5. Selma

five

Selma

There was no pleasure in working with Ashton McCall.

He was an asshole, through and through. And not just because he'd made me beg for his help. The anger I currently felt paled in comparison to that. I swore to God that I was going to kill him, but I was too scared of prison.

"Are you even listening to me?" I asked angrily, glaring at him as he sat lazily opposite me. "This is important."

Since he'd refused to attend meetings in the conference room, I'd had to settle for holding them in my office. It was the only place he'd agreed to go to in the entire building. If I didn't know that he was naturally a fucking dickhead, I would've thought he was purposely trying to be annoying.

"I am," Ashton said with a stupid shrug that made me want to scream. "It's just that it's all a little boring. I've heard four-stanza Catholic hymns with more moxie in them."

I pursed my lips to keep the long list of expletives from gushing out. My assistant, Rose, and a few of my designer interns were here. Rose even made it clear that working with Ashton was nothing to be excited about, given his penchant for passiveness.

It made me wonder how he'd become so successful. Surely, no one wanted to work with a photographer who put a dent in everything. How had he gotten Zed to work with him with that attitude?

"Ashton, for goodness' sake, work with me here."

He stared at me briefly, then sighed before leaning forward to grab the sketchbook where I'd made my designs. I held my breath as he gave the sketches a look over that lasted a little too long.

Then he lifted his eyes to look at me, but I couldn't recognize the look swirling in them. "They're good. What else do you need to tweak?"

Was that a compliment? I didn't allow myself to think about it as I reached forward to snatch my sketchbook back. "I'm not tweaking anything. I just want everything to be perfect. The designs are not ready yet."

He shrugged, leaning against the chair again. "Perfection is a myth. True beauty lies in an object's ragged edges."

I gave him a tight-lipped smile. "Aren't you quite the philosopher. Regardless, you're only here to familiarize yourself with the designs. Production has started, and the pieces should be ready soon. You won't be needed until it's time for your little bit."

He returned my smile with an annoying smirk of his own. "Well, little Miss Perfect, I prefer to work more closely with my subjects. Have you chosen your models yet?"

I shook my head. "Not yet. It shouldn't be too hard, though. New York's crawling with them."

"Given your reputation, I doubt that. Plus, I'm tired of seeing the same faces all the time. I have an idea for the photoshoot that I think is the missing element here. Do you mind?"

I waved Rose and my interns away because I didn't want anyone to get ideas about my collections until I was certain about them myself. Some news outlets had started reporting that I was making a too-eager entry back into the industry, and the last thing I wanted was to have information leaked to the public.

After Alex and Iris, I couldn't trust anyone.

"Alright," I said to him when the room cleared. "Let's have it."

Ashton kept his gaze on me as he crossed one leg over the other, creating the perfect picture of indifference. I didn't think I'd ever met a man so comfortable in his masculinity. His brooding, blatant arrogance held a certain mystery to it, and I realized it was what had largely attracted him to me that night last month.

Ashton was all male.

It was impossible to ignore his larger-than-life aura, which seeped out through his skin to the surrounding area and burned hotter than fire.

Dark chocolate hair rested on his head like a lion's mane, a striking contrast to the honey-brown of his eyes. His eyebrows were perfectly carved, accentuating the hard contours of his face. His lips were full and luscious as if he wore lip balm frequently. I tried not to remember their taste.

He tugged at the collar of his shirt, drawing my attention to his long, attractive fingers. I'd always said one could tell a lot about another person by the shape and length of their fingers. My cheeks heated when I recalled how those fingers had been inside me and brought me pleasure.

"I'd ask you to take a picture because it'll last longer, but I'm the one with the camera here," Ashton said.

My gaze snapped up to his, blinking. Shit. I'd been shamelessly ogling him.

Straightening, I fixed him a vicious glare that would've melted him to a puddle had he been made of ice. "Spit it out."

"Before I do, tell me what you were thinking about just now. You blushed."

He was insane if he thought I would do anything just because he asked me to.

"You're here to work, Ashton," I reminded him. "Just because I can't fire you doesn't mean I have to put up with your bullshit."

He raised a brow, a smirk tugging at his lips. "I'm pretty sure I caught you shamelessly thirsting over me."

I pressed my lips together to keep from defending myself. There was no use. While thirsting was a bit of a stretch, I had been ogling him for sure. God really had favorites. It wasn't fair that the Devil's spawn could be such a fine specimen.

"Cat got your tongue? Or have you finally admitted defeat?" he teased.

"Shut up. Just tell me your plan for the photoshoot."

"Tell me what you were thinking about first."

I huffed. "How old are you again?"

"Is this your way of avoiding the question? What, are you shy?" He grinned. "I daresay you were thinking of that night, weren't you?"

"I daresay you can go fuck yourself," I deadpanned. I knew what he was trying to do: get under my skin. The joke was on him, I had thick skin, and he would have to try harder than that.

"We both know you wouldn't want that." Ashton leaned forward ever so slightly, that annoying grin still plastered on his face. "In fact, I'm willing to bet you've been thinking of having me inside you again."

Despite myself, I blushed. Hard. "That was a mistake. If I knew then what I do now, I wouldn't have slept with you."

"Ah, but I think you're wrong."

He's enjoying this, the fucking bastard.

Falling back against the chair, he smacked his lips loudly. "I think it would have been pretty easy to get you to spread your legs for me regardless. Might I remind you how willing you were to jump into bed with me? How you almost screamed down the hotel building when I thrust—"

I shot to my feet. "That's enough, Ashton." My face was impossibly hot, and my heart hammered in my chest so loudly that it became a constant ringing in my ears. "This is my office, and I won't have you acting like a child in it."

He laughed. The asshole fucking laughed . A deep, guttural sound that echoed through my office. Tormenting me must have been his new favorite pastime. But I couldn't spend the next few days planning his murder when I needed his expertise.

"Calm down, peaches." Ashton waved a dismissive hand in the air. "Don't be so stuck up. Live a little."

"Your idea of living is extremely poor. And don't call me that."

"What, peaches?"

I lowered down onto my chair, giving him a death glare in response.

"You have amazing titties," he said. "It's a perfectly suitable name."

What was wrong with him? There had to be some underlying mental disease he suffered from. He either needed a psych evaluation or a lobotomy.

And why the hell is he still here? I should fire him and fuck the consequences. But those consequences would come back to bite me in the ass, and it would sting so fucking bad. I couldn't afford to find another professional quickly, and certainly not one willing to work for free. But being stuck with Ashton did not mean I had to put up with his arrogance.

"In case you didn't hear the look I just gave you, shut the fuck up." I pointed my index finger to the sketchbook. "Back to business. Tell me your plan."

His scoff was filled with humor as he returned my gaze. I half expected him to say some other stupid shit, but after a few seconds, he sucked his bottom lip between his teeth.

"As I said," he began, "I'm tired of seeing the same models over and over again. Fresh faces. The kind of faces the media never thought they'd see on their screens. From your designs, I think it's safe to say your concept centers around moral inclusivity. I like that. I think it's…refreshing."

I stared at him. It was the most he'd said to me without sounding like an absolute jerk. Seemed like when he was in work mode, he was a whole different person. And he was right about my design concept. The fashion industry today is full of restrictions and gender barriers. My vision was to set new standards and break those barriers, thus making fashion accessible to a broader audience.

I wanted to design clothes for women who were either too big or too thin and, at the same time, make them feel comfortable in these clothes. It was about empowering women of all shapes to feel beautiful and confident.

"Fresh faces," I repeated, trying to paint the image. "Isn't the entire point of using professional models to break into the market and attract a wider audience? How would using fresh faces work in my favor?"

Ashton shrugged. "You're right, but at the same time, the people have gotten tired of the same old boring shit. You're bringing something new to the table, and it is revitalizing. It's just a suggestion, and you can choose to do whatever you want, but my advice to you is ‘don't knock it till you try it.' Besides, hiring professional models costs a fortune, and given how strapped for funds you are, I don't think it's wise."

He was right, goddammit. For the magnitude of my vision, I would need to hire at least five professional models, and they did not come cheap. I also had to think about publicity because no fashion media company wanted to work with me due to that previous backlash. I could probably ask Ashton for help in that regard, but I had no doubt he would clearly state that it went beyond the constraints of his favor to Maria.

"Thank you, Ashton. I'll consider it."

He nodded, his gaze still on me. An awkward silence passed between us, which disconcerted me. It wasn't hostile or full of malice, just uncomfortable.

What's going through his mind? I wondered. Is he thinking about that night in his hotel room? Does he ever think about it?

Why did I even care? It wasn't like it would ever happen again. I knew what an absolute asswipe he was now, and I would chew glass before I let him come close enough to me for as little as a kiss.

"I looked for you for days, you know." His brown eyes pierced into my skin like a needle. "Even after I checked out of the hotel, I went back to look for you."

His confession sobered me up. I shouldn't have asked, but I just couldn't help myself. "Why?"

He shrugged. "You were…invigorating. Plus, you've got a bomb pussy."

I sputtered. "Jesus Christ. Must you be so…crude?"

"It's called being blunt," he deadpanned.

"It's called having no manners. You shouldn't talk to a lady like that. Who raised you?"

A shadow flashed across his face. Jaw clenched, his lips set in a hard line. "No lady would scream like a banshee while taking cock like you did. Get over yourself."

Then he stood up and walked out abruptly, leaving me gawking at the silence, wondering what I'd said that had darkened his expression to the point of blatant fury.

And why the hell did I feel like I'd done something wrong when he was the one spewing profanities?

I shook my head. Ashton McCall was turning out to be a harder nut to crack than when Turing broke the Enigma machine.