Page 20 of Siren's Game

And while I appreciate Asher acting like a provisionary security guard, I have a sinking feeling in my gut that this is going to be blown way out of proportion.

As innocent as the gesture of him taking my hand was, on pictures, without context? Shit is about to hit the fan.

My phone buzzing relentlessly in my bag confirms my suspicions. I don't even need to look at the messages to know that this is already happening.

At least the buzzing stops temporarily once the elevator doors close. And suddenly, I am way too aware that it's just Asher and me in this tiny enclosure.

He seems rattled, running his hand over his face and along the slight shadow of a beard on his cheek as he paces the two steps it takes him to cross the elevator. I cross my arms in front of my chest and lean against the cold, metal wall.

Shouldn't he be used to paparazzi? He's a big shot in the entertainment industry after all, are you seriously telling me this is a first?

"Are you sure you're okay?" I ask him when, once again, he opens his hair bun to re-tie it. It seems to be a habit for him when he's stressed because this is the third time he's done it since we entered the elevator.

"Maybe," he concedes, sounding breathless, his voice shaking slightly.

"Take a deep breath," I tell him and demonstrate it. He stops his pacing and imitates me.

"How are you this cool about it?" he wonders and looks me up and down, something like awe shining in his eyes. I avert my eyes, noticing my cheeks growing warm.

But when I peek at him from the corner of my eye, I see his eyes transfixed to the bit of naked skin between the end of my boots and the rim of my skirt. What a horndog.

Yet it makes the warmth in my cheeks intensify.

"I'm not," I admit softly and clear my throat when my voice comes out all croaky. His eyes dart to mine and his shoulders start to relax the tiniest bit.

"You're a better actress than I thought then."

"Yep. You missed out," I say, finally looking at him again for a wink, then face the door when the elevator announces our arrival. It’s definitely one of the slower elevators I’ve ever been on, but then again, it didn’t cause my ears to pop. "And now you'll never know."

As soon as we step out of it and into a marble welcome hall, a host from Fantasia is scurrying towards us with an apologetic look on his face.

"On behalf of our establishment, I can only apologize. We assure you it was no one of our restaurant who disclosed your friend's presence to the media," he starts but I quickly wave him off. I know no restaurant, not even Fantasia, is able to monitor the public sidewalk in front of their skyscraper at all times, much less keep tabs if a celebrities’ location has been leaked.

"It's fine," I tell him. “Really, I know this is out of your control. I’m very thankful the building’s security stepped in and would appreciate the same engagement after our meal.”

“Of course,” he assures me quickly and then motions for the two of us to follow him.

He leads Asher and me through a very opulent entrance hall and through the whole restaurant. I don’t notice a thing about it, though, because my thoughts are still whirling with what happened within the past fifteen minutes.

Finally, he guides us around the corner of a greenery wall, and I see the back of Millie’s head and Luca. Relief washes over me and I take a deep breath.

"Sorry we're late," I say to them, noting the disappointed frown on Millie’s face as we make ourselves known. Just as Luca's eyes shoot up and Millie turns around, I realize that at some point Asher has reached for my hand again and I quickly let go of him.

"Yeah, sorry about that. First, I had to get fuel and then we got held up by the horde of paparazzi in front of the restaurant."

I force my face to remain neutral as he lies abashedly about having to get fuel and nod to confirm. Millie shoots me an amused look, but she seems happy. Relaxed. Like I’ve made the right call. Thank God.

She’ll probably grow to hate me soon enough, the way she’s always taking the media-falls for me.

I force myself to act like I'm paying attention to the conversation the three are having, while in truth, my thoughts are anywhere but at this table.

No, they still revolve around the same thing. Asher grabbing my hand. Paparazzi screaming. Asher asking if I’m alright. I also still feel my phone buzzing incessantly in my pocket and I dread having to answer it, although I know that at one point I must.

I have no reason to like Asher. He's annoying, self-centered, too full of himself and he can stick that goddamned ‘Sweetheart’ where the sun doesn’t shine.

But his hand around mine? The way he shielded me from the crowd as he pulled me behind him to the building? The way I can walk beside him in high heels and not feel like a giant?

Those were a first.

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