Page 47 of Asher
She nodded, “Yeah, Pres. All good.”
I lifted a brow at her, “Didn’t know you were a brother.” I teased.
Usually, she would smile at that.
But she didn’t.
“Since when did I stop being Asher to you?” I asked her.
It had taken years, and I mean fucking years, for her to stop calling me Mr. Hendrix.
She shrugged.
Oh no. That wouldn’t fucking do.
“Chloe, what’s going on?” I asked.
My eyes stared intently down into hers.
For the briefest of moments, her cheeks pinkened.
Then she looked away, and in a soft voice I had to strain to hear, she said, “It’s nothing. Please, let it go.”
Like fuck. I wouldn’t let a goddamned thing go when it came to her, “Chloe...”
“Pres. Phone call.” I heard Whit say.
I squeezed her bicep gently, then said, “Chloe, talk to me.”
She shook her head, her eyes coming to mine for a minute, then flickering away, “You need to answer that call, Pres.”
I bit back a growl at her calling me that a-fucking-gain.
“Chloe,” I said.
She didn’t look up at me. She just stood there staring down at the tops of her shoes.
What I wouldn’t give to have the fucking right to place my fingertip underneath her chin, and lift her head, cause fuck, but I wanted to see those mesmerizing green eyes of hers.
It almost felt as though my day didn’t start unless I got a look at those beauties.
Perhaps that was why I had cropped a picture of her and Stella when they were both eighteen.
I cropped it so the only thing I saw was Chloe’s eyes.
Sighing, when she still didn’t look at me nor speak, I said, “I’ll stand here all goddamned day until you tell me what’s wrong. You don’t tell me; I can’t fucking fix it.”
“Asher. Phone, brother.” Whit was at my side now.
Not taking my eyes off Chloe, I said, “I’ll call whoever it is back.”
Whit started to say, “Ash...”
“Whit. Go. The. Fuck. Away.” I growled.
My eyes never once left Chloe’s face.
Fuck, but what I wouldn’t give to throw her over my shoulder and carry her to my office, press her body into the wall, and feel all that softness pressed to my hard body.