Trish is still at the bar, with Asher and me, feeling out of place. “I’m going to see what all the commotion is about.” No, little redhead, don’t go!
Asher takes Malory’s seat next to me. We’re each sitting at a corner of the bar so our chairs easily swivel toward each other. I must leave when I finish this last glass. A cab is definitely in order.
“Are you going to let your date stand there all night?”
Asher rubs his pointer finger along the rim of his glass. “I have a perfectly good sixteen-year-old scotch in front of me. Why should I let that go to waste?”
“You can drink your scotch with your Twinkie.” The liquor is making me feisty.
“For starters, that is not a Twinkie. Her name is Monique, and she happens to be a very wealthy socialite.”
“That must be comforting. She clearly doesn’t want you for your money. I heard that’s a major concern of yours.”
“She may not need my money, but she definitely wants the power. Monique is like the others. She’ll stand there all night if I ask her to.” Asher flashes a smile, showing off his perfect teeth and full lips.
“Then why bring her at all? If you don’t even like her…”
“A man has needs. She’ll do for tonight.”
I down the last of my wine. “You are disgusting.”
“I am honest. I told you we’re friends. We’re honest with each other.”
“It still doesn’t mean I can’t be repulsed by you.” I barely get the words out as I dismount from the stool and grab my purse.
I turn to walk away but am pulled back by Asher’s hand on my arm. “Please, don’t let me offend you. We’re having a nice night. I haven’t had the chance to tell you how lovely you look. I like your hair down. It’s very becoming of you.”
Night and day he is!
“Thank you, Asher, but really, it’s late and I have to go. And you have a Twinkie to tend to.”
Asher rises from his chair, leaving his scotch. “The Twinkie can wait. How are you getting home? You’ve had a lot to drink, and in those shoes…” His voice trails.
“I’m taking a taxi home. I’ll be fine.”
“I’ll walk you out.” He places a hand on my back and ushers me toward the door.
“No, people cannot see me leave with you. They’ll get the wrong idea. It’s entirely—”
“Inappropriate.” Asher finishes my line. “Come on. I’ll walk you out and come right back. It’s the responsible thing to do. Besides, I want to see how long I can make the Twinkie stand there.” He beams in a devilish grin that takes up his entire face. He’s so mean, yet his boyish charm makes him disarming, and I can’t resist.
Turning on my heel, I follow Asher out of the hotel and walk to the curb to hail a taxi. My hand is high in the sky, trying to flag a car, when I turn around to see Asher standing on the sidewalk, hands in his pockets, staring at me.
“Enjoying the view?”
“You have no idea.” He leans back on his heels. “You really should wear fuck-me shoes more often.”
“These are not fuck-me shoes and they’re not mine. Asher, I am a marr—”
“Married woman, I know.” There he goes, finishing my sentences again. “You know, just because you’re married doesn’t mean you can’t get spicy like this every now and then. It’s a good look for you.”
The air outside is cool, yet I can feel my skin heat up. Standing under the street lamps, Asher looks divine. The shadows highlight his square jaw and perfectly formed nose. His hair glistens and his eyes light on fire. Even in my five-inch heels, I feel small compared to him. He commands attention, and I can’t help but give it to him.
“Enjoying the view?” He teases my line back at me.
I blush in embarrassment. Was I really just gawking at him in public?
“It’s the lighting. New York City streets at night make people look so…” What’s the word?
“Angelic.”
That’s it. How did he know?
“You look divine standing there in the light. Pure,” he says before getting a very serious look on his face. “I meant it when I said you looked beautiful tonight.”
“You never said I looked beautiful.”
“I was thinking it.” Asher steps toward me, and I am vaguely aware that a black SUV has driven up alongside me. “Your husband is a lucky man.”
Asher steps around me and opens the back passenger door. “Devon will take you home.”
I open my mouth in protest, but he puts his finger over my lips.
“Devon takes you home and that’s final. I have some company upstairs to entertain, so I won’t be leaving for a while. He’s all yours.”
“Thank you, Alex.”
“Alex? What happened to Asher?”
“I only call you that when I’m mad.”
“Well then, let’s hope I stay on your good side. I like it when you say my name. Knowing our track record, I’ll do something to have you calling me Asher by morning.”
“Good night, Asher.”
“Already?” He laughs.
“Why wait ‘til morning? If it’s a given, I might as well just call you as you are.” I walk over to the open door, about to get into the car as Asher holds the door behind me.
“Savory or sweet?” he asks, causing me to turn around.
“Excuse me?”
“Breakfast. Do you like savory or sweet?”
It’s an odd question, but he is an odd man.
“Pancakes.”
Asher seems to find this answer acceptable.
“Sweet dreams, Gray.”
“Enjoy your Twinkie.” I climb into the backseat and he closes the door of the car.
Maybe it’s the wine talking but, I have to admit, I’m starting to like nicknames.
The sun beats down on the New York City pavement as I exit the subway terminal and walk briskly to Lincoln Center. I haven’t been inside David Geffen Hall in over two decades and want to reacquaint myself with the venue before finalizing production details for Asher’s report.
A bright young woman named Claudia escorts me through the campus and gives a guided tour of where the gala will take place. The limos will pull up on Broadway and the guests will walk out on a black carpet. The paparazzi pit will be on the far right side of the carpet. At the end of which, a station will be set up for interviews by select media outlets. There is a giant fountain outside. I can imagine it lit up and glowing in the evening, with spotlights illuminating the space for the event. It will look spectacular. I request rows of lighted-trees be placed around the parameters to create an elegant ethereal feeling. We make a deal for the venue to pick up the added expense.
Inside, I ask to see the concert halls. They are exquisite. David Geffen Hall is nothing short of spectacular, adorned with gold filigree and velvet seating.
Claudia’s phone rings and she excuses herself. I leisurely glide my fingers over the front of the stage, taking in its enormity up close. My thoughts are halted by his husky voice.
“Have you ever performed?”
I freeze and look up onto the dimly lit stage. Walking out from the left wing, he’s dressed in dark jeans and a black button-down shirt with the top button undone. He looks polished and perfect. What is he doing here?
“Mr. Asher. It’s a pleasure to see you again, albeit a surprise,” I say, adjusting my bag on my shoulder.
“I could say the same thing.” He strolls across the stage and takes his place above me, idyllic eyes gazing down at me. “Mr. Asher? Since when did we go back to formality?”
I stare up at him in awe. His golden highlights are combed perfectly, glistening in the soft light of the stage.
“Did you enjoy your Twinkie?” I ask.
“Turns out I’m not into sweets.”
“No?”