Chapter 2

CHAPTER 2

Asher

“Marsha, can you pull the Richmond file for me?” I ask as I stride past my secretary’s desk.

“Right away, Mr. Bennett.”

I tug on my tie as I step into my office. It always feels like it’s strangling me after I indulge myself by spending twenty minutes at The Grind. I’m ridiculously infatuated with my favorite waitress.

Every day, I tell myself I’ll stop getting coffee before work, and I can usually manage to stick to that promise for about one day. But the next day I can’t resist, and my ass is back at The Grind.

I always sit in Brynn’s section, usually at table four if it’s available. I’m pretty sure everyone who works there keeps table four open at seven-thirty just in case I come in. They only have to Google me to know I like routine.

I’m controlling in most aspects of my life, but that’s part of why I’ve managed to climb the corporate ladder as fast and as hard as I have. I’m rigid about my schedule.

“Here you go, Mr. Bennett.”

I spin around from where I’m staring out the window at the Seattle skyline to find my secretary setting the file I requested on my desk. “Thank you, Marsha.”

“Anything else, sir?”

“Not right now. Thank you.”

Marsha gives me a slight bow like she always does as she leaves. She also quietly shuts the door behind her because she knows I prefer the quiet when working.

Marsha is by far the best secretary I’ve ever had. She’s forty, a single mom, divorced, and hardworking. Because her parents live nearby and adore their six-year-old grandson, Marsha rarely has a childcare issue. Not that I would mind. I always encourage her to leave early for his soccer games or school performances. She seldom takes me up on that offer. She’s a dedicated employee, and I appreciate that.

The best thing about Marsha is that she does not hit on me. She has no hidden aspirations of trying to get into my pants. It’s a fucking blessing because, in my world, every other woman—single or married—is hitting on me.

I sit at my desk, pick up the folder Marsha brought me, and stare at the outside of it for a moment before tossing it aside and giving in to my latest obsession.

Brynn Flores.

Lately, the girl is never far from my mind. I keep hoping I can shake her from my thoughts, but I’m doing a terrible job.

She’s not a girl , I remind myself. She’s twenty-one. She’s very much a woman. But damn, I’d like her to be my girl. It makes my cock hard every time I think about it .

I pick up my mouse, open my computer, and click on the large file I have on Brynn. It’s like a hobby. I’m not hurting anyone. I could spend an hour a day playing random games on my phone. Most people my age do. Instead, I spend my time digging into Brynn’s personal life.

I’m intrigued by how easy it is to search for my own name and come up with hundreds of articles filled mostly with lies and nonsense. But when I want to search for an ordinary citizen like Brynn, I have to dig a bit deeper and break a few laws.

Thank God for Myles. He also has a top-tier membership at Edge. The man is a god. He’s my go-to when I need someone looked into.

Myles has provided me with everything I could want to know about Brynn. I know she’s getting a degree in statistics, and she’s a fucking bright student. She gets straight A’s in every class. She got all A’s in high school, too. So, she’s dedicated and hardworking.

She’s from Virginia, so I’m curious why she moved across the country to go to college. She only left behind her father. Her mother died when she was young, and she has no siblings.

The woman has just enough money in her bank account to pay the rest of this semester’s tuition. She needs one more semester’s fees, and based on her past record, I suspect she will take the next semester off and work even harder than she does now to save the money.

I cringe every time I see her dwindling bank account. I’m a nosy fucker, so I also know she lives with three other students in a rundown house where the rent is cheap, but it looks like she’s going to fall short on cash in about two months .

Brynn first caught my eye at The Grind. One morning, I had gone there purely on a whim, and the woman nearly made me drop my coffee when she approached my table.

There’s something about her that fascinates and intrigues me. She’s gorgeous—like model perfect. Five-nine. Slender. Creamy white skin. Hair that’s nearly black and hangs in waves down her back. Or it would. I’ve only seen it in a low ponytail or a braid. Her eyes are a stunning, mesmerizing blue.

When she’s embarrassed or flustered, her cheeks turn pink, and fuck if I don’t want to see what other parts of her body also get that rosy tinge. I’d also like to know what color her nipples are and if the hair on her pussy is as dark as the hair on her head—and if she shaves it.

I adjust my cock and switch to pictures I have of her. Because, again, I’m a nosy fucker. My images were obtained through the security cameras at Edge, where she works on weekends. I haven’t pried so deeply that I’ve set up cameras on her house or anything, though it’s not a bad idea. I might look into it.

The first time I saw Brynn at Edge, I nearly walked straight into a wall. I was so stunned to see her there. That was before my obsession started in earnest. Before I asked Myles to dig into her personal life.

When Brynn is at The Grind, she’s ultra-conservative. She wears the required khaki pants, a blue blouse, comfortable brown flats, and an apron. When she’s at Edge…

I draw in a breath as I stare at my latest pictures. She’s still as conservative as she can get away with, more so than any other waitress on the first floor, but nothing like her attire at The Grind. At Edge, she wears a tight black skirt that reaches mid-thigh, black tights, low black heels, and a white blouse.

The uniform is mostly standard, but the first-floor club doesn’t require the wait staff to wear anything more specific than black and white. The employees can pretty much choose the length of their skirts, the height of their heels, the level of exposure they prefer for their legs, and how low-cut or revealing their blouses are.

Brynn wears her hair in the same style at night as in the morning. I doubt she has enough time between her two jobs and keeping up with her classes to fuss with her hair. Her makeup is minimal, but she doesn’t need any at all. She’s that stunning.

I grin like a teenager with a crush as I zoom in on a picture of her leaning up to the bar to place a drink order. She’s smiling. Her palm-sized breasts are pressed between her arms. Her blouse isn’t very revealing, but I can make out the outline of her plain white bra.

God, I want to see under that bra. It’s more like I need to by now. I’m seriously obsessed.

And what the hell? It’s not like I could ask her out. She’s fifteen years younger than me—just a girl. Plus, I do not date. Ever. It’s a rule. I used to date in my early twenties, which always ended in disaster. Women only want me for one thing—my money. I don’t trust them, and I never will.

My needs are met when I choose, nearly always at Edge. Not the first floor. Not the second floor, either. I have an exclusive membership to the third floor. Five thousand dollars a month. Only the wealthiest clientele belong to that tier of Edge. I know the owners well.

Easton and Drake Riley are identical twins and self-made millionaires. They own the entire building that houses the three membership tiers at Edge. Good guys. Shrewd businessmen who’ve made excellent financial decisions over the years.

I flip through a few more pictures of Brynn Flores before I glance at my watch and force myself to shut the file. I have no idea what I’m going to do about my infatuation. I keep hoping it will burn itself out, yet every day, she’s the first thing on my mind.