Page 33 of Captivated By You

“Didn’t look like that to me.”

A jerk who always insisted on having the last word. Nowthatwas a trait he’d carried through from childhood.

I sighed. “Think whatever you want. I need to work. And you should be working, too.”

“Unlike you, I am not a control freak. The business is ticking along nicely, and I happen to have hired a capable team of people who manage it perfectly well in my absence. All work and no play, brother.”

The nightclub part of our business was fairly new, and although Dad wouldn’t ever admit it, he’d funded it as a way of giving Johannes a focus after his release from the hospital. And it had. To give credit where it was due, he’d thrown himself into it with energy and enthusiasm, and the business had grown into a very successful brand in the last six years.

I refused to rise to his swipe at me and returned to my laptop, attempting to throw myself into work while Johannes prowled around the living room like a caged animal. Ignoring him proved impossible, and after an unproductive hour, I slammed the laptop lid closed.

“Get your jacket.”

He arched a brow. “Why?”

“We’re going to a bar.”

He grinned. “About fucking time.”

Chapter11

Kiana

Gifts galore!

During the firsttwo weeks of my employment at Kingcaid’s Seattle hotel, I virtually skipped to work with the goofiest smile on my face, causing several passersby to side-eye me and do this weird hop out of my way. City types were always suspicious of anyone who looked remotely happy, so their “Avoid!” tactics didn’t surprise me. And then, at around six every night, I returned to my apartment exhausted and with a head full of information that kept me up half the night as my brain swam with ideas.

Philippe, the general manager, couldn’t be further removed from that jerk Forster. And boy, did he know his stuff. The customers liked him, the staff respected him, and he brought an energy to the working environment that many could learn from.

Which was precisely what I intended to do.

I hadn’t seen Asher, not once, but that didn’t mean he hadn’t made his presence felt. Each day, a gift arrived at my apartment.

One morning, a young girl had turned up with a cup of coffee and a bag of fresh pastries that were so delicious, the bakery had a new customer from that day on. Another time it was fresh flowers. Then chocolates. Then a book, a pair of running shoes—I didn’t even want to think about how he’d discovered my shoe size—and a set of candles that smelled incredible.

I admired his tenacity, and with each gift, I’d felt my resistance waning. And then I’d remember what the asshole from my pastdid, and my resolve strengthened. I’d made the correct decision to keep things on a professional footing between Asher and me.

But, damn, he wasn’t making it easy. I was lonely, missing my family and the familiarity of home, trying to find my way in a new city with a new job. Maybe he’d agree to a friendship. He clearly liked my company, and I enjoyed his. The problem was, would either of us be strong enough to leave it there, or would it morph into a “friends with benefits” situation, where I’d end up repeating the mistakes of the past?

I tried to tell myself that Asher wasn’t likehim, but in truth, I wasn’t qualified to make that assessment. We’d had one night together. Okay, it’d been the best sex of my entire life, but despite that, it’d been one night. I hardly knew the guy, and he didn’t know me. It was best left that way.

Yeah, keep trying to convince yourself of that, Kee.

I picked up my mail, then rode the elevator up to my apartment. I dropped my bag by the door and peeled my coat down my arms. Tossing it over the back of the couch, I flicked through the mail. Mainly junk. Pizza delivery leaflets, one for a new restaurant that was opening at the end of my block. A guy pitching his gardening business. I laughed at that one. Whomever he’d paid to deliver these pamphlets hadn’t targeted their audience correctly. Poor guy had wasted his money. Did this kind of marketing even work for most businesses? It was all TikTok, or Snapchat these days.

I tossed most of them, keeping the pizza one. I never knew when pizza cravings would hit in the middle of the night, and this place offered a twenty-four-hour delivery service.

The last piece of mail was a cream envelope with my name written on the front. It had been hand-delivered. I slid my thumb into the flap and opened it. Inside was a gift card for a day at a spa. The works. Massage, pedicure, facial, manicure. It must have cost upwards of five hundred bucks.

There was no message as to who’d sent it, but it was obvious. And it was too much. Flowers and chocolates, and the butteriest croissant in the city was one thing. Accepting a gift of this size sent a signal I wasn’t willing to broadcast.

I grabbed a bargain brand white envelope from a drawer in the kitchen where I kept all my bits and pieces, and put the gift card inside with a note that conveyed my appreciation for the thought while setting some much-needed boundaries. I looked up the address of Kingcaid headquarters, then stuck a stamp on it and headed out to post it right away, before I changed my mind. A day at a fancy-pants spa was hellishly tempting, but no. He’d gone too far with this gift.

As the letter dropped in the mail, a sense of smugness and pride came over me. I’d taken the moral high ground, and it felt good. No one could buy my affection, or my time, or friendship. Not even a man as sexy, genuine, kind, and on fire between the sheets as Asher Kingcaid.

Mom always said I was prideful, and she was right. Shame it didn’t keep me warm at night.

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