Langdon Johnson had reserved a luxurious private dining room. Though there were only five people in their party, the table was large enough to seat ten. Johnson considerately pulled out a chair, bowing slightly toward Asher with a deferential gesture. “Mr. Blackwood, please,” he said with practiced courtesy.
Asher, accustomed to such deference, took his seat naturally. This was Kimberly’s first time witnessing how others treated the CEO of Blackwood Industries in public. The man before her received others’ flattery with cool detachment, his features radiating an icy remoteness, his entire being exuding an unapproachable distance. It made Kimberly feel as though she was watching a stranger. She found it impossible to reconcile this aloof man with the one who had once worn an apron to cook for her.
After Asher sat down, Alexander took the seat to his right. Johnson then chose a seat to Asher’s left, deliberately leaving one chair empty between them. His seating choice was strategic—not too distant to discuss business, yet not too close to impose on Mr. Blackwood. The head partner sat to Johnson’s left. Kimberly deliberately chose the position furthest from Asher, sitting directly across from him. Asher leaned back in his chair, his cool gaze sweeping over to her, a flicker of disappointment passing almost imperceptibly through his eyes. Alexander caught this interaction and sighed inwardly. What a pair of star-crossed lovers.
Once everyone was seated, Johnson pushed the menu toward Asher. “Mr. Blackwood.” Asher casually flipped through it, naming several dishes before sliding the menu back to Johnson. Johnson added a few more expensive specialties. Kimberly kept her gaze lowered, not daring to look at the man across from her, staring absently at the glass lazy Susan on the table instead. The dishes Asher had just ordered were all her favorites. Kimberly felt a surge of resentment. They’d broken up, yet he continued these meaningless gestures—first insisting she stay for lunch, then ordering her favorite dishes right in front of her. What was he playing at? Acting the role of devoted ex-boyfriend?
With the head partner and Johnson present, Kimberly couldn’t simply stand up and leave. But sharing the private dining room with Asher made her feel suffocated. She couldn’t fathom what game he was playing. Asher engaged in casual conversation with those beside him, but his gaze kept straying to the woman across the table. She sat with her head bowed, neither speaking nor checking her phone, like a dejected little quail. The sight made Asher want to reach across and gently stroke her head, or pull her into a tight embrace.
The server finished bringing all the dishes. Kimberly remained silent, focusing on her food. She was genuinely famished. Last night on the plane, after unexpectedly encountering Asher and Laurina, she’d felt utterly miserable and had no appetite. She’d struggled with insomnia and this morning hadn’t even had time for breakfast before rushing to the golf course. Now her stomach felt completely empty. Unable to join the conversation between the men—nor wanting to—she concentrated on her meal.
Asher agreed to collaborate with Caresol, saying he’d send his assistant to sign the contract tomorrow. Johnson was ecstatic and had several drinks. As the alcohol took effect, Johnson’s demeanor transformed from initially respectful and ingratiating to increasingly uninhibited. His face flushed as he launched into the story of his rise to success, talking endlessly. Asher paid no attention to Johnson’s self-aggrandizing chatter. His thoughts remained fixed on the woman opposite him, his gaze repeatedly drawn in her direction. He rotated the lazy Susan, deliberately stopping her favorite dishes in front of her. Johnson and the head partner were too busy drinking and chatting to notice Asher’s subtle actions, but Alexander observed everything clearly. Alexander shook his head resignedly. It was obvious—his friend was hopelessly lovesick.
The typically composed and self-controlled Asher had countless admirers growing up, including persistent pursuers like Grace Bennett, yet cold and aloof as he was, he’d never shown interest in any of them. Alexander had previously thought Asher might be asexual or simply uninterested in women, until he’d seen Kimberly’s photograph at Asher’s home. Then he realized Asher wasn’t disinterested in women—he had been saving his heart for one specific person. For her, he had rejected everyone else.
After the meal, Johnson, thoroughly intoxicated, departed early in a car arranged by the restaurant manager. At the restaurant entrance, the head partner bid farewell to Asher and Alexander: “Mr. Blackwood, Mr. Wellington, we’ll be off then.” Asher remained silent. Some things he couldn’t express directly, but Alexander understood him. “Are you taking a taxi back?” he asked on Asher’s behalf.
The head partner replied: “Yes, Miss Jordan and I are here on business—we’re staying at a hotel.” At this, Asher’s brow furrowed slightly. Alexander, knowing Asher was uncomfortable with Kimberly returning to a hotel with an intoxicated middle-aged man, immediately offered: “I can drive Miss Jordan back. I haven’t touched a drop, so I’m perfectly fine to drive.”
The head partner glanced at the ride-sharing app on his phone, thinking: Why couldn’t he have said that earlier? Having already ordered a car, he didn’t want to cancel it and impose on Alexander, so he replied: “That would be most kind, Mr. Wellington, thank you.” But Kimberly declined: “Please don’t trouble yourself. I’ll just grab my own taxi.” She opened her phone to order a car.
Alexander asked, half-jokingly, half-seriously: “Miss Jordan, don’t you trust me?” Kimberly glanced quickly at Asher before meeting Alexander’s gaze, responding politely: “Mr. Wellington, you know that’s not what I meant.” Alexander smiled. “Then please accept my offer. It’s on my way anyhow.”
The head partner listened to their exchange with a slight twitch of his lips. On the way? He hasn’t even heard which hotel we’re staying at—how could he possibly know if it’s on his way? Perhaps this Wellington fellow was interested in Kimberly? Using this opportunity to make a good impression? The head partner’s eyes darted between Kimberly and Alexander with a curious gleam.
Kimberly looked toward Asher, about to refuse, when Asher suddenly spoke: “You go ahead and take her back. I need to get to Laurina—she’s been messaging me.” The words hit Kimberly like a bucket of ice water, leaving her chilled to the bone. Alexander gave Asher a meaningful look. “Then you’d better go.” Asher merely responded with a noncommittal “Mmm,” not sparing Kimberly another glance as he turned and walked toward the black Maybach.
Kimberly watched his retreating figure, her heart both sour and constricted. Indeed, she still couldn’t maintain a detached indifference. Asher, what exactly are you playing at? These past weeks, she had tried so hard to forget him, fought against thinking of him. Yet he repeatedly appeared before her, doing things that could easily mislead her—inviting her to lunch, ordering her favorite dishes, constantly gazing at her, and then flaunting his relationship with Laurina in front of her. What did he take her for? A plaything to toy with?
“Miss Jordan, I can drive you—”
“I said I don’t need it!” Kimberly cut Alexander off harshly before he could finish, her tone filled with bitterness, as if she’d been shot. Alexander paused, awkwardly touching his nose. “Right, fair enough. You can take a taxi back.”
Well, well. The young woman might appear gentle and composed, but she certainly has quite the temper. Asher, oh Asher, you’ve made your wife angry. I’d like to see how you placate her now.