Page 9 of From Asher, With Love

“Well?”

“I’m sorry, Mr. Egan.” She blinks several times, and her neck bobs dramatically as she swallows. “The email didn’t come through until after I left yesterday. I’d only just come by it after I’d arrived this morning and was sifting through my emails.”

“Fine.” I hold my hand up.

She gives me a curt nod. “Is there anything else you need me to do?” Her soft voice fills the large office. Her dedication to working for me stems from years of proving she can handle my mood swings and tough work ethic.

When I first established my firm back in Los Angeles six years ago, my first assistant Francine rushed out of my office in tears after I told her the one appointment she’d failed to put in my calendar cost me a ten-million-dollar sale. I’d never seen her after that day, and I swore I would never hire another assistant as incompetent as her again.

So far, Janette has proven to be better than Francine. She’s testing my patience today with her lack of hustle regarding Weston Knight’s email, though. It’s a well-known fact that New York real estate is a dog-eat-dog world, and landing Weston Knight as a client has been a goal of mine ever since I arrived in the city all those months ago.

But despite my frustration with Janette, I know it’ssomething else entirely that has me bothered. One woman in particular has been on my mind since I saw her last night. The only woman I’ve ever allowed to see what’s beyond the surface. Although letting her in burned both of us, it’s clear after last night that the scars of our past lives are still very evident.

I knew coming to New York City was risky. I knew Charleigh was here, wedged in among the millions of people packed between steel and concrete, but I figured the chances of my past catching up to me were slim to none in a city of over eight million. Last night, however, proved me wrong.

Now, I can’t get her out of my head. The way her body has clearly changed since the last time I touched her. Her curves have widened, and her eyes have somehow brightened. Her gaze shot straight to places that have sat dormant for years. Places I’ve refused to acknowledge. It seems I’m now caught between the man I’ve become and the boy I used to be when it comes to Charleigh. I’m all sorts of fucked up this morning.

“Sir?” Janette asks.

I snap my head up to focus on the New York skyline on display for me through my floor to ceiling office window after realizing I zoned out.

“No, I don’t need anything else.” I take a deep breath and turn my attention back to my computer. “But I’ll need that email within the hour. I’m supposed to be meeting Holt for lunch, and I want it sent to me before then.” I click on my internet tab, pulling up a search engine.

“Of course.” Janette dips her head and shuffles across the tile floor without another word.

My fingers hover over the keyboard. I’m ready to type in Weston’s name, but the piece of my brain I’ve been fighting against all morning urges me to type a certain name starting with a ‘C’ instead.

Deciding on neither name, I open the listing database forthe city. When I’m stressed, it’s the perfect place for a distraction.

I immediately begin sifting through the hundreds of available listings in the area. Every few photos, I find myself raising my eyebrows, scrutinizing every little detail of each one. New York’s real estate is quite different from southern California’s. Every building seems cold and dark. Some pictures are even shrouded in a backdrop of deep gray clouds and rain. I take note of several properties that catch my eye. I may not know exactly what Weston Knight is looking for, but I can at least tab a few just in case.

I’ve flagged nearly ten properties when I come across one unlike any other. The description says the building is in Lower Manhattan, opposite to where my office is. I’m not sure what pulls me to it. Maybe it’s because it doesn’t look like any of the other listings I see in the price range I’ve chosen. It’s in a neighborhood I’m unfamiliar with, too, and the price is outrageous, even for New York City.

I open a separate window and Google the address to see what the surrounding area looks like.

My eyes widen when I see it’s in a less-than-stellar neighborhood. Everything about it is run down. Most of the buildings look vacant and abandoned, at least in the immediate vicinity. Beside the vacant office space for sale, there’s a tall, brick building at least twenty stories high. It looks as if it’s a dilapidated apartment building. For a moment, I think it’s just another forgotten piece of the city left behind to fall apart by the more up-and-coming surrounding districts, but it isn’t. The picture captures a moment in time—one where a woman is walking out the thick black door, with a little boy latched onto her hand. I’m staring at the boy and his mother, wondering what their story is. How did they end up living in a place like that? Clicking on the image, I swivel it back around to the office space andnarrow my eyes, studying the neighborhood even more. In the distance I can see bright lights and cleaner streets. It’s not pretty, but it’s workable.

I go back to the listing on my other open tab. The agent definitely has this place way overpriced.

“Oh,” my best friend’s voice booms from my open office door. “Don’t tell me I caught youactuallyworking.”

I look up to find Holt standing in the doorway, leaning against the doorframe, with his arms crossed, the sleeves of his suit jacket stretched.

I laugh and close out my screen, relaxing back into my chair. “Only every now and then.”

“Are you kidding?” His eyebrows shoot into his forehead. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen younotworking.”

I shrug off Holt’s comment, not wanting to dig into it any further. He isn’t my therapist, and I don’t want to dive into that one.

I run my fingers through my hair and stand before grabbing my suit jacket from where it’s draped across the back of my chair and tossing it on. For the past few years, I’ve grown accustomed to wearing suits every day. At times, it feels foreign. It’s hard to believe there were days I only had three different shirts to wear, nearly every single one littered with holes. The suit glides onto my body effortlessly as I slide each arm into the sleeves. It fits me perfectly, just how I like it. I adjust the cuff links and glance up at my best friend.

“We’re still on for lunch, right?” I ask, desperately needing to put as much distance between me and my computer as possible. The temptation to dig into Charleigh’s life since our split is eating away at me.

“Definitely.” He hitches his thumb over his shoulder. “I have a meeting in my board room in about an hour, so we’re good as long as we don’t go far.”

I frown, having hoped Holt would have agreed to a restaurant farther from my office and my damn computer. Maybe then I could shake off the shock of seeing Charleigh or acknowledging how it has had me all fucked up all day.

But I’m a fool in thinking my phone won’t be enough temptation to look her up at some point.

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