Page 110 of In Case You Didn't Know
“Asher Fitzgerald, you’re an asshole.”
He brushes his lips against my ear, sending a shiver down my spine. “You could have told her the truth,” he murmurs. And it makes my heart do a weird flip.
“Not over the phone,” I say. “Not like that.”
He sits back, his head to the side, like he’s trying to read me. “She’s going to find out eventually. I’m pretty sure she suspects something where I’m concerned. She and the others were talking about me in their group chat. It’s only a matter of time before they put two and two together.”
I hear the silent implication beneath it. This isn’t going to end well. And it makes my heart race even more.
“I know. But I want to tell her properly. Face to face. Not while I’m a liar on the phone.” I roll my eyes at him.
He smiles, like he gets me. “We can do it together. When she and Parker get back from Europe.”
It hits me somewhere deep. Like he’s letting me see the man behind the armor, if only for a second. Not the CEO. Not the control freak. Just Asher.
And I’m not ready. Except I am. Maybe I’ve been ready since the moment he kissed me in the kitchen.
And for the next few minutes, we’re silent, my hand in his, as he keeps leaning over to kiss me. On the mouth, the neck, my jaw.
When we pull up outside the glittering lights of an uptown restaurant, he doesn’t wait for the driver to get out. He’s already opening the door, then holding his hand out for me.
“Ready for our first date?” he asks. And I smile because I’ve done almost everything with this man.
Except go out in public.
“Only if you promise not to touch me under the table.”
His smile is pure heat. “No promises.”
thirty
ASHER
As soon as we arrive at the restaurant, the maître d’ greets us and escorts us to our rooftop table, tucked in the far corner of the terrace beneath a canopy of glowing lanterns and trailing ivy. It’s private and quiet, with a view of the river, and I wonder how many strings my PA had to pull to make this happen.
He pulls out Francie’s chair, next to the heater that’s needed for an October night. Despite the warmth radiating from it, Francie shivers and I immediately shrug off my jacket and wrap it around her shoulders.
It’s a shame to block the view of that red dress, but at least she doesn’t protest. I’m way too tired and wrung out for arguments. I just want a nice evening with my girl.
“What does groveling mean?” I ask her.
She blinks. “You don’t know?”
“In your book,” I clarify. “You said you were writing a groveling scene. What is that?”
“Oh.” Her face lights up, like I’ve hit on her favorite subject. “It’s when the guy messes up big time and has to win the heroineback. But she’s tough and won’t take his shit, so he has to work over time.”
I frown, not getting it. “And you like that?” I ask, remembering how Autumn squealed when Francie mentioned it. “Why?”
She leans in, resting her elbows on the table as her fingers toy with the stem of her water glass. “Because it’s satisfying,” she says with a grin. “You’ve got this big powerful guy who usually controls everything. Life, business, even the heroine’s emotions. And suddenly he’s flat on his back. Figuratively. Or sometimes literally. He’s bleeding for her. Begging for her forgiveness. And finally he realizes that love means vulnerability.”
I frown, taking her words in. “So you want your heroes…bloody?”
That makes her laugh out loud. “I want them to be humble. And honest. Maybe a little desperate.” Her eyes twinkle and I realize that this was a mistake. We should be at home, at my house. Fuck, I’d be humble for her.
Just before I made her scream my name.
“It’s not about punishing them,” she murmurs softly. “It’s about showing the heroine she’s worth fighting for.”
