Page 23 of The Striker (Gods of the Game 1)
“No,” I said in response to Lavinia’s question. “Nothing else.”
I left her office and shook my head at Carina’s questioning stare. I’d explain things to her later.
For the rest of the day, I attempted not to think about Asher or the showcase. Instead, I answered Emma’s questions about how to prep for a big show, listened to Carina regale me with wild tales about the students’ parents over lunch (dance moms were a terrifying breed), checked in with my father during a break, and ignored my mother’s voicemail about setting me up on a blind date.
“Scarlett, love, call me back when you get the chance,” she said. “I have the mostmarvelousprospect for you. He’s a res?—”
“You changed your outfit.”
My phone slipped out of my hand and clattered to the studio floor. “Jesus! Don’t sneak up on people like that.”
Asher leaned against the doorframe, the picture of effortless devastation in jeans and a gray shirt.
Ugh.How was it possible for someone to lookthatgood in such a basic outfit?
I frowned, irrationally annoyed.
God definitely had favorites, and Asher was one of them.
“I didn’t sneak up on you,” he said, laughter coloring his voice. “You were just too busy to notice me.”
I swiped my phone off the floor. At least my mother’s voicemail had ended, so he didn’t have to overhear whatever scheme she’d concocted to “liven up” my “tragically nonexistent” love life.
“What are you doing here anyway?” I asked. “We don’t have anything scheduled today.”
It was Thursday, and our sessions were every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday.
Asher offered a casual shrug. “I was in the area and thought I’d drop by.”
“For?”
“No reason. Just felt like it.”
“You’re telling metheAsher Donovan has nothing better to do with his time than drop by a ballet academy?”
A shadow flickered in those crystalline green eyes. “I have other things I could do,” he said. “I wouldn’t say they’re better.”
Warm air breezed through the open windows and brushed the nape of my neck. It traveled the length of my spine all the way down to my toes, making my skin tingle from the inside out.
Then Asher blinked, and the moment dissolved like honey in a sun-kissed ocean.
“Actually, I did have something to tell you,” he said. “I spoke with my publicist. She took care of the paparazzi from yesterday. They were trespassing on private property, and we were able to scare them into agreeing not to publish any of the photos.”
“Oh.” I scrambled to orient myself to his crisp new tone. It was like he’d flipped the switch from playful to professional. “That’s good. Do you know how they found you?”
“They followed Vincent.” His features tautened. “It’s not hard to spot that ridiculous orange Lamborghini of his.”
I resisted pointing out that Asher owned his fair share of “ridiculous” sports cars;Football Worlddid a whole feature on his multimillion-dollar collection.
“He didn’t mention them when we talked yesterday.” I’d been so distracted by our father’s accident that I hadn’t asked Vincent whether he’d run into paparazzi on his way out. “He would’ve if he’d seen them.”
“I think they were still hiding when he left but found a way to sneak in afterward.” Asher examined me, his eyes inscrutable compared to their earlier warmth. “I heard he’s going back to Paris for the summer.”
“Yes. To take care of our father.” An ache settled into my knee joints.
“So training will be just the two of us going forward.”
I shifted my weight, hoping to ease the pressure. It didn’t work. “That’s what Lavinia said. There’s no point complicating things when Blackcastle already paid for the summer.”