mouth. I hear Asher laugh, and I hope it’s not at me. I grab my cocktail and inhale it, looking for a distraction.

Seeing my glass empty, a waitress no older than twenty-two saunters up. Before I can ask for a refill, she stops in her tracks to admire Apollo, the god of the sun, sitting to my left. I immediately hate her.

Asher places his hand on mine, and the waitress frowns.

That’s right. He’s mine!

Wait, what? Looking down at our hands, I realize he’s merely getting my attention.

“Let’s have Sex on the Beach,” Asher says haughtily.

My head leaps up. “What?”

His husky laugh penetrates my body. “To drink. Let’s have two Sex on the Beach drinks. Though I like where your head’s at.”

I nod to the waitress, confirming that’s what we’ll have, and she scurries off.

“You’re incorrigible!” I take my hand back.

“God, I love spending time with you.” His smile eases me. “Don’t get mad at me, but I’m going to say something and I have no apologies for saying it.”

I raise my eyebrows in curiosity.

“You look fucking hot in that bikini.”

I am beyond taken aback that my boss thinks I’m hot. Especially since he’s this beautiful, successful, giving man who teaches music to underprivileged kids yet has time to run a multimillion-dollar corporation.

“Thank you. You look pretty good yourself.” I try not give away too much. I want to lick the sweat off his chest, but that would be entirely inappropriate.

Jesus Christ, what is wrong with me?

“I’m glad you approve. And I have to thank the woman who picked out that suit for you. Did you have any trouble with the sizes?”

“Her name is Avalyn, and I’ve already made a mental note to thank her. And, yes, the sizes are perfect. How did you know?”

“Years of practice, I guess,” he says as the waitress quickly returns with our drinks. “Come on, let’s get drunk!”

I lift my files from my lap and hold them in front of his face.

“Work first,” I reprimand.

He lets out a deep laugh. “Yes. I want to hear all the ideas you have in that pretty little head of yours.”

Asher walks us over to a private cabana where we can sit at a table and get some actual work done. It’s beyond bizarre conducting business in a bikini, but when in Rome…

Thankfully, Asher has put his shirt back on and grimaces at my paperwork, confused as to why I’m working without a computer like a Neanderthal. His words, not mine.