by Levine, Nina
Why hasn’t he told me?
I place his phone down and find my clothes. My heart races as a million thoughts explode through my mind.
Ashton kissed Cassia last night.
She thinks he felt something.
He’s doing a deal that involves my street.
Yes, my street. I have a lifetime of memories there and a network of friends with businesses there who want the same for Willow Street that I want—for it to remain untouched.
I force down the sick feeling rolling through me and hurriedly dress. I don’t know what I’m doing, why I’m dressing rather than talking to Ashton about this, but I can’t think straight enough to change course.
“Lorelei.” His deep voice cuts through my thoughts, and my head snaps up to look at him. He’s standing in the doorway between the en suite and the bedroom, towel wrapped around his waist, frowning at me. “What are you doing?”
I swallow hard, all the thoughts in my head slamming together causing the biggest mess in there that I can ever remember.
“You kissed Cassia?” I blurt, not caring that I sound needy. Dammit, this man has me all kinds of crazy over him. I have never in my life acted like this.
His frown deepens as he moves towards me. “What?”
I motion wildly at the dresser where his phone is. “And you’re buying up Willow Street?”
He glances at the dresser and reaches for the phone. After reading the messages, he drops the phone on the bed as he walks my way.
His jaw is set hard, his shoulders determined. “I didn’t kiss Cassia. She kissed me. And for the record, she’s wrong—I felt nothing. But I’m not entertaining a conversation about that because as far as I’m concerned, there is nothing to discuss.”
I flinch. His words are sharp, and I don’t know what to do with them.
He advances closer. “As for Willow Street, yes, I’m purchasing property there, but that was never a secret. You’ll recall I tried to buy yours the day we met.”
My breathing picks up, the uncertainty I’m feeling over what’s happening, a heavy weight on my chest. The things I want to say to him get caught in my throat, and all I manage to get out is: “I didn’t know you were trying to become the king of Willow Street.”
He scowls. “Don’t use Jessica’s words on me.”
I cross my arms over my chest, almost like I’m trying to protect myself from his ice. “So what’s the plan, then? Are you going to buy us all up and bulldoze us so you can extend your empire and cash in?”
“Fuck, Lorelei, now you’re twisting this—”
I drop my arms, annoyed at the arrogance rolling off him. “No, I’m not twisting anything. I just want to know what the plan is here. Clearly I need to be ready for it because it’s going to affect me.”
“It won’t.”
“How can you say that? Of course it’s going to affect me if you develop Willow Street.”
“Only in a good way. You’ll reap the benefits of what I have planned.”
I madly shake my head. “You don’t get it, Ashton. I don’t want Willow Street spoiled. Why can’t you just leave it how it is?”
His nostrils flare as his frustration grows. “You’re not thinking straight. Developing Willow Street is a smart business decision. You need to take the emotion out of this.”
“You did not just say that to me!” I’m yelling now, every fibre of my being taut with outrage. He’s hitting every one of my insecurities I have over the way I conduct business, and I can’t hold back my hurt.
He’s also going after the one thing I have left of my grandmother—Willow Street—and I will not go down without a fight over this.
Raking his fingers through his hair, he huffs out, “We need to take a step back—”
“No! You need to answer my question. What’s the plan?”
The vein in his temple pulses, and I can tell he’s fighting not to lose his temper. “A multilevel centre with shopping and offices. There’s a lot of support for this, but I don’t need your building for it to go ahead.”
I shake my head. “Why can’t you understand that either way I don’t want this to happen? I don’t want you to come in and ruin what we have there. It’s one of the last parts of this city that remains untouched. You might call it progress, but I call it greedy.”
It’s his turn to flinch. However, before he has a chance to respond, I grab my shoes and phone, and add, “I don’t see the need for it.”
“Where are you going?” he asks as I move across the room to the door.
I don’t slow down. “Home.”
“Lorelei,” he says, his voice low and full of objection.
I stop and spin around to face him. Wild energy blazes from me as I throw back, “I need some space. And some time to think.”
“About what?”
“About us. I’m not sure I can do this anymore.”
He’s silent for a beat, his body rocklike and his face a wall of stone. “I’m not letting you go until we finish this discussion.”
I stare into those fierce eyes of his, returning the same level of intensity. “You can stand there and throw orders out all you like, Ashton, but this time I’m not paying any attention. If I don’t put some space between us, I’m not sure you’ll like the outcome of that discussion.”
He works his jaw, his eyes searching mine. “I’ll give you the day, Lorelei, and not a second longer. I don’t like leaving things unresolved.”
I force out a long breath. “I need longer than a day.”
That answer does not make him happy. “How long?”
“I don’t know.”
We stare at each other for a few painful moments, each recoiling from the wounds we’ve inflicted. This weekend has ripped us apart, and I’m not sure where we can go from here.
He drives me home, unhappily, and doesn’t force the point when I say no to him walking me in. When I’m safely behind closed doors in the sanctuary of my own home, I let the tears fall.
How did we mess this up so badly?
51
Ashton
“I’ve decided I don’t like Asshole Thursday any more than I like Asshole Monday, Tuesday, or Wednesday,” Jessica says as she dumps a stack of files on my desk early Thursday morning. “And if, as Lorelei just informed me, we’re in for Asshole Friday too, I think I might just take tomorrow off work and leave you to live through it on your own.”
My head jerks up at the mention of Lorelei’s name. “You were talking to Lorelei?”
“Yes, I called her to follow up on setting a date for your next meeting regarding the resort development with Stan.”
“And?” Jesus, I’m wound so tight over the argument Lorelei and I had, and the fact we haven’t spoken since, that I’m more impatient than usual for Jessica to give me the information I want.
Her lips purse as I bark out my demand. “You know, maybe I should just go home now. This mood of yours is growing old, and frankly, you don’t pay me enough to put up with this kind of shit.”
Leaning back against my chair, I exhale a long breath and rake my fingers through my hair. “Fuck,” I mutter. “I’m sorry.”
Her brow arches. “That’s the best apology you’ve got? We seriously need to work on that if you’ve any hope of fixing things with Lorelei. I can assure you that she’ll be looking for more of an apology than two simple words.”
“You’re assuming I have things to apologise for.”
“I may not know what you two argued over or why you haven’t seen her for three days but I’d hedge my bets that you do have things to apologise for. That’s not saying she doesn’t also, but Ashton, I know your ways, and I know you can be an arrogant ass, so I’m telling you that you need to think long and hard about whatever went down and figure out what you need to say sorry for. And then form a better apology than the one you just gave me.”
I’m in a mood. Yes. I’m frustrated by Lorelei’s silence and growing more restless and tense by the day. Fighting my desire to
go to her is proving harder by the minute. But Jessica is wrong; I don’t have anything to apologise for. Lorelei and I are simply figuring out how to navigate our relationship. If she would stop running away whenever we have a disagreement, we could better work through our issues.
Getting into a discussion with Jessica about my relationship is the last thing on my agenda today, so I shift the conversation back to my original question. “When is the meeting with Stan and Lorelei?”
She eyes me with the look she reserves for moments when she’s especially annoyed at me. I wait for another tongue-lashing but it doesn’t come. Instead, she says, “Fine, ignore me. But you’ll see I’m right. Your meeting is next Monday, and oh to be a fly on that wall. Unless of course you’ve come to your senses by then and apologised to Lorelei.” As she turns to leave my office, she adds, “I’ll be at my desk. If you need me, check your asshole status first, because I don’t intend to answer you unless you’re nice to me.”
I ignore her snark but call out, “What did you mean by Lorelei informing you tomorrow will be Asshole Friday?” I detest using that term, but my need to know what Lorelei said is greater than my aversion to Jessica’s phrasing.
She faces me again. “I asked her whether it’s likely you two will have sorted your differences by tomorrow. She said no.” With that, she leaves me alone with my warring thoughts.
I swivel my chair and look out the window of my office. Usually, the view of the city helps me focus. Today, it offers me nothing.
Lorelei made it clear she wants time to think. I’ve given her three days. Two days longer than I would have given anyone else. I don’t make it a habit of leaving problems up in the air, and I sure as hell don’t make it a habit to be dictated to as to when I can call or see someone to discuss an issue. Lorelei is different. I’m in love with her, and for the first time in my life, I’m unsure of the best way forward. She’s unpredictable, which I usually appreciate, but in this instance, I’d prefer to know how she’ll react if I go against her wishes and refuse to give her space.
My phone rings, cutting into my thoughts.
I put it to my ear. “Aly, what’s up?”
“I’m checking in to see if you’ve fixed things with Lorelei yet?”
“I would have if she’d allow me near her.” Frustrated, my words come out harsher than intended. The fact my sister and my assistant feel it necessary to involve themselves in this situation is too much.
“You still haven’t gone to see her? Or call her?”
“She told me to give her space. I’m giving her space.”
“Holy hell, this is a new Ashton Scott. I think I’m impressed you listened to her.”
“Don’t be dramatic, Aly. And don’t be impressed. I’m about to stop listening to her.”
“Oh shit. I think I should come over and make sure you don’t screw this up. There’s a fine line when a woman tells you to give her space, and I’m fairly sure you don’t have any clue what it is. Promise me you won’t do anything until I get there.”
“I’m hanging up now. Unless there was a reason you called me?”
“This is the reason I called you. I want to ensure you don’t piss Lorelei off any more than you already have.”
“I’m perfectly capable of handling my relationships on my own. I’ll call you tonight so we can discuss next week’s soccer practice and whether you still need me.”
I end the call and immediately dial Lorelei’s number.
She answers almost straight away. “Ashton.” My name is a soft murmur, not giving me any hint as to her mood.
I get straight to the point. “Where are you?”
Her hesitation is a beat longer than I like. “Why?”
“Lorelei”—it’s almost a growl, and definitely a demand—“I asked you a question. Where are you? I’m coming to see you, and we are going to finish the conversation we were in the middle of on Sunday.”
She sighs. “I’m at my office, but I’m not ready to talk. I need some more time to get my thoughts together.”
I grab my car keys. “No. I’m not willing to wait another minute to see you. I’ve already waited too long.”
“Please don’t come here. I’m asking you to give me the rest of this week, that’s all. And then I’ll come to you.”
The rest of this week?
There’s no way I can go a week without her.
“A compromise,” I suggest. “You give me this, and I’ll give you the rest of the week.” I pause briefly, trying like hell to contain my emotions. “I need to see you today.”
My head and heart are a raging sea of thoughts and feelings like I’ve never experienced. I need to see her more than I’ve ever needed to see anyone.
“Okay,” she finally agrees, her voice wavering, betraying her uncertainty over this. “Come and see me, but I’m not promising anything.”
I’m not looking for promises today. I’m looking for the opportunity to remind her of how she feels when she’s with me. I’m counting on that feeling to outweigh any doubts she’s having.
She has her back to the door when I arrive, and my eyes are drawn to those sexy-as-hell legs of hers that are on full display thanks to the navy blue dress she’s wearing. It barely covers her thighs, and I immediately wonder how many assholes have laid eyes on her today. How many have run their eyes down her legs and imagined their hands sliding up them? The possessiveness that slams into me is overwhelming as I watch her for these few moments. I’ve never experienced these kinds of feelings before, and they confuse the hell out of me because I don’t know how best to deal with them.
I’m out of my depth here. The one thing I do know with absolute certainty, though, is that Lorelei is mine and I need to do whatever it takes to remind her of that.
“Lorelei,” I say as I enter her office.
She spins around, caught off guard, and meets my gaze. “Ashton.” Her voice holds uncertainty. “You made good time. I wasn’t expecting you so soon.”
I didn’t make good time; I forced it. But thoughts of how I sped here fall away as I take in the way Lorelei is looking at me like she can’t keep her eyes off me, and note the way her voice is breathy and soft like usual. She’s still mine.
“How are you?” I ask as I close the distance between us. She looks tired. She also looks apprehensive about me being here.
After taking a moment to compose her answer, she says, “It’s been a busy week. I feel pulled in multiple directions and ready for a weekend off to recharge.”
I know she’s been busy; I’ve had James, one of my security guys, keep an eye on her to make sure she’s safe, and he’s reported back that she’s filled every day with meetings and other work stuff.
“What do you have planned for today?”
Her forehead creases into a frown. “Are you asking me that because you want to know or because you want me to cancel my plans?”
“Both.”
A fleeting look of exasperation crosses her face. “I told you I need the rest of this week, so please don’t do this. I’m already confused about everything. You coming here trying to force me to a decision only confuses me more.”
“I know we have things still to discuss, but what is there to be confused about?”
She stares at me like I’m speaking in tongues and then with a shake of her head, she says, “You’re clueless as to why I’ve put some distance between us, aren’t you?”
“No, but I’m unsure of this confusion you’re experiencing.”
Placing her hand on her hip, she throws out, “Okay then, tell me why I need a week away from you.”
She’s moved from breathy and soft to challenging, and I sense another argument brewing between us. In an attempt to stop that, I place my hand on her arm and say, “Let’s pause and start again. How about we go to Francesca’s café so we can sit and talk this out?”
Her face sets with determination. “Ashton, no. I’m not getting into this today. You need to go and let me think.”
; My own determination flares, as does my frustration. “Lorelei, you’ve had four nights to think. Now is the time to talk. And as far as why you needed time away from me, I understand you needed space for thinking. It’s natural for issues like this to come up in new relationships. Extended time apart, though, won’t help us work through our problems.”
“Now might be the time for you to want to talk, but it’s not what I need. This is what you seem incapable of grasping—that I process things differently to you, and that I have different ways of working stuff out. I understood that what you needed was to see me today, so I said yes to you coming over. Now, I’d really appreciate it if you could give me what I’m asking for.”
The realisation that this isn’t going to go the way I’d expected slams into me. And I’m at a loss for how to fix it. The rest of the week without her isn’t something I want to contemplate, let alone give her, but I can see that if I don’t agree to that our problems will multiply.
“I’ll pick you up at seven on Sunday night and take you out to dinner. After that, I’ll take you home and we’ll talk this out.” I wait expectantly for her agreement, and if she refuses to give it to me, I may just resort to extreme measures. This woman has me wound in knots that feel like they’re about to strangle me, and there’s nothing I won’t do to untangle those knots.
She watches me silently for another few moments, unaware that with each passing second, I’m moving closer to tipping point. Finally, she nods. “Sunday night at seven.”
I mentally exhale the breath I’ve been holding all week.
Thank fuck.
52
Lorelei
Sienna narrows her eyes at me when I arrive at her place Friday night. We’re having girls’ night in with wine, cheese, and our favourite eighties movies. She knows Flashdance, Footloose, and Dirty Dancing are my go-to movies when life gets too hard to deal with, and she always comes through for me with a night like this to talk it out over movies and wine. However, the way she’s eyeing me leaves me unsure as to whether I’m going to get my Patrick Swayze fill. She’s giving me the look she gives when she wants to ask me all the questions.