Billionaire Romance Boxed Set (9 Book Bundle) (108 page)

“Asher!” Beatrice said. She lit up,
smiling, except I felt like it wasn’t real. Some ruse, a falsity, fake
smile, fake happiness. “Come, give me a kiss. I’ve missed
you.”

He walked over to her side of the table,
smiling. He didn’t look happy, either, but not necessarily faking
it. Just distracted? Confused? I wasn’t sure.

He kissed her on the cheek and she pulled him in
closer. Their lips touched and I watched it. Nothing more, no
passion, but lingering, still kissing, right in front of me. I realized I
was grinding my teeth and furrowing my brow. Before they stopped, before
they could see me, I forced myself to loosen my jaw and relax my eyebrows.

“I’m glad you could come, Jessika,” Asher
said after he stepped away from Beatrice. He sat at the head of the
table, between me and her and to my right. “I’m sure Beatrice and I
both have a lot of questions for you, but let’s enjoy ourselves first. I
think that’s best.” To Beatrice, he added, “I’ve been getting
to know Jessika over the past few days, and I really think you’ll like
her.”

“Is she another of your pet projects?”
Beatrice asked, acting like I wasn’t even in the room. “I understand
you want to help people, Asher. I really do. But you aren’t
actually helping them. By doing this and giving them things, you’re
making them reliant on you. If you give a man a fish, he eats for a day,
and if you…”

He interrupted her rather firmly.
“Thankfully we’re not having fish for dinner.”

“Asher,” Beatrice said, frowning at him.

“We can talk about this later,” he said.

I sat there, feeling more awkward and uncomfortable
than I could remember ever feeling while waiting for dinner to be served.
I’d accompanied a friend to her weird uncle’s birthday party once and sat at
the table while listening to a horrible retelling of the time he’d taken Viagra
and hadn’t been able to orgasm. Even with porn and baby oil, he’d said,
and lots of masturbation after a couple hours of having sex with my friend’s
aunt. And then, subsequently, he needed to go to the hospital, where he’d
embarrassed multiple nurses and baffled the doctors. He sounded so proud
of this story, but for me it was one of the most awkward moments of my life.

Or it was, until now, with Asher’s wife in their
home. Not the same kind of awkwardness, but I really didn’t enjoy her
formal, cold, and callous way of treating me like a peasant.

“So,” Asher said. “How was
everyone’s day?”

“Exhausting,” Beatrice said
immediately. “The flight was horrendous. They ran out of hot
towels in first class and I had a headache the entire way.”

“Mine was alright,” I added quietly.

This wasn’t going well. Why was I here? I
should leave, I thought. What could anyone do if I did? Yes, I
would say, I need to go. I apologize, but I don’t think I can do
this. I would say that, stand up, excuse myself, and then leave.

Except, just as soon as I’d almost convinced myself of
actually doing it, Asher looked at me. He smiled, genuine. No
unhappiness, no distraction. Not confused in the least. He looked
at me while Beatrice talked about her trip and the sights she’d seen and what
her friends thought of this and that. He smiled at me with what seemed
like unadulterated interest and excitement. With his eyes twinkling at
me, I couldn’t help but smile back at him.

From beneath the table, his foot tapped at mine.
I tapped him back, grinning, and then I lifted my heels off the ground and
touched the toe of my shoes against his pants. I lifted, slightly, just a
playful nudge. The front of my heels pressed against his sock, then his
bare skin, up along his shin.

He grinned at me and shook his head slightly, almost
imperceptibly. I grinned back. Beatrice continued talking.

I had wanted to leave, but now I didn’t. I would
stay and listen and do this. I would answer Beatrice’s prying questions
and try my best to make her happy. Not because I liked her, because I was
fairly sure I didn’t, but because it was what I felt like I should do.

I wanted so desperately to make Asher happy and to see
him smile.

His Absolute
Indulgence

*

Once dinner ended, the torture began.

Dinner was delicious, I reminded myself. I tried
to think of the chicken cordon bleu, with butter braised asparagus and fresh
made biscuits. Dessert consisted of homemade vanilla bean ice cream
topped with cherries jubilee, which was also wonderful. Asher, his wife,
and I drank water and a wildberry melomel. I’d never tried melomel
before, but I absolutely adored it. Overall, dinner was exceptional.

After dinner, though, Asher’s wife, Beatrice,
suggested we retire to the smoking room.

“We don’t smoke there, though,” she said, as
if I’d already lit up a cigarette. “The smell of smoke in a house is
nauseating. You’ll have to quit if we accept you for this position.”

The
position
, she said, as if they were interviewing
me for a job as a maid or a chef or some other servant. She seemed to
like to completely disregard the fact that Asher had asked me to become an egg
donor and act as her surrogate. This, apparently, had nothing to do with
her, but was more par for the course as a person of importance. Hire
cleanstaff, find a cook, and then put an ad in the paper for a woman willing to
bare your children; this was how Beatrice acted.

“I don’t smoke,” I said. “I
agree, it is nauseating.”

Beatrice looked at me funny, a quick glance over her
shoulder, and then she walked away. Asher shrugged at me and followed
after her.

Maybe I should leave now, I thought. They
wouldn’t notice me missing for a few seconds yet. If I slipped away,
dashed down a hallway, went somewhere else, what would they do? Nothing,
most likely. Or, Beatrice wouldn’t, anyways. Asher might come after
me, find me, ask me why? Why did I leave? Where was I going?

I almost wanted to do it just to hear him say those
things, but I didn’t. I followed them to the smoking room.

The smoking room looked like something directly
transported from an old-fashioned English house. Granted, I’d never been
in an old-fashioned English house, let alone another smoking room, but I
imagined they looked like this. Cushioned benches like exceptionally long
couches lined most of the walls save for an empty nook by a bay window
overlooking the gardens and the short wall with its blazing hearth. A
fire crackled lightly in the fireplace, shining shimmery light throughout the
room. One lamp on a side table provided the remainder of the light and a
few rolling tables lay in the middle of the room, currently unused and alone.

Asher slid one of the tables towards a corner spot and
sat on the wall bench. Beatrice sat far away from him on another bench
entirely. I looked between them at the corner spot, but I didn’t want to
sit there. I definitely didn’t want to sit next to Beatrice, but was it
presumptuous to sit next to Asher? Would it bother his wife, too? I
really didn’t know.

Asher patted the seat beside him. “Come
now, it’s just a bench.”

To him, yes. And to me… somewhat yes.
But sometimes a bench wasn’t just a bench. Situations and people and the
atmosphere, one small thing could transform the innocuous into so much
more. I sat next to Asher—not too close—and smiled.

“Well,” Beatrice said. “Now that
the formality of meeting is over, and we’ve traded idle chit chat, I feel like
it is in all of our best interests to get down to the matter at hand.”

Asher sighed. “Yes, of course.”

I folded my hands in my lap and nodded. “I
hope I can provide answers to your questions.”

“You hope?” she asked, staring down her nose
at me. “Hope is the bastion of the weak, Jessika. We must
never hope for anything. We must do and be. We must know.”

What a fun time this was already, I thought.
“I am positive I can provide answers to all your questions,” I said.

“Good. Better, at least. Now, I want
to know about your family history, going back at least three generations.
That’s your great grandfather and great grandmother, if you need help figuring
that out. What were they like? I don’t need touching tales or
fabricated stories, please. Did they have any major illnesses? Were
they immigrants? Military service? Number of siblings and children
on either side? Successful marriages or did they end in divorce?”

I answered everything she asked me as best I could,
but I didn’t know why she asked half of what she did. I could understand
her apprehension towards illness and disease, since something like that was
often hereditary, but what did military service matter? And the number of
siblings my great grandfather had?

When it came to discussing marriage, I wanted to add
in a snarky line. I so desperately wanted to say something, to make her
see that her marriage wasn’t the happiest. Except, no, I couldn’t.
Who was I to judge her? I was biased, I knew it, and I needed to
stop. My infatuation with Asher was simply that, a silly bout of interest
that would pass. I told myself this, but I didn’t really believe it.

Also, I was scared that if I mentioned anything to
her, said something about her and Asher not being the closest couple, even
insinuated it, I’d start a chain reaction. Like Scrooge in
A Christmas
Carol
, if Beatrice fully realized how she acted and what her marriage was
like to an outsider, she might completely change. She’d become the
perfect wife, transform into a loving spouse and darling woman.

Probably not, but I decided not to risk it. Some
selfish part of me wondered about it, theorized what might happen if Asher and
Beatrice separated. Could I console him? Would he need
someone? The whole idea was silly and absurd and I felt idiotic for
wishing for their divorce, but I couldn’t help it.

And, anyways, that’s how people are, right? We
all think of things that we never actually want to happen. Thoughts are
fine when kept hidden and locked away, never shared with anyone.
Right? Maybe, but maybe not.

The night droned on and Beatrice asked question after
question. She started to delve deeper, seeking answers to the most
obscure questions I’d ever heard. Did my grandparents graduate college,
and if so what were their exact grade point averages? I reluctantly
admitted that I didn’t know.

“Ah ha!” Beatrice said, as if she’d caught
me in a lie. “That’s very unfortunate.”

“Beatrice,” Asher said.
“Really? I understand you want to be thorough, but I think this is
going a bit far.”

“It’s not, really, Asher. You need to
understand where I’m coming from. Do you want a high school drop out for
a child? Do you want a son or daughter who will only ever strive for
mediocrity? A liberal arts major? Someone with their head in the
clouds, never willing to put forth the effort to succeed?”

I interrupted, I had to. “There are plenty
of people who had their head in the clouds and succeeded,” I said.
“If you look at best selling novelists, you’ll see a trend towards great
dreams. Also, technology as a whole wouldn’t be anything without dreams
and aspirations. Scientists, engineers, architects…”

Beatrice scoffed. “Writers prey on people
like you, Jessika. They write their silly dreams on paper and make you
think you can change the world. The entire entertainment industry is like
that, actually. And along with that comes technology, and those
scientists and engineers and architects you’re so fond of.”

Asher frowned. “We make our money from the
entertainment industry, Beatrice, or have you forgotten? Vacation
resorts, high class hotels, and Landseer Enterprises other projects?”

“Of course, Asher.” Beatrice rolled
her eyes, treating this like a trifling matter. “There is a large
difference, though. Most people have dreams, but they fail to follow
through with them. You and I are the lions who prey on those people’s
dreams. We give them hope, an inkling of it, and feed off of their
laziness. They pay for luxury when most of them can’t afford it, and in
turn we give them more and more. We…”

“I think that’s enough for the night. Thank
you for this, Jessika. Beatrice and I really appreciate it.”

“Dinner was wonderful,” I said, feeling
awkward. “I hope I responded to your questions alright…”

“Yes,” Asher said. He smiled at me
even while Beatrice looked as if she couldn’t wait for me to leave.
“It’s late and you’ve been drinking. Do you want to stay in the
guest house for tonight?”

“Asher!” Beatrice said, suddenly
alert. “Do you think that’s…”

“It’s no problem,” he said, interrupting
her. “There should be everything you need there, but if you want I
can have Jeremy drive you home.”

I nodded. “I am getting tired, so if you
don’t mind, I’ll stay. Thank you very much.”

Beatrice glowered at me as I left. Asher said
nothing except to bid me goodnight, but once I walked through the door I heard
them arguing in the smoking room. Jeremy was waiting for me in the
hallway, looking hopeful.

“How’d it go?” he asked.
“Anything exciting?”

We walked down the hallway towards the dining room and
the front door. “Is she always like that? I don’t think I
could stand it,” I said.

Jeremy laughed. “Yes, mostly.
Beatrice is… Beatrice. I don’t think she’s a bad person so much as
she’s different. She doesn’t like me, either, but her and Asher seem to
get along.”

I paused mid step. They… yes, they must get
along. They were married, afterall. And even if they didn’t see
each other often, they talked. He called her, I knew. They’d talked
on the phone soon after I first met Asher, and they must have called each other
between then and now, too. He’d mentioned multiple times how he’d talked
to Beatrice about this or that, and it just struck me as a typical thing.
They’d talked, yes, but I never really imagined they enjoyed it.

I don’t know why I never thought about that, but I
didn’t. Now, though, I realized maybe I was wrong about everything.
Maybe they did like each other? Maybe, while their marriage wasn’t one
that I would enjoy, they enjoyed it? Maybe…

“Hey there, lady?” Jeremy said,
snickering. He tugged on my arm, urging me onwards.

“Sorry,” I said. I went along with
him, through the dining room now. “I just… I can’t imagine what
it’s like for them. I don’t know if I’d want to do it.”

“Sometimes you don’t have a choice, you
know?” Jeremy said. “It’s not so easy to stop when you’ve
started, especially for people like Asher and Beatrice. You and me, if we
were married, it’d be different. No one cares, there’s no problems.
I mean, there’s problems, but they aren’t as big. With Asher and
Beatrice, everything is a hundred times bigger. There’s more reason to
stay together and less reason to leave, you know?”

“But do they want to stay together?” I
asked.

Jeremy sighed, then smiled at me. “I’m not
Asher or Beatrice, so I couldn’t say. But, honestly? It’s probably
better not to even think about it. I don’t know exactly what’s going on
with you or them or anything, but more than one person’s been hurt when their
expectations don’t match reality. You seem like a nice woman and I don’t
want to see that happen to you.”

“I know,” I said. “It was just a
question. I was curious.”

It wasn’t entirely just a question, but I knew that it
couldn’t be anything more, either.

…

Jeremy left me at the guest house. It was still
early, somewhat. Not entirely as late as Asher had made it out to be, and
I actually wasn’t tired in the least. In a few more hours, maybe, but not
yet.

I plopped onto the couch, contemplating watching
something on the projector and movie screen. Unfortunately, though, I
realized I had no idea how to use the remote. I picked it up off the
coffee table, staring at it. The buttons all looked the same, though some
said one thing or another. My TV at home had a generic cable company
remote with a standard cable box, but this was nothing like that. I
frowned and tossed it back onto the table, defeated. I didn’t want to
mess around with it and potentially screw something up. I felt like I was
always screwing something up these days.

What to do, what to do? I could take a
bath? My thoughts drifted to yesterday, when I’d refused to leave Asher’s
guest home. He came home, angry and upset, wondering why. He’d
asked me what I was doing, why had I done this? I didn’t really know how
to answer him then, and I didn’t know now, but I remembered one of the things
I’d said later. In his basement library, stripped of my clothes, tossed
onto one of his couches, I’d admitted to masturbating in his bathtub.

Maybe I shouldn’t take a bath.

I could make myself a snack? Sit here and do
nothing? Go lay on the bed upstairs and…?

Then it hit me. The library! The library
had similar memories as the bathtub, but mostly only with Asher. If I
went there alone, I thought I’d be alright. No drudged up thoughts that I
shouldn’t think about, nothing too awful or bad. I would find a book, sit
on the couch, maybe cover myself with blankets, and read.

Except, of course, I needed pajamas first.
Nightclothes. Something. I bounced up the stairs, excited, and ran
to the master bedroom.