Page 179 of Ashley & the A-Listers

Her phone buzzed again, and she sat up, pulling it out of her pocket to find texts from Dylan.

What’s going on? You feel sad. Everything okay?

Ashley. Don’t shut me out.

Text me back. What’s up? Don’t make me come down there.

Her lips twitched at the obvious care in his words, and she texted back, keeping the bond shut down.

I’m taking PTO from the gym. I can tell you about it tonight.

Dots appeared immediately as Dylan began to respond.

What? Why? Open the bond back up.

Ashley shook her head. She could barely handle her own emotions; she didn’t want to burden someone else with them.

You have to focus on Cam, and it’ll just distract you. I’m heading home in a bit after a few calls—we can talk then.

Fine, but I’m not happy about it.

Me neither.

Ashley sighed and put her phone away before rounding the desk. She logged in, pulled up all her clients’ contact info, and stared at the desk phone.

It was quiet in the office, though she heard the clank of weights and grunts distantly, through the walls.

She had a pack, but she felt more alone than ever as she picked up the phone to call her first client.

Saying goodbye, even temporarily, was hard.

But it was the right thing to do for the gym, for her clients.

What choice did she have?

Ashley broke her own heart about ten times before leaving the gym, giving Nic one last sad wave before slipping out the front, the paparazzi chasing her down the street.

With her glasses on and a fake smile on her face, she made her way to her car while the cameramen shouted questions at her.

What’s it like being a pack mate to a movie star?

How long have you worked at the gym?

Is it true you sleep with all your clients?

Ashley winced, shoulders stiffening, but she didn’t rise to the bait, instead climbing inside her car.

What she feared was coming true. She knew what they’d think of her. Because of course, the only asset she had was her pussy, and not her drive or years of hard work or even her alpha bark.

She drove away, steaming.

She went to her own house, absent of any paparazzi, and cried in the shower.

Then she cried over a bowl of ramen, sniffling through the spice of the peppers.

At least her nose was clear.

She texted the pack—she was still getting used to that—to let them know where she was, and then she cleaned her entire house. Top to bottom.

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