Asher Hawthorne may be wealthy, but he’s still a pompous ass. And a playboy. And…

  “Looking for something?” A voice interrupts my thoughts.

  I turn my head and see Asher standing right in front of me.

  Shit.

  I hug my laptop to my chest as I step back. My heart pounds against the padded cotton.

  How many times does he plan on nearly giving me a heart attack before this day is over?

  “Violet, right?” he asks.

  Why did Casey have to give him my name?

  “Yes,” I reply, not feeling like I have any other choice. “If you’re looking for Casey, she’s—”

  “I’m not looking for Casey.”

  The certainty in his voice matched by the intensity of his gaze—why is he looking at me like I’m some kind of prey?—sends a shiver down my spine. A lump forms in my throat.

  I swallow. “Well, I’m not looking for any book, either, so I’m going.”

  I turn around and start to walk away.

  Why did I have to bump into Asher of all people?

  “Wait.”

  I let out a deep breath as I stop in my tracks. Now what?

  “Lloyd Finley is throwing a party at his house tomorrow night. I was wondering if you’d like to go with me.”

  My eyebrows crease. He’s asking me out? Didn’t he hear all the things I said about him? Is he just going to ignore all that? Is this some kind of mockery or masochism?

  “No, thanks,” I give him my straight answer and keep walking.

  “Why not?”

  Okay. So the rumors are right. This man doesn’t take no for an answer.

  I draw a deep breath and turn around. “Aren’t you a little too old for parties?”

  “Aren’t you a little too young to be living your life so seriously?” he retorts.

  I narrow my eyes at him. “How I live my life is none of your business.”

  “But my life is yours? What was that you said? That my parents didn’t love me?”

  So he did hear me at the café. I suddenly feel like I’m back there. My cheeks burn. Still, I hold my chin high and look him in the eye.

  “Has anyone ever told you that it’s bad to eavesdrop?”

  “I overheard. I didn’t eavesdrop. There’s a difference.”

  He’s being smart with me now? “You didn’t overhear. You walked over to our table.”

  “I walked to the condiment bar. Your table happened to be right next to it.”

  Come to think of it, Asher’s right. The condiment bar was right behind my chair. Still, that doesn’t mean it was right for him to listen in to my conversation with Casey.

  “So you just decided to drop by and flirt? Is that one of your MOs? Flirting with women while putting some extra sugar in your coffee?”

  He scratches his chin. “Wow. You really do hate me, don’t you?”

  I wrap my hand around my throat and give him a sad look. “Oh, I’m sorry. Did I hurt your nonexistent feelings?”

  “Why? What did I ever do to you?”

  “Make me think that there really are no decent men left in this world.”

  “Then let me change your mind,” he offers. “Spend some time with me. Get to know the real me.”

  My eyebrows arch. “The real you?”

  “Yes. The me who has a heart.”

  I snort.

  “And if you still think I’m a jerk, then at least you can tell your friends based on firsthand experience instead of relying on just gossip.”

  Very clever. I almost want to give in. But I don’t.

  “Nice try, but no. That’s spelled N-O. Go ahead and add that to your vocabulary.”

  I thought that would make Asher frown, but he just grins.

  “How about F-U-N? Have you considered adding that to your vocabulary?”

  I shake my head. “Wow. I thought you were only good at math, but I guess you can spell, too.”

  “And I also happen to know how to use a water rower. I noticed you were eyeing the one at the gym. I can teach you how to use it.”

  My eyes grow wide. Asher saw me at the gym? When?

  It sounds creepy. Definitely. At the same time, I can’t help but feel a spark of excitement in my chest.

  Asher has noticed me before. And he remembers me. As smart as he is, surely he can’t remember every woman he sees on campus. But he remembers me.

  Then the voice of reason speaks up inside my head. So what? It doesn’t mean anything.

  “Thanks for the offer, but I’m not looking for a personal trainer.”

  Of course he’d know how to use a water rower. He probably has his own gym. But I’d rather row a real boat by myself across a lake shrouded in fog than have him standing next to me when I’m just in a tank top, leggings and a layer of sweat.

  “Okay, but I’m still looking for someone to go to a party with.”

  He’s persistent. I’ll give him that.

  “So go look. Elsewhere.”

  I turn away. I haven’t taken a step yet when Asher speaks again.

  “You know who Lloyd Finley is, right? His family owns chunks of quite a few banks and insurance companies.”

  “No wonder you’re friends. Your yachts must be anchored at the same marina.”

  “The CEOs of those banks and insurance companies will be at that party. Along with a few others. I think it would be a good chance for you to learn some things about the world you plan on being a part of, a chance to weigh employment prospects, maybe throw your name out there.”

  A chance to make all-important connections, which is essentially what business is about. Tempting.

  I turn to face him again. “So you’re saying you’re doing me a favor?”

  “I’m saying you’d be doing yourself a favor,” Asher answers. “I just want my date.”

  How generous.

  “Frankly, I think I’m the one getting a better bargain,” he adds.

  Now he’s trying to flatter me. Desperate, but cute.

  I step forward. “Why me?”

  “Because I like how your blue eyes clash with your black hair,” Asher confesses. “It reminds me of the ocean at night. Besides, it’s a combination I’ve never seen before.”

  That’s because it’s a rare combination, one of the rarest hair and eye color combinations actually. Just as I thought, he just wants to add me to his collection because I’m an unusual find, the same way a boy wants to have a rare Pokémon card in his deck so he can brag about being the only one who has it among his friends.

  I’m insulted.

  “Also, I was impressed with that report you gave on uncertainty and elasticity of demand,” he adds.

  Now, I wasn’t expecting that. I didn’t even know he was listening when I gave that report.

  “I think your mind would be an asset to any large company.”

  My eyes narrow. “Are you trying to recruit me?”

  “I might.”

  “But you want me to meet with people from other companies?”

  “What can I say? I’m not afraid of competition.”

  No, he’s not. In fact, I think it thrills him. I guess that’s one thing we have in common.

  “For now, I’m just asking for one night,” Asher says.

  And I’m not sure exactly how it happened, but right now, I’m leaning towards saying yes. I don’t like Asher. I still feel insulted by what he said earlier and I definitely don’t trust him. But I can’t deny that this is a good opportunity for me. Too good.

  If you want to succeed in the corporate world, you have to look ahead. You also have to get along with people you don’t necessarily like. Enduring Asher’s company may be a small price to pay for an investment in my future.

  “Fine,” I give in. “But I’m not counting this as a date.”

  “I am.”

  Look at him with that cocky, triumphant grin like he just won the lottery. But this will be my win.

  I put up a finger. “On one condition.”

  “What?”

  “We keep this a secret.”

  I don’t want him bragging about our date like some kind of trophy.

  “Don’t worry,” he says. “I never kiss and tell.”

  Kiss? My gaze falls on Asher’s lips and my cheeks grow warm again.

  I draw a breath. “There will be no kissing.”

  “We’ll see.”

  He thinks he can change my mind about that? Fine. I’ll let him hope.

  “So I’ll pick you up in front of the café tomorrow at six-thirty? The party’s at seven.”

  I nod. “Sure.”

  ~

  I shouldn’t have said yes.

  I wrestle with my second thoughts as I fight a losing battle with my stubborn curls in front of the mirror. They’ve always been stubborn, but I’ve never minded as much as I do now.

  I tug at them with my brush and grit my teeth. “Come on!”

  I tell myself I’m doing all this—putting my hair up, wearing my mother’s necklace, my best lipstick, my best dress and my least comfortable shoes—because I want to impress the corporate bigshots I’ll be shaking hands with. But in truth, I’m doing it for Asher.

  It’s stupid. I know. This isn’t a date. I told Asher so. And I didn’t even want to go out with him in the first place. I still haven’t changed my mind about him being a jerk. Yet here I am wanting to look pretty for tonight.

  No. Not just pretty. Perfect.

  I didn’t even feel this way for my prom or my first date, which was with a guy named Chuck who I didn’t even like all that much.

  Oh well. He is Asher Hawthorne, after all. I don’t want to be by his side looking like… well, like I shouldn’t be by his side. I don’t want to embarrass him. I want him to be proud of me.

  Yes, he’s a playboy. Yes, he’s heir to billions. But for just one night, I can think of him as my Mr. Darcy. And I’ll be Elizabeth. And maybe, just maybe, we can have a perfect time together at this ball. Party, I mean.

  If only I can get my hair into a Victorian-style updo.

  I make a few more attempts at it, then throw my brush into the sink and let out a sigh.

  “To hell with it.”

  And if Asher doesn’t like how I look, he can go there too.

  ~

  “You look stunning,” Asher tells me when the two of us are alone in the gazebo. “I know I told you that earlier, but I just felt like saying it again.”

  For a moment, I consider telling him that he looks good, too, which he does in his maroon shirt, dark fitted jeans and tan sports blazer. I even think he smells good, the kind of good that makes me want to wrap my arms around him from behind so I can breathe in more of the scent from his nape. Not that I’d ever tell him that.

  “Thank you,” I say instead while trying not to blush. Then I take another sip of champagne.

  Why did I allow Asher to bring me here in the middle of the gardens where there’s no one else around? Yes, it’s a nice reprieve because it’s quiet here. But it’s too quiet. And a little dark. Also, kind of romantic with the flowers that are still in bloom swaying in the breeze and the fallen leaves scattered on the lawn looking like specks of gold under the moonlight.

  Not a good idea. I must be drunk after having two glasses of champagne. Either that or my mental capacity must have diminished from trying to impress all those pretentious, pompous asses. I can’t believe I’m going to have to kiss a few over the next few years.

  “I know you said the guest list at this party would be high-profile, but I didn’t think it would be that high-profile,” I tell Asher.

  He gives me a puzzled look. “You mean I didn’t tell you that this was a birthday party Lloyd Finley was throwing for his father, Marcus Finley, and that he’d invited all of his former peers and protégés.”

  “You know you didn’t.”

  “And yet you still handled them all excellently,” Asher tells me with another smile that makes my knees weak. “I was right to bring you along.”

  I take another sip of champagne as I fight off another blush. Why is he being so nice all of a sudden?

  No. Not all of a sudden. He’s been perfectly nice to me all evening. Nicer than Mr. Darcy. Maybe that’s why I had no objections to following him here. Maybe I’m actually hoping he’ll kiss me next. He’s been so nice to me that I wouldn’t mind.

  “By the way,” Asher says. “You’re right.”

  My eyebrows furrow. “About what?”

  “A mother’s love is not something I’m overly familiar with. She died when I was ten. And before that, she was sick for a long time. I barely saw her.”

  Shit. I suddenly feel like punching myself in the gut.

  “But I’d like to think that hasn’t made me a monster.”

  I set down my glass. “Of course it hasn’t.”

  He lifts an eyebrow. “Really? But you said—”

  “I’m so sorry about what I said,” I tell Asher with all the sincerity I can muster. “Especially what I said about your mother. That was a mean and careless remark and I take it back. I’m sorry.”

  He shakes his head and takes my hand in his. “I forgive you.”

  I let out a breath of relief.

  “At least, I will if you tell me one thing,” he says.

  “What?”

  “You said I affirmed your belief that there were no decent men in the world. Who put that belief in your head? Who broke your heart? First boyfriend?”

  “Dad,” I answer truthfully. “He broke my mom’s heart, and after that everything else just… broke too.”

  “Oh.”

  I don’t know why I told him that. I’ve never told anyone about that since high school. Now that he’s fallen silent, I regret it. The last thing I want is his pity. I fearfully glance at him, only to find none of that in his eyes.

  “You want to know a secret?” he asks.

  “What?”

  “My dad’s not the best either. And I’m definitely not his favorite. Either Ethan or Ryker is. But hey, we can’t let our parents’ behavior or decisions dictate who we are or how we want to live, right?”

  I smile. Now I really want that kiss. In fact, if he doesn’t make a move soon, I might just go ahead and give him one.

  I turn my body so that I’m right in front of him. Then I stroke his hand.

  “So I’m forgiven?”

  Asher nods. “Yes.”

  He places his hand on my cheek and leans forward. I close my eyes. A moment later, his lips press against mine. I kiss him back.

  He strokes my cheek and my shoulder as his mouth crushes mine. Heat trickles down my spine and floods my chest. I can’t breathe.

  He pulls away and I finally get a gulp of air, but my throat tightens as I meet his gaze. Smoldering. Stirring. Excitement simmers in my veins.

  He kisses me again. And again. And again. I clutch the front of his jacket and try to keep up, try to breathe in between. He traps my lower lip. My heart skips a beat. Then he wraps an arm around me and pushes his tongue past my lips. When it brushes against my own tongue, my mouth catches fire. My knees tremble.

  Each time his tongue rubs against mine, I feel like melting. And I want to. I want Asher to mold my body into a shape meant just for him. I want it to meld with his.

  I want him. So much so the desire throbs in my breasts and between my legs. When Asher’s hand cups my breast through my dress, I don’t protest. When his other hand climbs up my thigh beneath my skirt, I start to give in.

  But the voice inside my head shouts.

  Stop! Don’t do this, Violet! Think.

  The moment I start to, the haze in my mind dissipates. The heat beneath my skin evaporates. I realize I don’t want this. Not now. Not here. Not like this.

  I grab Asher’s wrist to stop his hand before his fingers reach my underwear. I pull my mouth away and step back.

  Asher looks dismayed, confused. I draw a deep breath.

  “We should stop… for now.”

  For a moment more, his eyebrows remain furrowed. Then he scratches the back of his head and nods.

  “Okay.”

  Is it? He looks agitated, frustrated, defeated. I feel a pang of guilt.

  I reach for his hand to extend some comfort but he steps away.

  “I think I’ll go back to the house,” he says.

  He’s leaving me?

  “Asher…”

  “I’ll get you more champagne.” He grabs my nearly empty glass. “And maybe get us some real food from the kitchen. Those hors d’oeuvres barely reached my stomach.”

  Oh. He just wants some space. That’s fine. Hopefully, he can walk off some of his frustration and we can reset the scene when he comes back. This awkward atmosphere will be gone and the two of us can just have a nice conversation like the one we were having before we kissed.

  I nod. “Okay.”

  Asher gives me a smile. “I’ll be right back.”

  ~

  He’s not back yet.

  I glance at my watch again. Forty minutes have passed. Forty-two, actually.

  I told myself Asher would take just fifteen at most. When he wasn’t back by twenty, I wondered if maybe he’d bumped into someone he needed to talk to. After five more minutes, I thought of calling him just to find out what was keeping him—only to realize I didn’t have his number. I started to worry. Now that forty-two minutes have passed, I’m thinking either he bumped into several people or he’s asking the chef to prepare something from scratch. Or something bad has happened to him and nobody has come to notify me because no one else knows I’m here.

  That last thought sends me walking briskly back to the house—as briskly as I can in my two-inch heels—while I rub my arms through my shawl to ward off the chill from the air. As I approach, I hear no commotion, no sirens. The music is still playing. People are still chatting. Champagne and hors d’oeuvres are still being served. I let out a breath of relief.

  At least I get the feeling Asher is safe. But I still have to find him.

  I search the kitchen first. Asher isn’t there and none of the household staff or caterers have seen him. I comb the crowd next. No sign of him either. Where the hell is he? Finally, I decide to ask Lloyd if he knows where Asher is. When he says he doesn’t, I ask if I can search the rest of the house. He gives me permission.

  I search every room, my heart racing and my thoughts jumbling to come up with explanations for his absence, many of which hurt too much for me to dwell on. I try not to, but when I still don’t find Asher after looking everywhere, I start to worry. Where on earth can he be?