Textual Confusion

14. I cant wait to see you again.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

I CAN'T WAIT TO SEE YOU AGAIN.

Assface

I’m gonna fuck your pussy raw until you remember who you belong to.

Until you beg me to stop. Until you're a crying mess, tears and snot covering your face, blood dripping down your thighs.

And then just when you think it's over, I'm gonna fuck you again.

It was safe to say that things with Trent were escalating. The messages he was leaving on Asher’s phone were getting more and more deranged.

He’d moved on from calling Asher names and vague threats of kidnapping to graphically describing everything he’d do to Asher when he had him in his grasp again. For all of Trent’s faults (of which there were many), he had never physically hurt – or even threatened to physically hurt – Asher before.

He was both shocked and appalled. A maybe a little scared. For the first time since breaking up with the man, Asher was seriously considering Sasha’s suggestion of getting a restraining order.

Even if it was just a piece of paper, it was better than nothing.

Not that Asher had told his friend about the sinister turn Trent’s messages had taken.

Because then he’d have to admit to her that he had yet to tell Markus about his ex-boyfriend’s stalker-like behavior either.

Asher could only imagine the man’s reaction if/when he found out. He just knew that Markus would be enraged. Because, as much as Asher tried to deny it, the man seemed to genuinely care about him.

Why else would he have taken care of him when he was sick? Why else would he have invited him to move into his penthouse?

For easy access, duh , a voice in his head, the one that sounded suspiciously like Trent, chimed in.

But Asher just didn’t buy it. Sometime last weekend between the man spoon-feeding him medicine and wiping his snotty nose, Asher has come to the realization that Markus must care about him – at least, a little.

Part of Asher – the part that had been hurt before – warned him against getting his hopes up, but somehow he just knew he was right.

Markus cared about him.

He’d want to know about the text messages Trent was sending him; moreover, he deserved to know.

So Asher would tell him.

You know, tomorrow.

Because tonight Asher was attending a work dinner with Markus, and he was determined to not screw it up. It was the first time they would be appearing together as a couple in front of the man’s colleagues – not counting Asher’s ill-advised trip to Markus’s office to deliver cookies – and Asher was nervous.

Despite the clause in their agreement that allowed for it, a part of Asher had wondered if Markus would ever want to be seen in public with Asher on his arm – let alone in front of his co-workers. He’d wondered if he was embarrassed by him.

Then the man had asked him to meet his parents, and Asher had forgotten all about it. Until Markus had invited him out to what he called a “business soiree” this Friday. Apparently, most of the board and all of Kingston Enterprises’ most important clients would be there.

They had reservations at Cloud Nine, a rooftop restaurant in downtown Seattle, which advertised a view of the Space Needle.

Asher had been concerned about dining on a rooftop with winter knocking at the city’s door, but Markus had assured him that the restaurant itself was enclosed by a glass dome – although there was apparently access to an outdoor terrace.

It all sounded very fancy. (And expensive.)

Markus had insisted Asher could wear whatever he pleased to the restaurant, but Asher had pressed him on the dress code until the man had admitted that it was business casual.

Asher only owned one suit – the gray one that Danny had bought him for the Halloween gala. After showering and spending a frankly embarrassing amount of time attempting to style his curly hair, Asher had put it on.

Once he was satisfied with his appearance, he’d gone down to the lobby of his apartment building to wait for Markus to pick him up. In an attempt to distract himself from his nerves, Asher had pulled out his phone.

Which brought him to his current circumstance: staring in disgust at the gross texts he’d received from Trent earlier that morning.

The only reason he hadn’t deleted them was because somewhere in the back of his mind Asher knew that they’d serve as evidence of malintent if he ever decided to pursue that restraining order. (Which was looking like a better and better idea all the time.)

Forcing himself to ignore the disturbing messages, Asher went to his favorite contacts and tapped on Sasha’s name.

Tell me I’m not going to mess anything up tonight.

Sasha

What could you possibly mess up?

Idk, this place is really fancy. What if I use the wrong fork for my salad or something?

Who gives a fuck if you do?

Spoiler alert: not Big Daddy.

Pretty sure you could try to eat soup with a fork, and the man would just smile like a lovestruck fool and start feeding you himself.

I mean, he already has experience.

I very much regret telling you about the soup.

Good, because I regret hearing about it.

I mean this in the nicest way possible, but it’s honestly disgusting how Big Daddy dotes on you.

He doesn’t dote on me.

The man literally spoon-fed you when you were sick. And rubbed Vick’s on your chest. And bought you a new bed when he found out that the mattress you were sleeping on every night was akin to a pile of rocks.

My mattress wasn’t that bad.

He bought me new sheets, too. And pillows.

Exactly! And that was just this week.

Okay, fine. You’ve made your point.

But that fact that Markus has been so nice to me will only make me feel worse when I inevitably embarrass him tonight.

What’s the worst that could happen? Spontaneous diarrhea? Ripping a juicy one in front of the entire board of KE?

Why would you say that? New fear unlocked.

Don’t worry. Pretty sure that Big Daddy would just fire anyone who made you feel made bad for farting.

I knew texting you was a bad idea. You're the worst friend ever.

Love you too, babe!

Markus is here. I see his car. Ttyl!

Have fun! Try not to shit your pants!

Fuck you very much.

Despite the annoyed front he put up via text, Asher felt much better when he tucked his phone back into his pocket. Sasha’s antics had managed to loosen the nervous tension that had been building in his shoulders since Markus had invited him to this dinner earlier in the week.

Hurrying outside, Asher was surprised to find Markus already waiting for him outside of his Rolls Royce. He couldn’t help the heated flush from creeping up his neck as the man blatantly eye-fucked him, gaze roaming up and down his form shamelessly before eventually meeting Asher’s eyes.

“Gorgeous, as always.”

Did the man have to be so charming?

“Thank you,” Asher managed to respond with dignity before ducking into the back of the car.

Markus slid in after him, not stopping until their thighs were pressed together from hip to knee despite the fact that the back seat of his vehicle was probably spacious enough for at least three people to sit comfortably without touching each other.

Asher’s leg felt like it was on fire where it was in contact with Markus’s.

“Are you wearing make-up?”

The question pulled Asher’s attention away from the seating arrangements. Markus sounded surprised, and Asher wondered if he was about to be scolded. After all, Trent had hated it whenever Asher had randomly experimented with make-up. He said it was only for whores, and that it made him look cheap.

“It’s just a little eyeliner and some lip gloss. I can wipe it off if you don’t like it-”

“Nonsense,” Markus interrupted, “it’s pretty. You’re pretty.”

The butterflies in Asher’s stomach swooned. “Thank you. You look very handsome in your suit,” he offered, figuring he ought to return the bit of flattery.

It was true, after all. If a blatant understatement. Asher was pretty sure gods would drool if they could see the man in the three piece tuxedo he was wearing – biceps, pecs, and thighs straining against the form-fitting fabric.

“I hope so,” Markus said, smoothing out nonexistent wrinkles in the lapels of his suit jacket, “especially considering how expensive it was.”

Asher could only imagine how much it cost if Markus claimed it was expensive.

“You’d look good in anything,” he couldn’t help but assure the man. “Pretty sure you could show up to dinner in something off the rack at Goodwill, and you’d still be the best looking man in the room.”

Markus seemed endeared, if a bit bemused, by the praise. “Thanks, sweetheart. I’ll have to take your word for it. I’ve never been to Goodwill."

Asher couldn’t help but snort. Earlier in their relationship, such a statement would have only reminded him of the difference between his and Markus’s social class and made him uncomfortable. Now, he was just amused.

“I practically grew up in clothes from Goodwill,” he revealed.

Marks frowned. “But aren’t the clothes from there… you know, used?”

Asher laughed out loud at the man’s expression. “Yeah, so? You just have to wash them before wearing them for the first time. You can find some really cool stuff at thrift stores like Goodwill. I even found a Saint Laurent leather jacket once.”

“You own a leather jacket?” Markus asked, sounding intrigued.

Asher nodded. “I’ll show you it sometime. I’ll take you thrifting, too. It’s actually really fun-” Asher cut himself off, suddenly realizing what he was saying. He’d never planned an outing for them before. It was always Markus who decided where they were going and what they were doing, as stipulated by their contract. “I mean, only if you want to, of course,” he hurriedly backtracked.

“I’d love to go thrifting with you.”

Asher beamed at the man’s easy compliance.

He allowed his mind to wander, debating what thrift stores he’d take Markus to first, and where they’d stop to eat lunch. There was a food truck near one of his favorite shops that made the best grilled cheese sandwiches in the city.

A buzz from his pocket pulled Asher from his thoughts. Figuring it was Sasha attempting to get in a little more teasing, he pulled his phone from his pocket and mindlessly unlocked his home screen. And promptly froze.

Assface

I can't wait to see you again.

My cock’s already hard just thinking about it.

Soon.

Asher took a deep breath in through his nose. When would Trent just stop?

Sure, these texts didn’t promise nearly as much violence as some of the other messages he’d received from the man, but it was still fucked up.

Long fingers encircling his wrist had Asher quickly turning his screen upside down, hiding it from the man beside him. He glanced up at Markus.

The man was frowning, a concerned gleam in his eyes. “What’s wrong?”

“What makes you think anything is wrong?” Asher asked, being sure to keep his voice steady.

Markus’s frown didn’t ease. “You turned white as a sheet just now.” He gestured to where Asher had hidden his phone. “Who texted you? What did they say?”

“It’s nothing,” Asher immediately deflected, more than a little panicked over what Markus might do if he saw the sort of texts Trent had been sending him over the past week or so. “Just Sasha being weird.”

Judging by the way Markus’s frown deepened, he knew he was lying. The man reached over and used a thumb to gently plucked Asher’s bottom lip from where he’d been unconsciously gnawing it between his teeth. “You’ll ruin your gloss,” he chided.

“Sorry,” Asher muttered.

“Don’t be sorry. Just tell me what’s wrong.”

Asher decided on a half-truth. “I- I guess I’m just nervous to meet your colleagues.”

Markus raised his eyebrows. “I’ve told you before, they’re my underlings, not my colleagues,” he corrected. “Why would you be nervous?”

“I don’t know. I guess I’m just afraid I’ll embarrass you. I mean, you’re so smart and sophisticated and handsome, and I- I’m just me . Some no-name who bakes cookies at a hole-in-the-wall coffeeshop-”

Asher wasn’t expecting to be interrupted by Markus taking him by the back of the neck and crashing their lips together. Asher’s senses were invaded by Markus, and almost immediately, he was overwhelmed. He could think of nothing but the fingers twisting into the hair at the nape of his neck. Smell nothing but the man’s cologne – sandalwood and amber– invading his nose. Taste nothing but the man’s tongue, sucking almost angrily on his own.

And then, just as suddenly as he was kissing him, Markus retreated.

Asher forced himself to catch his breath. “What- what was that about?”

Not that he was complaining.

“You were talking badly about my date. Figured it was the easiest way to shut you up.”

Asher blinked. “Oh.”

“Yes, oh . I don’t want to hear you comparing yourself to me – or anybody else – and finding yourself wanting ever again, understand?”

Asher’s gaze lowered to his lap of its own accord, his insides squirming with a sort of emotion that was almost impossible to describe. He was embarrassed and disbelieving, but also incredibly pleased all in one.

Markus took him by the chin, his fingers firm against his jaw. “Look at me. Your worth is a thousand times that of any of the spineless suits we’re seeing tonight.”

Asher smiled. “Pretty sure all humans have the same intrinsic worth.”

Markus raised his eyebrows, unimpressed. “Not to me they don’t. There are very few people who truly matter to me.”

Asher could feel his face reddening – again. What could he possibly say to that ? “Okay,” he finally acquiesced before shyly adding, “you’re important to me, too.”

Markus immediately softened. “Thanks, sweetheart.” He studied Asher closely before releasing his chin. “You know, if you really want to, we can skip the dinner. Maybe grab some Chinese or Thai and watch a few episodes of that ridiculous baking show you’re always going on about?”

“The Great British Bake Off is a revelation, and one cannot simply sit down and ‘watch a few episodes’. You have to watch it a season at a time.” Asher shook his head, realizing he was getting sidetracked. “And, anyway, we can’t do that! This is a work event. You’re literally the CEO.”

Markus shrugged. “Exactly,” he said, sounding smug. “I’m the CEO. I can do whatever I want.”

Truthfully, Asher was tempted to take the man up on his offer. But he knew deep down that he had to get used to attending events like this with Markus if he expected the man to keep him around as a real boyfriend when this escort/sugar baby thing they had going on eventually came to an end. (It was his deepest, innermost desire.)

Besides, even if the man seemed fine with ditching, Asher didn’t want to disappoint him.

“Don’t be silly,” he said, finally breaking the silence that had fallen between them. “I’m excited to see the restaurant we’re going to – Cloud Nine. I’ve never eaten on top of a building before. I bet the view is spectacular.”

Markus shrugged. “I suppose. It’s not nearly as pretty as the one in front of me right now, though.”

Asher swatted the man’s arm, face hot. “Would you stop?” he hissed, trying to ignore how firm the man’s bicep had been beneath his hand. “I’m going to turn into a frickin’ tomato at this point. You’re awful .”

Markus pressed a hand to where Asher had hit him, pretending to be hurt. “Physical assault? That’s what I get for showering you with compliments?”

Asher felt bad for all of one second. Then he saw the smirk pulling at the corner of Markus’s mouth. His eyes narrowed. “If you’re so hurt, then why are you smiling?”

Markus’s grin widened, his eyes shining mischievously. “Can’t help it. It’s a side effect of spending time with you.”

It was so cheesy , but Markus looked so happy to be delivering the line, and Asher was struck by the realization that he was probably the only one – besides the man’s immediate family – who ever got to see him like this. So free. So open.

Asher cleared his throat, feeling suddenly sentimental. “Yeah?”

Markus nodded sagely. “That, and the erections.”

Asher squawked, instinctually glancing towards the front of the vehicle despite the fact that they were separated from Nigel by the partition. “You- you degenerate!” he accused. “And to think I was about to comment on the attractiveness of your smile.”

In retaliation for the slight, Asher was forced to spend the remainder of the ride squirming in Markus’s lap as the man attempted to tickle compliments out of him. By the time they reached the restaurant, he’d managed to make Asher admit that he had a pretty good body for “ an old guy ” and that his cock was “ an adequate size ”. (That last one had resulted in Markus threatening to withhold access to said cock if it was only “ adequate ”, forcing Asher to backtrack and admit it was the most impressive one he’d ever seen, and that he hadn’t even been sure it would fit inside him the first time he saw it.

The man had been wearing a smug smirk ever since.

As for Asher, he was feeling markedly more relaxed, not nearly as nervous to be meeting the bigwigs Markus worked with. A smile was all but glued to his face as Markus took him by the hand into the restaurant and they were led to an elevator by the hostess.

He was in such a good mood that he didn’t even mind the way the woman eyed Markus with obvious interest. It wasn’t like he could blame her; he looked fine in his tux. (And even better out of it; Asher would know.)

They must have arrived a bit later than the rest of the guests, a fact that Asher scolded Markus for when he saw how the place was already overflowing with people when they stepped out of the elevator.

Markus only shrugged. “Who’s going to scold the CEO?”

He had a point.

Asher took a moment to take in and admire his surroundings. As Markus promised, they appeared to be dining under what appeared to be a see-through dome, the curved walls and ceiling made entirely of reinforced glass. The floor and bar were composed of warm woods, and the space was bathed with gold from a multitude of hanging lights. It was fancy and whimsical all at once.

Finished with his perusal of the place, Asher turned his attention to the people. They were mostly older men in fancy suits – though quite a few of them had women in sparkly cocktail dresses hanging off their arms. Some looked like they may have been the men’s wives, but just as many were clearly decades younger than their male counterparts.

A brunette in rose gold caught his eye. Her head was thrown back in laughter, bare neck and cleavage on display as she entertained a group of men who seemed to be eating her attention up. One had his arm wrapped around her waist, and he looked particularly smug.

Probably a paid escort, his brain supplied.

Then he immediately scolded himself for the thought.

After all, maybe she was the man’s girlfriend or his wife. And even if she was an escort, it wasn’t like he could judge considering the nature of his own arrangement.

Asher’s view of the woman was suddenly blocked by a robust man with a distinguished-looking goatee, but very little hair atop his head. “Mr. Kingston!” he greeted, ignoring Asher entirely. “You made it!”

It was like a damn opening, and suddenly, they were swarmed by people, all seemingly intent on making conversation with Markus.

It was honestly a little daunting.

Markus made a point of introducing Asher to everyone, which he appreciated, but it became clear within the first five minutes of businessmen and board members approaching them, that Asher had very little in common with any of them.

Not that it mattered, since they seemed more intent on sucking up to Markus than including Asher in any conversation. Which was probably a good thing. Most of the business jargon went over his head, and the last thing he wanted was to be dragged into a discussion about “ gross profits ” versus “ operating profits ” and be exposed for how uneducated he was compared to everyone else in the room.

Despite the lingering feeling of inadequacy, the soiree wasn’t as bad as Asher thought it might be.

Soon enough, they were seated for their meal, and dinner– smoked salmon with a side of garlic asparagus – was delicious.

Even after they were finished eating, Markus stayed by Asher’s side, an arm either wrapped around his waist or a hand on the small of his back at all times as the man made his rounds.

His protective body language practically screamed “ back off ” and “ mine ”. Asher wasn’t sure if Markus was aware of how territorial he was coming off, or if he was just trying to make sure Asher felt comfortable.

He didn’t care either way. Asher was content to bask in the man’s public shows of affection regardless.

Still, there was only so much dull business talk Asher could take. He’d finished the glass of wine Markus had procured for him a while ago, and he found himself fiddling with the stem as his mind wandered.

It was then that he caught sight of the impressive dessert table. He was hardly starved. Even before the salmon dinner, Markus had been hand-feeding him appetizers, practically shoving the stuffed mushrooms or cucumber sandwiches into his mouth whenever a server wandered by with a tray of the stuff.

But there was a reason Asher was a baker and not a chef, and his sweet tooth began to ache as he looked over the colorful confections. Markus was in the middle of a conversation and he didn’t want to be rude, so Asher waited until the man was done talking before leaning over to whisper as inconspicuously as he could. “I’m going to get some dessert.”

Markus glanced in the direction Asher indicated. “I’ll go with you.”

“No, no,” Asher immediately protested – perhaps a bit too enthusiastically judging by the man’s frown. But if Markus went with him, so too would his many, many extremely boring admirers. “That’s okay. I’ll just be a few minutes.”

Markus looked like he wanted to argue, but at the same time he must have known he was being unreasonable because after a moment, he merely kissed the side of Asher’s head and said, “Hurry back.”

Asher didn’t need to be told twice, and left Markus to the mercy of his sycophants.

He took his time looking over the selection of miniature desserts before placing three on his plate: a Neapolitan macaroon, a cream puff drizzled with caramel, and a tiny tart filled with almond paste and garnished with a fresh raspberry.

He was a sucker for almond-flavored anything and bit into the tart first. It was good, but a bit sweeter than Asher preferred – like whomever had made them had used a tad too much almond extract – although the tartness of the raspberry cut through it nicely.

“I’m jealous,” a feminine voice spoke up to Asher’s left, startling him and nearly causing him to choke on the bit of fruit. After managing to swallow it down, his eyes met the woman’s beside him.

It was the same brunette he’d noticed earlier – the one in the rose gold dress. His brain struggled to come up with a reason someone like her – perfectly poised with impeccable make-up – would be jealous of him… you know, someone who’d nearly regurgitated a raspberry when a stranger spoke to him unexpectedly. “Um…”

He must have looked as confused as he felt because she took pity on him, gesturing to his plate of desserts. “If I ate that, it’d go straight to my hips. I’d gain ten pounds overnight.”

Asher blinked down at his plate. Sure, he’d taken three desserts, but they were all miniature desserts, and he doubted anyone could gain one pound let alone ten if they indulged in a couple of sweets every now and then.

Fumbling with what to say in response, Asher finally managed an awkward, “Oh, well, your hips look great. Very proportional with…” his eyes accidentally went to her breasts before he quickly looked away. He cleared his throat. “ Anyway, my point is you look great.”

Master of small talk, he was not.

“Only because I limit my calorie intake and try to avoid sugar as much as possible. I doubt my clients would appreciate the weight I’d put on if I didn’t.” She waved a hand. “I’m sure you know what I mean.”

Judging by the use of the word “ clients ”, Asher was going to assume his initial impression of the woman was correct; she was some kind of escort. And she clearly thought he was one, too.

That’s probably because you are, a voice pointed out.

Asher ignored it, even if it was technically true. Truthfully, he hadn’t felt like a real escort in a while.

Instead, he examined the woman’s words, unsure of her motive in starting a conversation with him. Was she just giving advice to someone she assumed was a fellow sex worker? Or was she trying to shame him for eating the desserts?

Basically, he was debating whether she was just being nice or calling him fat.

Asher honestly couldn’t tell.

“I don’t think he’d mind if I put on a few pounds,” he said eventually. It was true enough. In fact, if Asher bothered to step on a scale, he’d probably discover he had gained a few pounds since he’d started seeing Markus.

The man was constantly stocking his fridge, after all. Plus, he seemed to have a thing for feeding him – not that Asher was complaining. (Besides, he’d lost a bit of weight after his stressful breakup with Trent; it was a good thing he’d gained it back.)

The brunette raised a skeptical eyebrow. “If you say so.” She tilted her head to the side. “Unless that’s one of his kinks. Is he into weird food stuff?”

Asher blinked. “Uh, no. He just, you know, likes feeding me it.”

“Huh.” She seemed surprised. “What does he like then?”

Asher could feel his cheeks heating. “You mean, like… in bed?”

The woman frowned. “Well, I’m not asking his favorite color. You can’t blame a girl for being curious. I mean, it’s Markus Kingston . Not only is he rich as fuck, the man is fine as hell. He must be into some pretty freaky shit if he has to pay for it.”

Asher sputtered on nothing. “I- it’s not like that,” he finally managed to spit out.

For one, their sex life was relatively tame. Sure, Markus had a thing for being in charge and liked to be called Daddy while edging Asher to the brink of insanity, but Asher liked ( loved ) that. Markus was the most caring, generous lover Asher had ever had. And even if he wasn’t, Asher wasn’t about to share that with some stranger.

Plus, he’d signed an NDA.

“Oh, come on. Don’t be a prude. Tell me what he’s into. Is it piss play? Does he made you dress up like a dog and crawl around on all fours?”

Asher could feel the red splotches on his cheeks spreading to the rest of his face. “I- no . Of course, not.”

She laughed at him. “Hey, I’m not judging. I’d do some pretty question things to land a client like that .”

Asher eyed the woman warily, but she was no longer looking at him. He followed her line of sight only to find she was staring at Markus. And licking her lips like she’d seen something she’d like to eat, a predatory gleam in her eyes.

And Asher suddenly knew exactly why she was here talking to him, asking after Markus.

She wanted him.

He grit his teeth against the anger that such a realization stoked. “Didn’t you come here with someone?” he asked pointedly.

She shrugged, finally turning her gaze from Markus to meet Asher’s eyes. “Sure, but you know how it is. Events like this are perfect for networking, if you catch my drift.” She winked at him, a smirk pulling up the corners of her mouth.

“Stay away from him.” The words escaped his mouth in a rush.

The woman raised his eyebrows. “Excuse me?”

“Markus,” Asher clarified, voice clipped, not caring if he was being rude. “He’s mine.”

She snorted. “That’s not how it works, sweetheart. You may belong to him, but guys like that?” She shook her head. “They don’t belong to anybody. Sure, they may talk a good game and they’re great at making you feel special. But at the end of the day, you’re nothing more than a passing interest for them – a pretty piece to show off to their friends and an easy fuck.”

Asher was gripping his dessert plate so tightly he feared he might break it. “That may be true in your experience, but Markus isn’t like that.”

The woman seemed more amused than offended by his response. “Come on. Don’t tell me this is your first gig.”

Something in Asher’s expression must have given away the fact that, yes , it most certainly was his first time doing the whole escort/sugar baby thing because her expression quickly morphed into one of pity. “Oh, honey.”

And just like that, Asher couldn’t stand being there anymore. The room felt suddenly stuffy – overcrowded – and he needed to leave. His appetite had disappeared entirely, and his mind was too full of thoughts to feel too bad about wasting the desserts as he threw them into a nearby trash receptacle. “I have to use the bathroom,” he murmured, refusing to look at the woman.

If she responded, he didn’t hear it.

He quickly located the men’s restroom across the venue. It was empty – thank God – so he didn’t even bother pretending to use a stall. Instead, he matched straight up to one of the sinks, clutching at the porcelain and staring at himself in the mirror as he attempted to banish the storm of upset he could feel stirring in his belly.

He wanted to run the water and splash some of it onto his face, but he couldn’t ruin his make-up. He could only imagine how embarrassed Markus would be if his date waltzed back out there with raccoon eyes.

It might be enough for the man to finally fire him – leave him.

No, a voice that sounded a lot like Sasha argued. Markus likes you – a lot. And you’re not going to let some jaded hooker make you question that.

Asher was so stuck in his own head that he didn’t even notice the door opening behind him. He didn’t hear the quiet click of a lock sliding into place either.

“Finally. I got you alone.”

Asher jerked up, a chill rushing down his spine at the familiar voice. He immediately spotted the owner in the reflection of the mirror.

It was Trent – his ex.