7. Ashton

seven

Ashton

If I had a penny for every time someone called me an ass, Elon Musk and I would be best friends and exchanging deep secrets.

I'd never minded, not once. It was better to be called arrogant than to be looked down on. That was my motto. Always had been and always would be.

But Selma had called me an ass thirty-three times in the past hour. Yes, I was counting. And yes, after a while, it stopped being funny.

What is wrong with her? I wondered. She'd called one of my pictures ugly and distasteful. I could take a few insults and maybe a couple of verbal blows, but an attack on my work? That was where I drew the line.

I heaved a sigh because I was at my wit's end. Right now, she was complaining about my lighting and how it made the model look like shit. Said model, Maria, seemed visibly offended. Even she hadn't been spared from Selma's wrath.

This wasn't an actual shoot. I'd suggested we play around with some of Selma's old designs just to get the hang of things. I'd never photographed any of her designs before. While I tried to be excited because she actually knew a thing or two about fashion design, it was hard to do with her breathing down my neck.

"Maria, come on. You managed to make pink look like a funeral color," Selma commented wryly from the corner she'd been standing in for the past thirty minutes.

"Alright." Maria stepped away from the photo backdrop, moving sluggishly in the ten-inch heels Selma had made her wear. "I'm done. You're not paying me at all for this shit, so I don't have to do it."

When she almost fell flat on her face, she huffed angrily, lowering to a crouch to undo the straps of the heels. "What is wrong with you today, Selma? You're acting like a major bitch."

I glanced at Selma and was surprised to find her gaze focused on me. I raised a puzzled brow at the angry look on her face, trying to figure out if I said anything to piss her off, but nothing came to mind. In fact, I'd been more than amicable today, if you asked me.

"Yeah, peaches. Is everything okay?" I asked wearily.

She tore her gaze from me to look at Maria. "Maybe it's the fact that you're not taking this seriously."

Maria's face held a look of bewilderment. "I'm not taking this seriously? Are you shitting me? I've been standing in ten-inch heels for the past two hours. I can't feel my fucking legs."

"Don't be coy. You've modeled before."

"Yeah, not in killer heels," Maria grunted angrily as one heel came loose. She focused on the other. "What is up with you today, Selly?"

"Nothing," Selma murmured, but her tone indicated that it was a lie. "Let's pick this up some other time."

She didn't wait for a response before turning and leaving the makeup studio, followed closely by her assistant, who also seemed to dislike me.

After loosening the heels' straps, Maria straightened to her full height and stared at the door before meeting my gaze. "What was that about?"

I shrugged. "Beats me. She's your friend, isn't she?" I started to pack up my equipment, feeling oddly unsettled.

"Yeah," Maria said behind me. "But you're usually the one who gets her all riled up."

"You don't say."

"Seriously." She was suddenly in front of me, her expression eager and full of interest. I noticed she had changed out of the clothes and into hers. "Aside from the sex—"

I groaned. I didn't know anyone who loved gossip as much as she did. "Maria, please, no."

"—which we'll get to very soon. Did you do anything to piss her off?"

I shook my head, zipping up my camera bag and hoisting it over one shoulder. "I don't think so. Though I've been told I'm very annoying."

"That you are," she agreed promptly.

I rolled my eyes at her, heading for the door. "You coming?"

"Nope." She grabbed her designer purse—I honestly had no idea what she needed that thing for; it was smaller than my fist and could barely fit anything—and threw on her sneakers. "I know when to stay away from Selly. This is one of those times. She'll call me when she feels better."

I shrugged, though I didn't understand it. Maria would know better anyway, given their relationship.

"Catch you later then." I left the studio and made my way to Selma's office.

Usually, I wouldn't have bothered wondering what was up with her. But Selma had looked…almost troubled, more like agitated. She'd missed the entire day of work yesterday, and when I'd asked her assistant, what had happened, Rose hade dismissed me. Rudely. I needed to discuss with Selma about her employees and their unruly behavior in the workplace.

I didn't bother knocking when I got to her office. Turning the knob, I walked in and was met with silence.

"Selma?" I called out, walking further into the office. There was no one there.

I decided to wait for her, heading for her desk so I could set my equipment down on the side, curved like a crescent. I wasn't a small man by any means, but carrying such a heavy load around threatened to give me a hunchback.

Once that was done, I sat behind the desk, whipping my phone out. Earlier during the shoot, I received an email from some big-shot client I'd been hoping to work with for a few months now. The pay was good, and the prestige of working with such a high-end personality in the industry would do much for my public image. I didn't know why the excitement I'd initially felt was missing.

I was about to type a quick response that I wouldn't be available for the coming months when a flash of white in my peripheral vision caught my attention. I paused, leaning forward to inspect it. It was a white envelope with Selma's full name written on it.

Part of me wanted to ignore it because, frankly, it didn't concern me. I was not in the business of snooping around other people's property, but another part of me, the part that couldn't seem to understand that Selma was trouble and I needed to stay away from her, disagreed.

"What are you doing in my office?" a sudden voice demanded.

I snapped around to see Selma glaring daggers at me from the middle of the spacious office. I stood and faced her, momentarily forgetting the envelope. I didn't fail to notice how furious she looked.

"Why are you in such a nasty mood today?" I asked.

She eyed me distastefully. "Weren't you taught never to respond to a question with another question?"

I ignored the pang of anger that went through me at her words. My childhood had always been a touchy subject for me, and no matter how much I tried to control the anger, it always found a way to rear its ugly head.

"Weren't you?" I threw her a challenging gaze.

"Get out of my office, Ashton. I don't want to see your face." She crossed her arms under her breasts, unintentionally—or not—pushing them up. My eyes traveled down for a brief second as memories of that night came rushing back with the force of a waterfall, causing my cock to harden inside my briefs. Her creamy cleavage made my mouth water, and it took some force to drag my gaze back to hers.

The downward curve of Selma's lips told me my little show hadn't escaped her notice.

"Let me make this clear in case you didn't get it the first time," she snarled, her emerald eyes taking on a fiery glow. "Nothing will ever happen between us ever again."

I couldn't resist the smirk that formed on my lips. "Never say never, peaches."

With how angry she looked, I could've sworn she was ready to leap forward and snap my neck. "Don't. Call. Me. That."

"Calm down." I raised my hands. "I just wanted to check up on you. You scared Maria away."

"She'll live," she mumbled, nearing me in long strides before rounding the curved desk to get to her chair, causing me to spin around. I saw her gaze rest on the envelope for a few seconds and a shadow flashed across her eyes before she lifted them to me.

"Well, you've seen me," she said. "Now get out."

Okay. Rude. What was her problem?

"May I remind you that I'm not one of your employees you can talk to however you like?" I scoffed. "I've read reports of how toxic your working environment is. I just want to clarify that I do not thrive in such an unhealthy workplace."

The look she fixed on me was full of offense. If I didn't know better, I'd think she was hurt.

"You think I'm toxic?" she asked.

Truthfully, I didn't know what to think. In fact, I'd have said I wasn't sure I cared enough to have an opinion about Selma Volkov. But I knew better. However, her overbearing attitude today did not do much to convince me that she wasn't who the blogs described her to be.

"You must have a high opinion of yourself to assume I think about you at all," I said.

Her gaze rested on me for a few seconds before she shook her head, letting out a snort. "Right. Why do I even bother?"

"Right," I echoed, deciding I'd had enough Selma to last me a week. The woman was a fucking puzzle; I couldn't figure her out. Or maybe it was that time of the month. I reached for my equipment resting on the desk at the same instant; Selma snatched the envelope away like the hounds of Hell were on her heels.

I paused my hand midway, lifting my gaze to hers. Her eyes were full of shock, and her lower lip quivered, her hands gripping the paper with alarming alacrity. I sent her a curious look as the silence wore on uncomfortably. When it was obvious she was not going to speak first, I straightened, a sense of unease prickling at the base of my spine.

What would Selma have to hide from me?

"Care to explain?" I offer.

She shook her head so quickly that I feared it would fall off. "Nothing."

"Hmm. It doesn't seem like nothing. Why did you grab the envelope like that? It's almost…like you were trying to hide something from me."

"Why would I bother hiding anything from you? You're insignificant."

I smirked, picking up an anxious signal from her tone. "If that was meant to throw me off, it didn't work."

Her throat worked as she swallowed. Her body language screamed of nervousness, which made me nervous.

"What's in the envelope, Selma?"

Her eyes were full of defiance. "Let it go, Ashton."

Honestly? I would've if she wasn't so damned suspicious. Hell, she was still gripping the fucking thing like it was a lifeline.

She wasn't paying me for my services, so it couldn't be a contract. Besides, her name was on it. Didn't that mean that whatever was in there concerned just her? So why did she think it was crucial to keep it from me?

To save us both the stress, I stretched my hand and made a "come on" gesture. "Give it."

"No." Her chest was heaving so hard that the top button of her top had come undone.

"Selma, don't make me come and take it from you." It was the best warning I could give her. My curiosity was piqued, and I would not rest until it was fully sated.

She shook her head, her eyes glistening with distressed bravado. I'd never seen anyone defend something so trivial like a piece of paper with such vigor in my entire life. I stepped to the left, and she moved to the right, evading me. Her stupid desk was curved, and unless I wanted to break my pelvis and risk hurting her, I had to move carefully.

"Selma, I'm going to count to three, and then that's it."

"I don't care. Get the fuck out of my office, Ashton, or I'll call security."

I ignored the flimsy threat. "One."

She swiftly darted to the left when I changed directions . Clever girl. But I was one step ahead.

"Two."

Without giving her time to think about the last number, I hoisted my body to the left and grabbed her, catching her off guard. She shrieked, clawing at me with her free hand while protecting the one clutching the envelope near her breasts.

Lucky for me, I loved her breasts. Oh, and I was stronger than her. I quickly caught the paper, swerving away from her sharp-manicured nails.

After straightening the paper, I tore the seal amidst her protests and instantly regretted it.

Selma had stopped clawing and fighting and was looking tentatively at me.

I met her apprehensive gaze, feeling a storm raging inside me.

"What the fuck is this?"