Sebastian Chase was restless.

It didn’t help that his car had been stuck in a rush hour traffic jam for the past twenty minutes. Usually, he would be on his phone, or reading the business news on his tablet, but today he felt like a caged animal inside his large Lincoln town car.

He was on his way to a dinner. However, it was more of a business function than a social one. Unless he was dining a beautiful woman, he preferred his social interactions to have purpose, specifically one that would further his business goals. More business meant more work for more people.

Business. The well-oiled machine of commerce. That’s what he thought about most days.

Today was different. Instead, he wondered when was the last time he took a walk out in the sun. Golf games didn’t count — if you played with clients, technically that was still work. And Sebastian only ever played with clients, or business partners.

It was the same with all the parties he’d ever gone to. The Mattheson Bank was his family empire, so even family gatherings were business-related. At least, that’s how he’d come to think of them. His relationship with his father was not the most cordial, and neither was he particularly fond of his father’s siblings or their children. The only people he thought of as his family, other than his son Benson, were his mother and his brother Eric, and they were both gone.

It was at that moment that Sebastian realized what the date was.

“Connor, I’m going for a walk,” he told his driver.

“Sir?” If Connor Mills was surprised, he didn’t show it. It was part of his job. If Sebastian had suddenly asked him to wait outside a jewelry store while he robbed it, Connor would merely ask if Mr. Chase wanted him to keep the engine running.

“Please give my regrets to the Chapmans, and charge their dinner check to me.”

“Certainly, sir.”

Sebastian opened the door and stepped out the car. He didn’t know where he was going, not really, but that didn’t matter.

He consciously walked away from where everyone seemed to be heading, walking past restaurants, flower shops and banks. He remembered his brother Eric once told him he wanted to open up a small shop that sold nothing but socks. “Wouldn’t Dad throw a fit?” he’d said, laughing.

“Probably,” Sebastian had replied. “Then he’d come back after a month to check if your sales were improving.”

“Sadly, it seems you’re the only businessman in the family, Sebastian. I don’t think I’ll be good at anything. Maybe I should find me a nice hardworking wife, and I could stay home and cook for our kids.”

“So long as she doesn’t plan on selling socks, you should be fine.”

Eric and their mother passed away in a plane crash on this day five years ago. Eric had left a son, and a wife he’d been separated from a mere two years after they were married. Their mother only had him and Eric, having been divorced from Sebastian’s father since Eric was born. Sebastian was the only one who ever remembered she was in that plane crash too.

There would be no phone call from his father. No dinner on the anniversary of his mother and brother’s deaths. No words of consolation for each other. They didn’t do that sort of thing. They didn’t have a personal relationship, just a business one. All George Mattheson expected from him was a healthy growth in the family corporation, and a healthy heir to that corporation to take over after Sebastian retired.

It would just be another day for his father.

The streets were both familiar and unfamiliar to him. He may have passed through the area once or a hundred times, he wouldn’t know. Sebastian didn’t take walks, not really. He barely glanced outside when being chauffeured from place to place. He wasn’t hungry, but a sign on a coffee shop window caught his eye for some reason he couldn’t put his finger on. On impulse, he went inside.

It was not a fashionable coffee shop by any means. The décor was simple and old fashioned. The first thing that hit him was the familiar smell of cinnamon and bread. He took a seat at a table farthest from the door.

“What can I get you, hon?” said the waitress who appeared almost immediately after he sat down. She was thin and pale, and looked about forty. Her brown hair was pulled up in a bun. “The doughnuts are freshly made. They’re real good with coffee.”

“I’ll have one then,” Sebastian said. “And coffee.”

“I’ll be right back.” She looked tired, but her smile was warm.

According to her nameplate, she was Mabel. Sebastian didn’t even need to read it — customers called her by her name. She chatted up a couple of them on her way to the counter, asking how they were and if they wanted a refill on their coffee.

It didn’t take long before she was back with Sebastian’s coffee and doughnut. He nodded his thanks. As she moved away, an elderly man from the next table called out to her.

“Hey Mabel. How’s Jenni?” he said. “I heard you had to rush her to the hospital yesterday.”

“She’s fine, Cal. Spent two hours in the emergency room, and I was near out of my mind with worry. But the doctor changed her meds and she’s been fine since then. Thanks for asking,” Mabel said. “Thank goodness Victoria offered to take my shift yesterday.”

It was then that Sebastian realized why the name of the place seemed so familiar. He’d seen it on a resumé recently. The Foxhole. Current employer of one Victoria Slade.

“That was right sweet of of her, Mabel,” the elderly customer said.

“That girl is some kind of angel, I tell you,” Mabel said. “She had an appointment that same afternoon too. A job interview I think. Now that I think about it, I hope I didn’t make her miss it.” She shook her head and picked up an empty dish from the elderly man’s table. “More water, Cal?”

The editors sitting around the table stared at Asher Darcy in stunned silence.

"You can't possibly be serious," Lizzy said.

The truth was, she knew this was coming. In a precarious time for traditional media, no one bought a print magazine without wanting to make big changes. However, it didn't mean she was going to have an easy time accepting the reality that was just laid out in front of her.

Asher had an arm stretched out in front of him, fingers drumming lightly on the conference table. "Lily—"

"Lizzy!"

"Excuse me. Lizzy, despite your comically shocked expressions, I'm certain every single one of you were expecting this. Sooner or later, The Fold would have to join the twenty-first century."

"We have a website, Mr. Darcy. We publish some of the articles online."

He waved a hand dismissively. "I've seen the analytics reports. Not only are there too few new articles a week, but the site barely has an audience."

Jade spoke up before Lizzy could reply. "The Fold is a print-first publication, Asher," she explained patiently. "Hence the name."

"Yes, about that," Asher said. "I'm changing the name of the magazine. If we're to move forward—"

"Hey, what—" Lizzy started to say, but he raised a hand to stop her.

"... we can't be held back by sentimentality. Yes, I understand circulation is still quite strong, but I think we can do better. We need to immerse ourselves in new media and social media, and not just dip our toe in them."

It took all her self-control to keep from jumping over the conference table and wringing the arrogant bastard's neck. Silencing her as if she was some twelve-year-old daring to speak up at the adult table—

"Our articles are not exactly web-friendly," Garret Wilson said. "I'm not sure we'll be pulling in enough numbers to make offering them online worth it."

"You're absolutely right, Garret. We're going to have to come up with new style guidelines to address that."

Everyone groaned. The phrase "click bait" was muttered by more than a few around the table.

Asher regarded the editorial team with amusement, unperturbed by its collective response to his plans for the magazine. His editorial team, he reminded himself.

"Look, I admire this publication immensely," he said. "And I have tremendous respect for you and the staff, and everything you've accomplished." He paused, letting his words sink in. "I wouldn't have bought The Fold if I didn't. I'm confident that if we work together, we can make the magazine succeed even more."

"You mean you want it to make more money," Lizzy said. If there was anything he learned about the editor of the Film and TV section, was that she was nothing if not blunt. He met her stare with the smile. The woman would be attractive, he mused, if she didn't have that perpetual scowl on her face.

"Absolutely. Print is dead. We're going to have to adapt to people's changing reading habits if we're to thrive, not just survive." He leaned forward. "I want to make money, and you want to do your job. I think we can give each other what we want."

"Are you saying we're no longer publishing the magazine in print?" Jade said. He could see his lovely editor-in-chief try to mask the horror she felt. Perhaps he should have mentioned his plans to her before today. Gotten her on board before he dropped the bombshell. However, the element of surprise had always worked for him in the past. If someone was going to oppose you, it was better not to give them time to think of a plan to get in your way.

"Yes, that's exactly what I'm saying. Although," he added loudly, ignoring the groans of protest around the room, "I'm open to compromise on that point."

"I see." Surprisingly, Jade remained calm and collected, unlike everyone else. Looking at her, he could almost see the gears turning in her head. She was appraising him, trying to figure him out. Strategizing her next move. He didn't mind. There were very few things he enjoyed more than being under the scrutiny of a beautiful woman.

She would need convincing, of course. But he was certain he was up to the task. In fact, he was looking forward to it.

He wondered what it would take to get her on his side. Or in his bed. Specifically, on top of him. Naked. He caught his breath the image filling his mind of her smiling down at him, her long glossy hair falling over her bare shoulders and breasts. He pictured her lips parting in ecstasy as he filled her with his —

"You and I can discuss this between ourselves," he said. She nodded, and he continued, "In the meantime, I trust the editorial board will be able to come up with a business plan. I'm prepared to invest whatever it takes."

"We'll need to hire more people for the web team," said Sandra. "Not just developers, but social media specialists. I only have two people currently maintaining the site."

"Whatever it takes, Sandra," he said. "Jade, I'd like a business plan by next week."

"Will do," Jade said. "However, about that other thing we discussed ..."

"Ah yes." His eyes brightened as he turned to face the others. "Being new to the publishing business, Jade and I have agreed that I will need to familiarize myself with the day-to-day operations of the magazine. She has very generously agreed to—"

"Let Lizzy show you the ropes," Jade said.

"What." Lizzy's voice was so low, it almost sounded like a growl. And not the kind he was used to coming from a woman. Not the deep, throaty sound women made when they begged him for ... well, anything. And they were usually naked, or getting ready to be.

Frankly, there was nothing about Lizzy Bennet that made him want to picture her naked.

"I need you to take Asher in hand, Lizzy. He wants to observe what we do and how we work," Jade explained.

"I'm busy. Sorry."

"He won't be in the way. He'll merely be observing, and asking the occasional question." Jade smiled at him. "I'd be happy to do it myself, but I have to give you a business plan within a week."

She was right, unfortunately. Asher could have given her a month to come up with that business plan, but he knew he had to get things rolling right away. "That's all right," he assured her. He turned to Lizzy, who looked like she'd just been ordered to eat a plateful of razors. "I'm all yours, Liddy."

***

"I know what you're about to ask me," Jade said, "and the answer is, no. I didn't know about his plans before he editorial meeting."

Lizzy's expression was grim as she shut the door of Jade's office. She had been so angry she almost stormed out of the conference room. She didn't even bother correcting him the third time he misspoke her name.

She sank down on the couch. Through the glass, she could see people staring. The editor-in-chief's door was almost never closed. "What are we going to do?" she said.

"There's very little we can do, Liz." Jade sat down behind her desk. "He owns the magazine, he can do whatever he wants."

"Oh come on. Darcy doesn't know the first thing about how the magazine industry works. We can run circles around him if we want to."

"Don't underestimate your enemy. I believe Sun Tzu said that. Besides, Asher seems quite determined. And he's a smart man. More important, he's done his homework. Although ..." She knitted her brows thoughtfully.

"What is it?"

"I don't think he's trying to lay down the law, just giving us an opening bid."

"What, like a negotiation?"

"Yes. He wants us to come up with a counter offer. We'll accede to some of his ideas, then see if he budges."

"I'm not butchering my copy just so some attention-deficient teenager will want to read my opinion on Jafar Panahi's new documentary, Jade."

"Well, you and I better come up with a good counter offer then." Jade grinned. "You know, things could be worse. Other newspapers have been bought by individuals who don't actually give a damn about anything other than profit."

Lizzy snorted. "You really believe that crap about respect for us and the magazine?"

"I do, yes. I see it in his eyes." Jade inclined her head. "Didn't you say I have a knack for reading people?"

"Then you would have noticed he was practically drooling over you. There was something in his eyes, all right, but I wouldn't exactly call it respect."

"Oh yes, that. I suppose his reputation is well-earned."

Of course it took more than a man's naked admiration to throw Jade off her game. When you get stared at every day of your life, you learn to deal with it.

"You could still be wrong about him, you know."

"There is that possibility, yes."

"I can't do it Jade. I love this magazine. I'm not sticking around and wait for Asher Darcy to ruin it."

"Lizzy—"

"I quit."

Cinnamon.

The smell of spice lingered long after she had left the elevator. It was oddly mesmerizing, breathing in her scent as she stood close to him in the elevator. Sebastian could still picture the lights glinting on her dark red hair as she walked away. His gaze had lingered on the pale skin on the back of her neck, making him wonder what it would be like to touch it.

"Sir, don't forget your check," Frank said, pulling him out of his reverie. His assistant took out a cream-colored envelope from a folder he carried. "It's the one you signed yesterday, made out to the children's foundation. I know you hate bringing your checkbook with you."

"Thank you Frank," Sebastian said, putting the envelope in his jacket pocket. The elevator doors opened and they stepped out into the basement parking lot where a large grey limousine was waiting for them. "I suppose I can't just drop this off at the reception, can I?"

"You could. But if people see you getting chummy with the hospital board and personally handing them a check, they're more likely to give a donation of their own. You'll have plenty of time after your meeting to get to the fundraiser. Are you sure you don't want me at the meeting?"

"It's really more of an informal chat with the British ambassador, Frank. I'll need you here to help Callie prep for the meeting next week for the Beijing deal. Her new assistant can barely keep up with her."

"Yes, sir."

One of Sebastian's bodyguards, Selene, opened the limousine door for him. "Mr. Chase," she greeted him as he got inside.

"How is your mother, Selene?" he said as she sat down across from him.

"She's fine, sir. Thank you."

They rode in silence, and Sebastian's mind went to the impromptu interview with the latest applicant for the tutoring job. It was a pity Ms. Slade did not pass muster. Her resume wasn't bad. Cum laude graduate of English at a respectable university. A master's degree in Comparative Literature. Bylines in the local papers. Nothing too grand, but her essays were thoughtful and sharp. He had read an article of hers published two years ago titled "Are we raising our sons to be boys or men?" and this was what prompted him to shortlist her among the applicants for the job. In the piece, she described how society has been teaching toxic values of masculinity, producing boys unprepared for a modern, more progressive age of gender equality.

He'd been raised that way, and he hated it. His father, a patriarch — in every sense of the word — of an old Texas banking dynasty did his best to mold Sebastian into his image.

Benson deserved better.

When Benson's father — Sebastian's brother Eric — passed away five years ago, and his mother permitted Sebastian to adopt the boy, Sebastian swore he would do good by his nephew. He had made sure to raise him with better values than what he himself had been forced to live by growing up.

Now his adopted son was ten years old, and while he seemed happy and healthy, Sebastian worried about the lack of a female role model in his life. Sebastian had no other siblings, and doubted he would be getting married any day soon. He thought the best solution was to hire a female tutor and companion for him. His son was enrolled in the best private school, and the curriculum was challenging enough that most of their students had tutors.

There was no question about whether or not to hire Ms. Slade. He could never abide by tardiness. When a person acted with discipline, it was a reflection of a disciplined mind. Which was what he needed in a tutor for his son Benson.

Sebastian had three other interviews lined up for the job. He was sure Ms. Slade would find a position elsewhere that would make the most of her talents, but for now that position wasn't that of tutor to his son.

"You seem to care for your son very much. I hope you find what you're looking for."

He felt an emotion nearly overwhelm him, and he realized it was regret.

It was something he hadn't felt for a very long time.

***

"Tell me again why you aren't trying acting? Lots of aspiring screenwriters try to get a break that way," Victoria said. "I mean, look how well it worked for Matt Damon and Ben Affleck. And Sylvester Stallone."

Her best friend and roommate Nicolette rolled her eyes delicately, in a way that very few girls are able to. "Are you kidding me? Can you imagine the really horrible lines I'd have to work with until I get to work in a decent production?"

"Most actors just have to go through it at the start, I think."

"Most actors have the patience for it," said Nicolette.

She had a point, Victoria thought. Nicolette wasn't the kind of person to do anything she wasn't crazy about. She was either all in or not at all. This explained much of her career trajectory: make mad money working as an escort while (in her words) her ass was still pointed the right way, until she got her scripts on theater screens across the country.

She and Nicolette were hanging out in Nicolette's bedroom watching movies. It was their favorite thing to do together. They didn't get a lot of time together because Nicolette worked mostly at night and Victoria worked during the day, so on the rare occasions they were both free, they made sure to schedule some quality girl-bonding time. Tonight, they were having quiche from the corner bakery, and watching Old Boy, one of Nicolette's all-time favorite films. As they'd already seen it together about fifty times, they were having a light discussion about Nicolette's writing career.

"Plus," Nicolette added, "do you know how my clients like to talk about their lives?"

"Yeah, you mentioned that." Victoria laughed, recalling the stories Nicolette would tell her about the men she'd go out with at her job, ranging from hilarious to creepy to just plain sad. One of them had her over to cook him Thanksgiving dinner because he couldn't celebrate it with his ex-wife and estranged children. A terrible cook who prided herself in this particular non-talent, Nicolette ended up serving burnt turkey and soggy mashed potatoes, but the 45-year-old investment banker was so happy he cried.

"I get a glimpse into the lives of the rich, powerful, and sometimes sad men and women of L.A.," said Nicolette. "It's the stuff great movies are made of."

"I love that I get to talk to you about these things," Victoria said. "I never get to meet anyone rich and powerful. Well, hardly ever." She suddenly remembered blue eyes and dark hair. "Hey, actually I did meet someone like that today."

"At the coffee shop?"

Victoria shook her head. "Job interview."

"I didn't know you had a job interview today. How did it go?"

"Not well. Disastrous." Victoria sighed.

"I'm sorry, sweetie," Nicolette said. "I'm sure you'll find something soon. So, this guy interviewed you?"

"Yeah. Some big brass over at Mattheson Bank downtown, the corporate office. I was late."

Nicolette frowned. "Must have been really big brass — a VP or CEO or something — if he gets to interview his kid's tutor at work."

"I'm pretty sure his tie costs more than what I make in a year. Anyway, I had to practically run after him and try to convince him he should hire me." She winced. "That was probably not the best move."

"You didn't try to sit on his lap, did you?"

"What? No!" Victoria laughed. "I jumped in his private elevator with him. The receptionist looked like he was about to get a heart attack."

"That's not something I would ever imagine you'd do, Vic." Nicolette eyed her suspiciously. "Was he hot?"

Victoria bit her lip and nodded. "Oh my God, is that why I ran after him?"

Nicolette burst out laughing. Victoria groaned, fell backwards on the bed and covered her face with a pillow.

"You know, if you find yourself running down hot bankers in hallways, it may be a sign you really need to get laid. Like, soon," Nicolette said.

"I know!" Victoria's voice was muffled from the pillow over her face.

"It's been two months, babe." Nicolette grabbed the pillow and her face hovered over Victoria's. "You're not still hung up over Jason, are you?"

"What? No!" Victoria tried to grab the pillow from Nicolette, who pulled it away from her reach.

"Oh really? Have you seen anyone since then?"

Victoria gave up trying to get the pillow back. "I've been busy. I'm job-hunting, remember?"

"Fine," Nicolette said. "But once you get a proper job, I'm setting you up with some guys I know."

"I thought you said a girl doesn't need a boyfriend."

"What is this, the 19th century? I didn't say anything about a boyfriend. All I'm saying is sex will do you some good."

"Is that why you're always so bright and cheerful?" Victoria teased. She picked up a mushroom and artichoke quiche. "Because of all the sex you're having?" She grinned evilly.

"Damn right it is. And I'm going to make sure you're getting some soon, even if I have to pay for it."

Victoria nearly dropped the quiche she was in the process of biting into. "Really, you'd do that?"

"How about we see if anyone will do you for free first." Nicolette pretended to look her friend over with a critical eye.

"I don't know. I think I smell like doughnuts. Is that a thing men like?" Victoria sniffed the front of her shirt. When she first started work at the Foxhole, she enjoyed the aroma of coffee and pastries. After a couple of weeks, however, it started to get old. And stick to her clothes and hair.

Nicolette sighed. "You seriously need a new job."

"I'm so sorry I'm late, Vic," said Mabel Jones. She was flushed and a little sweaty as she tied her apron on, having just rushed over five blocks.

"Don't worry about it, Bel. I'm happy to do it," said Victoria Slade. She began to untie her own apron, the same brown one that had the name of the coffee shop "The Foxhole" printed on it in white. Her eyes were soft with concern. "Is Jenni going to be okay?"

"Yes, she's better now. I'll have to take her back to the doctor tomorrow for another checkup, but at least her wheezing had stopped. Thanks so much for taking over my shift." Mabel gave Victoria a tight hug. "I've had too many absences this month, I'd probably have gotten fired if you hadn't covered for me."

Victoria could see the faintest sign of tears in her friend's eyes. Clearly her daughter Jenni's latest asthma attack had been pretty bad, and had left her shaken. "Are you sure you're going to be okay? Because I'm happy to work your whole shift if you need to be home."

"No, no, I'll be fine. You better get going, you have that job interview this afternoon. Oh dear, can you still make it?"

"I think so." Victoria looked up at the wall clock behind them. Three thirty. She had half an hour to her interview, which meant she had no time to go home and get dressed.

Five minutes later, in the locker room, she was trying to smooth the wrinkles on her grey skirt. Her black top was of a soft lightweight wool that didn't need pressing, however, it was old and a little shabby. Not the ideal attire to a job interview, but it would have to do. Her long wavy auburn hair hadn't been properly washed since yesterday, and it smelled like turnovers, so she had hurriedly tied it up in a bun. She still had a chance to make the interview, and for that she was thankful. When Mabel called her at noon to ask if she would take over her shift for a couple of hours, she didn't hesitate. Victoria needed to get the job she was interviewing for, but Mabel needed the café job even more. She had a sickly six-year-old daughter at home whom she was raising by herself: there was no one else to take her to to the hospital whenever she had one of her asthma attacks.

When she got to Third Street, Victoria's eyes scanned the high rise buildings above her. She wasn't familiar with L.A.'s financial district, and she would have looked up the map online if she had the time. She looked at her watch for the third time in the past minute: three fifty-five. She looked up again and after a moment, she finally spotted the address.

The Mattheson Building loomed tall and stately, all gleaming glass and steel in the L.A. sunshine. Victoria's misgivings about her clothes increased as soon as she walked into the elegant and richly appointed lobby. It was like stepping into a box of expensive French chocolates, except the place may have smelled even better. Her pace slowed down, every step an apology to the pale cream marble floor with gold flecks which her cheap flat shoes had no business touching.

As she pressed the elevator button for the 55th floor, it suddenly dawned on her that it had to be a mistake, this job interview. People who had offices on the 55th floor didn't hire tutors who advertised on community newspapers and questionable online ad websites, which was the only places she could afford to post ads for her services as a tutor. She did try an agency, but they wouldn't take her for her lack of experience. She was fresh out of graduate school, and trying to make ends meet with freelance magazine writing jobs and her stint at the coffee shop.

The 55th was even more luxurious than the lobby. A chandelier graced the high ceilings, and sofas in rich leather rested on thick-piled carpeting around the round receptionist desk where a man and a woman sat, both on the telephone, as she walked towards them. Whoever it was she was interviewing with, they could definitely afford her rates.

The man saw her approach, and she gave him a nervous smile. While he nodded in return, he continued his phone conversation.

Victoria waited, but a minute passed before the man finally hung up.

"Hi. I'm Victoria Slade," she said. "I have an interview for the tutor position at four." She grimaced. "I'm so sorry I'm late."

The man smiled pleasantly. "Unfortunately, Ms. Slade, it's ten minutes past four," he said. "Mr. Chase is no longer available to see you."

Her heart sank. "I can wait. Or perhaps we could reschedule? I'm willing to come back anytime that's convenient." Who did he say it was? "Anytime it's convenient for Mr. Chase," she added.

He smiled at her sympathetically. "I'll see what I can do. However, Mr. Chase is extremely busy, and I highly doubt he would be willing to schedule another appointment."

"Is that him?" She pointed to a tall man in a suit emerging from a door on their left. He was followed by a lanky, younger man carrying a briefcase and some folders.

"Yes, but—"

"Mr. Chase!" she called out, walking toward the man as fast as she could without running.

"Ms. Slade, please—" the receptionist started to say, but she didn't hear the rest of it.

When Chase met her gaze, Victoria nearly froze.

She had fully expected him to be some middle-aged man, since the job she had applied for was as a tutor for a fifth grader. So it was a bit of a shock to find a man who couldn't possibly be older than thirty-five or thirty-six.

Nothing prepared her for the intensity of his blue eyes or the perfection of the rest of his face. His light gray suit looked like it had been molded on to his trim figure by one of the renaissance sculptors. Michelangelo, maybe. Her knees turned to jelly under her, but something about him kept her moving inexorably forward. It was almost like gravity.

"Yes?" he said.

"I, uh," she stammered.

He raised an eyebrow, but didn't break a stride.

"Hi, I'm Victoria Slade," she said, finding her voice. "Your four o'clock? I know I'm late but—"

"Punctuality doesn't seem to be a priority for you, Ms. Slade." He brushed past her.

"I apologize," she said, walking beside him. It was hard to keep up with him and his long legs, but she did the best she could. "I thought perhaps we could reschedule. I'll come back anytime—"

"Your resume says you work at a coffee shop," he said, interrupting her again. "Is that the best you could do with your masters degree?"

"No. I mean, I've stated in my resume that I also write for magazines."

As they walked past the reception desk, the man behind it gaped at her silently.

"You do freelance writing," Mr. Chase said. "And you don't make enough that you have to wait tables at a coffee shop, and now do tutoring work?"

"I have to make ends meet, Mr. Chase. Writers don't exactly get paid as much as hedge fund managers."

"No, but surely a woman of your intelligence and credentials should be able to manage her career and finances better."

"I don't understand. What does that have to do with the tutor position?"

They were walking toward an elevator. It had wider doors than the others, and was positioned farther away from the other. A personal lift, perhaps? His assistant rushed ahead of them and tapped a card on a panel on the side, and the doors opened silently.

"I'm looking for someone to entrust my child's educational care. I cannot give it to someone who can't seem to take care of their own financial well-being. Or," he said, looking at her pointedly, "can't seem to show up for a job interview on time."

She opened her mouth to argue, and realized she had nothing to say to that.

He got inside the elevator with his assistant, leaving her standing outside.

Victoria wasn't sure what possessed her, but in a moment of impulse, she dashed inside the elevator before the doors closed.

"Ms. Slade, what are you doing?"

I don't know, she thought. It was as though she was compelled by forces beyond her control.

"I, uh ..." she stammered. Great going, Slade. Really articulate. She cleared her throat. "Mr. Chase, I completely understand how you feel."

"Do you?" He nodded to his assistant. "Let's go, Frank."

His assistant pressed a button for one of the basement floors. The elevator doors closed and they began their descent.

"I'm not an economics or finance major," Victoria continued, seeing as he made no move to kick her out of the lift. "I'm pretty good with numbers but horrible with money. As a matter of fact, I only like money as much as it can pay for my groceries or my car insurance. But I don't think your child needs a financial advisor right now. What he needs is someone who believes in the importance of learning, someone well-rounded who can make him see how different areas of knowledge are connected. Help him see how education is relevant to real life."

Chase didn't look at her as she spoke. He kept his eyes on the doors of the elevator, his face expressionless. Was he bored? Was he even listening to her?

"I think you want this for him," she added. "This is why you asked me to come for this interview despite the fact that I've had no experience. The reason you considered hiring me was because of my educational background in English and Literature, and the fact that I write for science magazines."

She studied his face, waiting for a response. Nothing.

"You didn't hire an experienced tutor because he probably already goes to school run by highly paid teaching professionals," she said. "But you want him to acquire an imagination, which is why you want to hire me."

"Anything more, Ms. Slade?" he said, still not looking at her.

"Uhm, no. That's it."

"I see. Frank, we'll be dropping Ms. Slade off at the first floor."

"Yes, sir."

She watched Frank push the first floor button, and her heart sank.

"My apologies, Ms. Slade, if you were under the wrong impression about this job," Chase said. "I'm looking for someone to take responsibility for my son's education outside of school. His school demands much from him, and I want to make sure he is able to keep up with these demands. I don't believe you and he will make a good fit. Thank you for your time."

"Oh. I see." She had hoped he would at least tell her he would think about it and get back to her, but this was clearly a man who didn't like to waste time. Disappointment felt like a physical lump in her throat, but she straightened her back, looked him in the eye and forced herself to smile.

"I understand. Thank you for your time, Mr. Chase."

When the elevator opened at the first floor, she walked out. But a sudden thought made her stop and turn. "You seem to care for your son very much," she said. "I hope you find what you're looking for."

Victoria turned and walked away just as the elevator doors began to close.

Well, that was that. She did her best, at least. She was still surprised at how she had jumped into that elevator without a thought in her head. They could have thrown her out the building for that.

What were you thinking, Slade?

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

To be continued.

"My home, of course."

"Why not mine?"

"If it's all the same to you, I would much rather have sex in my own bed."

"Ouch, you really know how to set a romantic mood, Liz."

Lizzy sighed. "Sorry, Collin," she said, glancing at the phone mounted on her car dashboard. She had called his number immediately after she left Lucy's place. "I'm not really in the best mood right now. This week was the worst."

"Work?"

"Yes. And some concerns with my sister."

She didn't know why she was talking to him about this. Their relationship wasn't exactly ... well, it wasn't a relationship at all.

"Look," Collin said, "seeing as it's pretty late--"

"Fine, forget I called." She moved to hit the end call button.

"No, don't hang up."

She stopped, and put her hand back on the steering wheel. "What?" She knew she sounded curt, but he'd already turned her down twice earlier this week. Her pride could only take so much rejection before she had to start getting defensive.

"I was going to say that seeing as it's late, maybe I could just come by tomorrow night and make you dinner."

"I guess ..."

"And after that, you may have your nasty way with me all night. In your own bed, of course."

"Fine. But you don't have to make me dinner."

"You have to eat, Liz."

"I can grab a bite on my way home."

"I refuse to kiss you and be stuck with the taste of cheap greasy pizza in my mouth. I'm coming over at six and I'm making Vietnamese noodles and that fish soup you like."

She smiled despite herself. "Okay. But let's make it seven p.m." Asher Darcy was going to be at the office tomorrow for a long editorial meeting, so she may not be able to leave work early.

"Seven p.m. Great, I'll see you then."

Lizzy sighed as she pulled up to her apartment. It was a shame Collin couldn't be convinced to come over tonight. Though she would be the last to admit it, she could really use a good lay right about now. Her former assistant and current fuck buddy was hardly stimulating company, but he was young and attractive -- he was a model after all -- and had the stamina befitting a man of twenty-two.

She sighed. I guess I'm reading a book tonight.

It wasn't fair. She was a young, fairly attractive woman. She had a career and her own apartment. This was L.A. It shouldn't be this hard for her to get laid.

Her cellphone rang as she was about to get out of the car. She took it off the car dock before answering.

"Hey Shar," she said, picking up her laptop and purse from the front passenger seat.

"I'm not disturbing you, am I?" Sharlene said.

Lizzy locked the car and started toward the elevators. "Oh, no. Just got home from dinner with Mom and my sister. What are you up to?"

"The usual. Netflix and — well, wine and popcorn. I thought you might be with Collin tonight."

"Nah, I thought I'd turn in early." The lie left a faint taste of bitterness as it rolled off her tongue. "We're meeting our brand new publisher tomorrow, after all."

"Right. I'm kind of nervous about that."

"He's not coming to fire us, Shar. He just wants us to get him up to speed with where we are and what we're doing." She got in the elevator and punched in her apartment floor number.

"I know. It's just that he's so hot. You know how I am around insanely handsome men."

Lizzy snorted. "I remember you once put your hand inside a punch bowl because you were reaching for a glass and while staring at — who was that, Jamie Dornan?"

"Yeah." Sharlene sighed. "I'd been fantasizing about him for weeks, and bam! He shows up at that Cosmo party."

"Are you over him yet? The man can't act."

"No, but who cares?"

"Do you realize that if you and Jamie were dating, you'd have to watch all his movies."

"If it means I get to take him home at night, then I accept that burden."

The elevator doors opened and Lizzy stepped out, turning right. "Yes, well, try not to lose your head over Darcy, okay? He's technically your boss. Also, the man is a notorious man whore."

"I know, right? I mean those rumors have to be exaggerated. He couldn't possibly have slept with every model at last year's Victoria's Secret fashion show. Not in one night."

"I hope so." Lizzy unlocked her front door and let herself inside. "If not, let's hope he's as willing to work just as hard at the office as he is screwing around."

The red-headed young woman blushed, and sat down next to Asher. After a moment's hesitation, she slid her behind to close the distance between them until her thigh was pressed against his. "I thought maybe you knew me from work or something," she said.

"Absolutely not. I make it a point to never get involved with people I work with." He raised a hand and called for a waiter.

"Really?" She relaxed and leaned against his arm. "And do you always use cake to pick up girls?"

"I thought maybe you must have already had so many gentlemen buying you drinks tonight."

She giggled. "True."

"So I thought you might like a cake instead."

"I do, yes." She snuggled even closer. "My name's Danielle."

"Asher Darcy."

"Wow." Her green eyes lit up. "The Asher Darcy?"

"You've heard of me, then?"

She nodded. "Wow, you look so much hotter than in the photos on the Forbes website. Oh god," she said, and covered her mouth with her hands. "I can't believe I just said that."

"It's all right." He smiled. "What else do you know about me, Danielle?"

***

"So," Lizzy said, setting down her drink. "What's the big news you wanted to tell us? Mom already filled me in about your new reality show."

"Oh my god, Liz," Lucy said. "You won't believe it, but I may be starring in my first film this year."

"Sweetie, that's great," Mrs. Bennet said, putting down her fork. She and Lucy stood up to hug. "I knew this would be the year you'd finally make it."

"I know, right?" Lucy said. She turned to hug her sister. "Oh, Liz! I'm finally making a movie."

"I am so proud of you," Lizzy said, patting her sister's back. She felt relieved. All throughout dinner, she worried what fresh new hair-brained idea her twin sister may have cooked up as a publicity stunt for her new show. One that may or may not involve her.

They were having dinner at Lucy's new apartment. It was a lot bigger than her last one, and apparently this was so there was enough room for a camera crew.

"Of course, it's all because of my new show," Lucy said as they sat back down. "The buzz around it is just through the roof. Hannah promised me they'd go all out on the publicity and she totally came through for me."

"Hannah is so talented, I swear," Mrs. Bennet said. "I'm so glad she's taking care of you, sweetheart. But tell us more about this movie."

"Well," Lucy said. She paused to take a drink of wine. "It's a feature film, by this tiny indie company. But the director is just so talented, I have a really good feeling about this."

Mrs. Bennet clasped her hands together. "I'd really like to meet him," she said. "Maybe he could have dinner with us next week?"

"Oh no, sorry." Lucy took another drink of wine. "He'll be in New York all week, and he has this fancy costume party to go to on Saturday."

As Lizzy watched her finish off her glass of merlot, she couldn't help worrying about the fact that it was her sister's fifth glass that evening. She cleared her throat. "Does anyone want dessert?" she said, standing up. "I brought cobbler. Let me just get it."

"No, thanks, Liz," Lucy said. "No gluten for me."

"You know," Lizzy called out from the kitchen, "that gluten-free diet is only necessary for people who are allergic to wheat. Or some other really rare disease which I'm pretty sure you don't have."

"Well excuse me for wanting to eat healthier," Lucy said. "I'm in front of cameras all the time, Lizzy. You don't understand the pressure I'm on to look good."

"You always look great, honey," Mrs. Bennet assured her. "That new shade of blonde really brings out your eyes."

"It does, doesn't it?" She smiled and shook her short, silver blonde bob. "What do you think, Liz?"

Lizzy set down two small plates containing slices of the peach cobbler on the table. "It's very pretty," she said. She felt a small pang of jealously as she looked at her sister. They were not identical twins, and it was obvious. Lucy had lovely hazel eyes, while she had to settle for brown, like her hair.

"You should really think about going blonde sometime," Lucy said. "You'll look really sexy, I think."

"I don't think so."

"No, really! It lights up your face. You'll look great on TV."

"Lucy, for the last time, I'm not doing your reality show. I didn't agree to do it the last time, I won't do it now."

Lucy gave a mock frown, her perfect red lips in a pout. "Spoilsport."

***

"So my boss is really old, but he's really nice to me so I adore him," Danielle said. "Everyone told me I was too young for the job and that he'd never hire me, but he totally did."

Asher nodded, looking at her intently. It was typical of Paul Schuller to hire an inexperienced twenty-three-year-old as a member of his staff, even if her skills were entirely different from what the job required. He wondered if Schuller had fucked Danielle yet.

"You must have impressed him," he said. "I've only met him a few times, but word is he's quite the perfectionist."

"Like, oh my god, totally." She waved her hands. "He once made his secretary redo meeting notes five times. Poor Katherine. If only I'd done a better job with those notes, she wouldn't have had to fix it. Sometimes," she added, looking thoughtful, "I think maybe he kind of likes me. Mr. Schuller, I mean." She smiled shyly. "But that's crazy, right? He's, like, old."

"You don't like older men?" From the way she had kept touching his hand and pressing her chest against his arm during the last fifteen minutes, Asher was assured that she, at least, liked men.

Danielle frowned. "Yeah, like... my Dad?" She laughed. "Paul — I mean, Mr. Schuller is older than my dad, I think."

"You think I'm old?"

"Oh god no." She moved her hand down his wrist. "You're, like ... the perfect age." She frowned. "Sorry, am I talking too much?"

He moved his fingers slowly to clasp her fingers, and he heard her catch her breath when he started to caress her hand. "I like watching your lips move," he said.

She swallowed. "I, uhm, do you wanna ask me out or something?"

Asher looked at her quietly for a moment. "Actually, I thought I'd take you home."

"My home?" Danielle's cheeks colored, and she cast her eyes down shyly. "Or do you want to take me home to yours?"

________________________________________

I'll be posting Part 4 "Nightcap" in a few days. Follow me for updates!

Emily tasted like honey and milk. Her body yielded to Asher's caresses like butter to a hot knife. He had made her climax twice in the past half hour as he promised. And without taking their clothes off, because that was an important part of the deal.

He smiled upon seeing her blouse open to reveal a fire-red silk and satin bra. That was not his doing. She had unbuttoned her shirt herself while he was busy pleasuring her.

"I'm glad you think so." She was still breathless from the delights he had introduced in her. "Although this wasn't exactly what I had in mind when I called to meet you here."

"Would you like to go over the latest revisions on the contract now, Emily? I think there are one or two more stipulations I have to insist we reconsider."

"I know what they are. I'll have Portman and Stewart take care of it." She had her hand on his wrist as he ran his fingers up and down her navel, urging him on.

She wanted more.

So did he.

"Are you sure about this?" he said, unmoving. "Your father was adamant about letting his brother have that 10 percent stake."

"My uncle has been a useless piece of trash since he dropped out of three colleges thirty years ago, and my father is a fool for thinking he'll get him to ever amount to anything more than a waste of space." She leaned forward and hooked her fingers on his belt buckle. "My fiancé is on his way here for dinner. Would you rather talk about my loser uncle or get inside me?"

***

THE NEXT DAY

"Ash, where the hell are you?"

"Nice to hear from you too, Charlie," said Asher, leaning comfortably in his seat. "I'm out having a drink, if you must know." His gaze strayed across the old Hollywood style restaurant to rest on a tall redhead in a clingy white dress and come-fuck-me heels. She was with two other young women sitting at the bar, talking excitedly. But every so often, she would glance over and meet his gaze. "I thought I'd celebrate my coming back to L.A. with some good scotch and ..."

The redhead tossed her hair and licked her lower lip.

"... some red velvet."

"You hate cake," Charlie said. "And you especially detest red velvet."

"I seem to find myself in the mood for it tonight. The kind with the white cream cheese frosting." He gave the redhead a small smile. "In fact I can practically taste some of that frosting right now. Would you care to join me?"

He could picture his best friend rolling her eyes. "No thank you," Charlie said. "I have an early breakfast meeting tomorrow. How did the meeting go yesterday?"

"Perfectly. You're speaking to the new majority owner of Ritter Media Holdings." He pulled out a hundred-dollar bill with his free hand and held it loosely in his fingers as he signaled a waitress.

"You got your 90%?" She laughed. "But of course you did. Old man Ritter really has lost his touch."

"Oh I don't know about that. Emily Ritter handled the negotiations. Quite a shrewd businesswoman, I must say. Her reputation is quite well deserved. Hang on."

Asher clasped the waitress's hand so the money was between their palms, and pulled her down to whisper in her ear. "Is it here?" he said.

"Yes, Mr. Darcy," she said. "Would you like us to send it over to your friend now?"

"That would be perfect, thank you, Vera."

She pocketed the cash with a smile, and left.

Charlie sighed. "You slept with her, didn't you?"

"I can say with all honesty, my dear Charlie, that neither of us got any sleep."

"Congratulations, I guess. Will she be your date to my party next Saturday? You haven't informed my assistant whether you're bringing a plus one, but she's learned from experience that it's just more convenient to assume you will."

"Very sensible. It's good to know Darlene's Princeton education is being put into good use. No, it seems Ms. Ritter is entirely engaged to a very boring middle-aged gentleman from Texas with the most appalling table manners."

He smiled as he watched the redhead and her friends gasp in surprise when Vera set down the beautifully designed cake in front of her on the bar top. Vera spoke to the redhead briefly, and gestured towards him. The redhead smiled at him — palms on her chest, her face flush with excitement. He nodded at her, and raised his drink.

"Well, whoever your plus one is," Charlie said, "be sure to inform her of the dress code. I'll not have another costume party ruined by one of your last-minute dates who show up with whatever they were wearing when you picked them up."

"I promise she will be in full costume, even if I have to dress her myself. Now if you'll excuse me, I'm just about to have some birthday cake. Lunch tomorrow?"

"Of course. I missed you, Asher."

"And I missed you, my love. Goodnight."

He put the phone in his pocket just as the young woman came over. "Hi," he said. His gaze moved from her long slim legs up to her exquisitely formed breasts to her face.

"Have we met?" she said. "How did you know it was my birthday?"

"I didn't."

"Oh?" She looked confused. "So why..."

"Will you sit with me?"

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

To be continued. 

It is a truth universally acknowledged that when you're having a bad day at work, something will come up to make everything worse.

Lizzy Bennet shut her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose. At this rate she was going to need another aspirin soon. "Mom, this really isn't a good time," she said. She stood behind the desk in her tiny office, unable to sit still. Not after the news she had just gotten over email an hour earlier.

"It's never a good time for you, Lizzy," said her mother's voice over the speakerphone. "It's almost like you never have a minute to spare for your poor mother."

"I'm sorry. There's an emergency at work and—"

"Listen, Lizzy, sweetie. Lucy has been offered her own reality show. Can you believe it? They think it may even be a bigger hit than Tyrell's show even at its peak. We're signing the contract on Friday."

"That's ... great, Mother." Lizzy sighed. So her twin sister was getting her own reality show. It was not at all surprising. After being featured prominently in her ex-boyfriend and rapper Tyrell Ramsey's reality show that had run for three seasons and was a massive ratings juggernaut, apparently Lucy had gained enough popularity to headline her own show. Lizzy wasn't sure why there seemed to be an endless public craving for Hollywood celebrities partying and behaving badly, but while there was an audience for it, there would always be people like her sister who was willing to give them what they want. "Please tell her congratulations and I'll give her a call as soon as I can."

She wished she could be happier about the news, really. But it was difficult. Because of Tyrell's show, Lucy had been transformed from unknown struggling actress to famous screen ditz to tabloid fodder. While she revelled in the attention, unfortunately, that meant Lizzy got more than a fair share of the fame, too. It was something she was never comfortable with. She worked in a magazine and considered herself a serious journalist. She reported the news, she didn't want to be part of it.

"Oh, but there's more, Lizzy, dear. The producer Hannah Covey — you remember her, don't you? — wants to focus a bit on our Lucy's family life. They're especially interested in you as her twin—"

"Absolutely not, Mother," Lizzy said, cutting her off. "We'd settled this. I didn't agree to participate in Tyrell's show, and I won't be part of this one. Not even for two seconds of screen time. I'm a magazine editor, for god's sake." For now, at least, she reminded herself. "I've been very supportive of Lucy's career but—"

"That's exactly why Hannah wants you on the show, honey. You and Lucy are so different. She lives such a glamorous lifestyle while you ... well, you seem serious and so different from anyone in Lucy's circles."

Lizzy bent over, palms flat on her desk. "That's because I am different from Lucy's friends, Mother. Just because my twin decides she wants to make a spectacle of herself on TV, it doesn't mean I have to."

"I feel you're quite judgmental, Lizzy. Just because your sister isn't as boring as your friends, it doesn't mean she isn't as good as any of them. And she always has time for me."

That's because you're the only one enabling her, Lizzy wanted to say. "You know I do my best."

"Honestly, I don't remember raising you to be this selfish. You could learn something from your sister. Why only yesterday, she told me she thought of volunteering a weekend at the soup kitchen downtown."

"They'll be filming the whole thing, I take it?"

"Well, yes. They said they'd be very happy to have the charity center featured on the show. Honey, it won't hurt to give exposure to the conditions of the homeless. Why must you be so cynical?"

Maybe because the only time her sister thought of others was in terms of whether or not they could be of use to her? Lizzy loved her sister but she also knew her well enough to be cynical of any "charitable" activities the latter tries to undertake.

"I'm sorry, Mother," she said, looking at her watch. "I'm sure that will do a lot of good uplifting the plight of the homeless." Or exposing more of her sister's shallowness to the world. "I'm sorry if it seemed like I'm not being supportive. But I have to go now. We have an editorial meeting in two minutes."

"It's a Saturday night, sweetie. You should be out meeting a nice man. Do you want to die an overworked old maid?"

There was a knock on the open door. Lizzy's best friend Sharlene Lucas leaned against the door frame, her iPad clutched to her chest with one hand. She made a fist, stuck out her thumb and ran it across her throat.

Lizzy grimaced. "Not if you have anything to do with it, I'm sure, Mother. Goodnight." She pressed a button to disconnect the call. "Is Jade back?" she said.

"Yup. Let's go."

***

"Perhaps it would be best if you let me drive, sir?" William Fitzpatrick said. The Scotsman was trying not too sound too alarmed at the way the convertible he was riding in was careering dangerously through the long winding roads that lead up the hill.

"Relax, old man," said Asher Darcy. He looked almost completely calm as he navigated another turn on the road. "We're barely going over eighty, and there's hardly another car in sight."

"Right. Good! That would be excellent if the speed limit in this county was, in fact 80 miles per hour."

"It would, yes." His flight to L.A. had been delayed, giving him barely an hour to get to Joseph Ritter's home in time for their meeting. He couldn't resist taking this opportunity to see how far he could push the abilities of the Ferrari Spider, his new favorite sports car. A car that was built to run should be allowed to run, the way a bird should fly. It was the nature of things and it should be respected. "I've done this many times, Fitz. I promise I won't get us killed."

"I shall hold you to that promise, sir." Fitzwilliam sounded less panicked now.

"Good."

"Mr. Darcy?"

"Yeah, Fitz?"

"You know I'm most grateful for this opportunity to move to the States to work with you. The compensation package is quite good."

"Don't forget the dental plan."

"Right, yes. That too. However, I've been your chauffeur for almost a week now and I was wondering ..."

"Are you quitting on me, Fitz?"

"Oh no sir. I would just like to inquire, respectfully ..."

"Yes?"

"When I might actually, well, drive you."

***

"Asher Darcy. He's chairman of the board of the Darcy Capital Group, and he's branching out to media now."

Groans filled the room, and not a few pens were thrown down on the table.

"Are you serious?" Garret Wilson said. The bearded, middle-aged marketing manager looked almost livid. "This is what we've been reduced to -- some billionaire's hobby for God's sake?"

"I'm sure Mr. Darcy takes this magazine considerably more seriously than his golf game, " Jade said. She did not have the look of someone who had to deliver bad news. The tall, thirty-two year-old editor-in-chief of The Fold was her usual pleasant self, and was in fact sounding quite pleased. As though the acquisition of the magazine by a billionaire playboy with questionable motives was not quite that big a deal.

It was, however, a big deal to Lizzy. A massive deal. "The New York Tribune folded two months after Terry Holding bought it," she pointed out. "Surely we have a better chance of making it without this Darcy taking over."

"Darcy is not completely without qualifications, Lizzy. He does have a bachelor degree in journalism, and a two-year stint at the New York Times under his belt."

"It was an internship, Jade," said Wilson.

"Which he probably paid to get," added Lizzy.

Jade sighed. "You've been quiet this whole time, Sandra," she said. "Thoughts?"

Sandra Las Marias linked her fingers. "Does it really matter what I think?" she said. "I take it this is a done deal?"

"I'm afraid so. Old man Ritter is eager to have Darcy take us off his hands, I think. Honestly,with the way he's been running things, I'm not convinced we're not better off with a new publisher."

"Even if that new publisher is Asher Darcy?" Wilson said.

"The man's no fool," Jade said. "He may have inherited his billions from his late father's estate, but his family's hedge fund company has been doing better since he took over as chairman of the board. The fact that he had a more experienced manager take over as CEO speaks to his leadership abilities."

"Looks like he already won you over, Jade," said Sharlene. "The man is quite charming, I hear." She had her elbow on the table, her chin resting on her palm. "I saw him at a benefit once. So dreamy."

"We haven't met," Jade said. "Emily handled the negotiations."

"Emily Ritter?" Wilson said. "I suppose old man Ritter has lost his touch since he retired."

"Rumour has it that it's Alzheimer's," Sharlene said.

"I'm sure Emily got the best deal she could out of Darcy," Lizzy said. "She's not called the Ice Queen for nothing."

***

"Oh Asher, that was just..." gasped Emily Ritter. She arched her spine slightly, head thrown back.

She lay on the bed with her arms splayed on her sides and her knees bent. The red silk shirt under her white suit jacket was unbuttoned down to her navel. Her skirt was hiked up to her waist.

Asher was crouched between her parted legs, arms hooked under her knees. He moved his hand from her left knee down her thigh, his lips following the trail of his fingers on her perfect alabaster skin. "Worth the ten-mile drive up here I should say," he murmured.