Total pages in book: 81
Estimated words: 76541 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 383(@200wpm)___ 306(@250wpm)___ 255(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76541 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 383(@200wpm)___ 306(@250wpm)___ 255(@300wpm)
As I’m walking past Asher, he takes my arm. The warmth of his touch affects me too much, so I swallow hard and look at him.
“Why were you late?” he asks curiously.
“Flat tire.”
He doesn’t say anything, but seems to be deeply thinking about something as he gazes at me. It makes me nervous, like he’s plotting.
Nervousness causes me to ramble. “I’ve got to get going. Got errands to run. Plus, I need to eat, take a shower, and get ready before you pick me up tonight.”
Asher’s brows pull inward a bit, as if he’s contemplating something deep and secretive that only he will ever know, but then smooths out just as quickly.
Smiling faintly, he steers me back toward the kitchen, tugging gently on my purse to take it off my shoulders. “Stay. Eat dinner with me.”
Stopping dead in my tracks, I crinkle my brow at him. My skepticism must be clear on my face, because it makes him laugh.
Releasing my arm, he points toward the stove. “Dish us up two plates, Hannah. I’m starved.”
“You want me to stay for dinner?” I ask hesitantly.
Asher doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he takes off his suit jacket and hangs it over the back of one of the island stools. He walks to the sink, unbuttons his shirtsleeves, and rolls them up a bit so he can wash his hands.
God, he’s got great forearms. Tanned, strong, with just the right amount of dark hair and tight muscles.
“Stay for dinner,” he repeats, which doesn’t exactly answer my question. I asked if he “wanted” me to stay, which is a whole lot different than him commanding me to stay.
I look at my watch again. “I really have to hit the grocery store. I’m all out of Hope’s favorite things.”
“Which are?” he asks with what I swear is genuine interest. He then makes another pointed nod at the chicken parm while he dries his hands.
With a sigh, I decide to eat with him. I can always do the grocery store tomorrow. After I dump my purse back on the counter, I pull two plates from his cabinet while I answer his question. “Let’s see… Hope’s favorites. She loves Gogurt, chocolate milk, Goldfish, and strawberries to name a few.”
“What the hell is Gogurt?” he asks with a grimace.
Laughing, I grab a spatula to dish out the chicken breasts. “It’s yogurt in a plastic tube. You don’t need a spoon; you can just suck it out. Can even freeze them to make a frozen yogurt popsicle. They are surprisingly good.”
A thoughtful expression passes over his face as he crosses his arms and leans a hip against the counter to watch me. “Huh,” is all he finally says.
I chuckle again. “You haven’t been around kids much, have you?”
“Not really. I have some acquaintances who have kids, and I see them at events or holiday parties. But honestly, my social circle isn’t that diverse.”
“Diverse?”
He grins. “You know… my social circle is other rich billionaire workaholics who meet up occasionally on the golf course.”
“Aaah,” I say with a mocking grin. “Your life is so tough.”
I’m rewarded with a rich laugh from him that says it’s okay for me to make fun of his money. He’s not offended.
I pick up the plates and turn to set them on the island, which is where I assume we’ll eat. It’s casual, and I don’t think I’ve ever seen Asher use his dining room.
And because the conversation has been easy and natural since he got home, and he appears to be in a very relaxed mood, I ask, “Did you and Michelle ever want kids?”
There’s a terrible moment where everything seems to freeze. Asher’s eyes go blank. I stand still, holding the two plates of chicken parm in my hands, thinking I just overstepped a very bright line of separation between employer and employee. It’s a colossal mistake, and my mind races over how to fix it.
But before I can come up with anything, Asher moves to a small wine shelf he has built into the lower cabinets and pulls out a bottle of red.
He holds it up to me, silently asking if I’d like a glass. I nod in return, still standing frozen with the plates in my hands.
I’m able to finally breathe when Asher starts talking as he uncorks the wine. “We never really talked about kids that much. I was sort of focused on my career. I thought we had all the time in the world, and well… Michelle flat out said she didn’t want them. I figured she would potentially change her mind one day down the road, but it just wasn’t something that was important to us in our short marriage.”
I put the plates in front of two stools, then grab utensils, feeling slightly guilty for admitting, “Sometimes I wish I hadn’t had Hope when I was so young.”