Page 44 of Kneel with the King
What did I expect?
For him to pick up where we left off? For him to make a scene?
That’s not Asher’s style.
No, he’s silently stewing. And when I least expect it, he’s going to explode.
“You know,” a low voice murmurs beside me, “you haven’t asked me for a meeting yet.”
I turn to see Walter, carrying what looks like an entire pint of herbal tea in a matte-black mug that probably costs more than my watch.
I offer a smooth smile. “Were you expecting me to?”
Walter tilts his head, gaze lingering. If I didn’t know how loyal he was to Jacques, his husband of twenty years, I’d say he was flirting with me.
“I figured you were here to acquire me.”
I don’t answer.
He follows my eyes over to Asher.
“If it helps your decision-making process,” he says, “I’d probably say yes.”
“To a meeting?” I ask, voice easy.
“Both,” Walter replies, lips quirking. “I meant what I said yesterday. Your reputation precedes you.”
I nod, fingertips brushing my chest reflexively. “That’s good to know.”
Walter leans a bit closer. “Of course, that is… if your partner doesn’t scoop me up first.”
My smile doesn’t falter. “Healthy competition, wouldn’t you say?”
He laughs, loud and open, and his hand lands on my shoulder. “Think about it. It might be fun.”
He walks off. The back of my neck prickles, and the air feels colder all of a sudden.
Asher.
His presence slices clean behind me like a blade. My skin pebbles before he even speaks. When I turn around, his expression is thunderous. Stormy eyes with something wild beneath the surface. His eyes flick from Walter’s retreating back to my face like he is trying to measure the amount of betrayal.
I raise an eyebrow. “Hello.”
When he responds a few seconds later, his voice is low and dangerous. “Are you trying to sign him?”
“Walter?”
“No, Santa Claus.” His nostrils flare. “Don’t play dumb.”
I take a slow sip of espresso. “We had a conversation. That’s all.”
“That’s all?” he hisses. “I heard him. He practically offered himself on a silver fucking platter.”
I step closer, lowering my voice. “Since when do you care who offers themselves to me?”
His eyes flash. “I don’t.”
Tilting my head, I study the way he shifts his weight away from me. “You seem angry, and I’m assuming it’s because you either wanted to sign Walter, or you’re jealous I was talking to another man.” His eyes flash with anger, but he doesn’t say anything. At this point, I just want him to admit it—and whichitis debatable. “So, which is it?”
