Mr. President:A Billionaire & Virgin Fake Fiance Romance(68)

"Oh my God," Ashley whispers. Whisper is a strong fucking word actually.  It's more like she croaks it out, like her mouth has just gone dry. Her  skin is starting to look pale and I can see her eyes widen and narrow,  as if she's trying to figure something out.

"You … you're … " but she stops and doesn't finish.

I nod my head at her, hoping it'll calm her down. "King Henry," I say to  her trying to smile but wondering if I'm fucking smirking instead.  "Thought it was an appropriate name, don't you … "

I don't get a chance to respond because her hand reaches out at the  speed of fucking light and slaps my cheek. I wince. I wasn't fucking  expecting that; that's for sure.

I taste a tiny trickle of blood on my lip and I can tell that the  immediate people around us are all staring now. The people beyond them  are pretending they don't know what's going on but trying to look  anyways. Fuck ‘em all, anyways.

"You fucking bastard," Ashley says. Her voice is cold, low, and gravelly.

I'm about to say something but she doesn't even fucking care anymore  because she just turns around and walks away, clutching her purse.

I look at the bartender who comes by to serve drinks and I look at the olive that rolled close to my shoe.

I don't know what the fuck has gotten into me, but I bend over and grab  the olive and the glass and hand it to the bartender. He nods to me.

Fuck it. This is fucking insane. I need to go after her.

I race out of the Boathouse and scan the surrounding area looking for Ashley.

She's not hard to miss. Cute girl, shoulder length blonde hair, curvy  body, fantastic ass. Dressed to kill in a black casual dress with a pair  of black heels that are making it difficult for her to storm off across  the up and down sidewalk of Central Park.

I run toward her.

"Ashley!" I yell to her, hoping she sees me, and stops. She doesn't. A  few passers by stop and look at me as I race past them, but I don't have  any more fucks to give no matter what they do. "Ashley, stop and  fucking listen to me."

"Stay away from me, you fucking asshole!" Ashley shouts and stops  walking. But instead of turning toward me, I see her pause and take off  her heels. She's going to want to walk fast and she's getting ready.

But by then I've caught up to her.

Hey, give me some credit here, okay? I may drink and fuck all night  long, but I have a body made of steel. Genes that are fucking blessed. I  used to play football in high school and college and I still got the  moves. Of course I could keep up with Ashley. But there's a fine fucking  line between having her say no and it being cute and then forcing my  presence on her. And I never, ever, ever, fucking do that.

"Just let me explain," I say to her, trying to buy some time.

"There's nothing to explain, Arsen," she says, still not looking back at  me. "This whole thing was a big fucking joke to you. You're a sick,  perverted creep."

"No I'm not, Ashley," I reply as I match her stride. She's walking  toward the gates to the park on 72nd and 5th. Fuck, she's going to hop  into a cab or a bus from there and I won't be able to do a goddamn thing  about it. I can't force her to stay. "Just let me explain. I love you."

Well that fucking gets her to stop all right.

And why wouldn't it? I've never, ever, said it to another girl before.  I've never felt it for another girl. I've never even contemplated  anything remotely close to it with another woman. The very thought of  falling in love with someone three months ago would have me getting on a  fucking plane and getting as far away from her as possible.

But now? Now, I'm standing there like a fucking kid, watching Ashley turn around and stare at me.

"I love you, Ashley Lane," I tell her, not sure why I'm so fucking nervous all of a sudden.

Ashley smiles for a moment, and that's when I know I'm fucked.

"You love me?" she asks and takes a step forward on the balls of her  feet. "That's why for basically the entire time you knew me, you  pretended to be someone else?"

"I didn't pretend to be someone else!" I yell, but she answers right back and I can see the fire in her eyes.

"You pretended to be someone on the phone that wasn't the same you in  real life, Arsen!" Ashley yells. "Sure when you were with me you were  Arsen Hawke. But then how many times did I hurry out of your apartment  to go to work? How many times did you ask me what I did when you knew  the answer?"

"I never lied to you about anything … " I begin but she cuts me off and for a moment I think she's going to slap me again.

"You didn't lie to me?" Ashley asks with a note of incredulity in her  voice. "Arsen I fell in love with you on the phone and you know how much  it was tearing me up every time you and I were together to think how I  could be falling in love with you at the same fucking time?"         

     



 

For once, I'm silent. Her fucking words have silenced me.

"You want to know what it's like to go through what I did for the last  month?" she asks me. "You want to know what I feel like standing here in  front of you after the things you had me do on the phone?"

Fuck. In all of this, I forgot how crazy we had gotten.

"You had me call you King! You told me not to … touch myself on the phone.  You did things with me that were private and so intimate for me and it  was a big fucking joke for you!" Ashley yells as her face turns red.  "You must have gotten quite a laugh, huh?"

"I never thought about it as a joke," I say slowly and she looks at me.  "I only called your line because you wouldn't see me. Because you wanted  to stay away after our first night."

"You know what?" Ashley asks me, but I can tell it's fucking rhetorical.  "I should have listened to myself that day. I shouldn't have texted you  back. I should have just gotten myself off and not thought of you at  all. I wouldn't feel so deceived and humiliated right now."

I take a step close to her. "Don't feel humiliated, babe … " I begin but she looks at me and I see her face contort.

"Stay the fuck away from me, you fucking creep!" she yells. "You lied to  me! You had a million chances to tell me. You had to wait until I told  you I loved you to spit it back at me. To laugh in my face. Well, Arsen  Hawke, or King Henry, from now on, you're just Client 5 to me, okay.  Some fucking loser who has to pay per the minute to get off."

She turns away and walks toward 5th Avenue. The sun's going down and  it's reflecting off the condos and co-ops lining the street across the  Park.

"Ashley … " I call out, wondering if I should keep going after her. But she answers the question for me.

"Stay the fuck away, Arsen, or I'm screaming rape," she says. She pauses  for a minute and I think she's going to turn around. As long as I can  keep her talking.

"By the way, just in case you were wondering," she says, still with her  back turned to me. "I quit. I'd rather starve than work for you one more  day."

I watch her walk to the sidewalk and I swear to you it feels like  someone just shot a hole at the bottom of my heart. I've never ever felt  like this before. But you want to know what the worst part it?

It's the feeling that I get because I know I fucking deserve this. That  all my shit has come back to fucking haunt me. That it made me a cocky,  arrogant, and selfish asshole that didn't realize there was anything  wrong with what I did. And it hurt the one person in the world I wanted  to hold and fucking protect. The one person in the world I love.

I watch as Ashley crosses the street and jumps into a cab. I don't know  if I'm imagining her looking at me as the cab drives away. The windows  to the cab are rolled up so it's hard to tell, but within a few seconds  the cab is gone and it doesn't fucking matter anymore.

I walk to the sidewalk, where Ashley had passed by just a few moments  ago. People walk by me, into the park, out of the park, going uptown,  going downtown, all caught up in their lives. I see girls walking dogs, a  hot dog vendor packing up for the evening, a kid crossing the street  with a kite. Everyone going about their business, in their own little  worlds, not realizing that mine has just been blown to hell.

New York fucking City. The loneliest big city in the world.

Serves me right.





55





Ashley





I bite into the honey almond croissant, wiping a few flaky pastry bits  from my lips. I watch as Yasmine sips her medium roast coffee. She  ordered a chocolate croissant, which is an indulgence for her, and  instead of biting into it, she's eyeing it suspiciously. She's one of  those women who refuses to eat anything with sugar and butter 99% of the  time in fear her ass will start ballooning out, but come on, we're both  having brunch at Balthazar-one of those places where it's as if you've  been transported to Montmartre at the turn of the century, yet it's  still 2016, and it's still SoHo. In other words, you don't skip the  pastries at this place. Besides, Yasmine had the body of a Victoria's  Secret Angel from a young age, and she still maintains it. One pastry  isn't going to do her in.