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We share a silent moment, and then I shut my visor. As I drive away, I already miss him. Us. And everything we shared.
23
ASHER
My heart pounds steadily in my chest as my driver stops outside the Frick Museum on the Upper East Side, where the benefit is being held. This location is tradition. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t nervous about seeing Billie tonight. It’s all I’ve thought about since I left the Hamptons earlier today. She’s always on my mind though.
I adjust my tie, trying to calm my racing heart as I watch the paparazzi line the sidewalk, snapping photos of the elite guests who enter the building. It’s invite-only, as usual, and the wealthiest people in the world will be attending tonight.
Calloway Diamonds has hosted the luxurious black-tie fundraiser for eighty-seven years. There will be curated diamond exhibits, showcasing rare and priceless stones—all for sale in a private auction. The one-of-a-kind diamond pieces, exclusively designed for the event, are worth millions, and the proceeds help support underprivileged youth and aspiring entrepreneurs—something the Calloways are truly passionate about. The event raises nearly half a billion to be redistributed yearly, and it’s something my family hasalwayssupported, one that I believe in and am committed to.
While much of my wealth has come from my great-great-grandfather’s legacy, I always give back to make it possible for others to rise. My sister believed in that mission too.
My driver glances at me in the rearview mirror. “Would you like me to take you somewhere else?”
“No. I just need another minute. Apologies,” I reply, and he nods.
I can’t help but wonder if Billie has already arrived. I’d text her, but we didn’t exchange numbers. It’s best if we have no written communication. Considering my profession, it’s not unreasonable to assume my phone might get confiscated and conversations sorted through if Josh Lustre decides to move forward with a lawsuit. I personally don’t believe it will come to that, but Nick is very concerned. I’m playing it safe, even if it pains me.
Knowing I can’t avoid this any longer, I exit the car. I’m blinded by flashes—something I should be used to by now, but I’m not. I walk up the steps and enter through one set of double doors that lead to a foyer with a stunning skylight. Hanging lights illuminate the space with a warm, inviting glow. Classical music plays softly in the background. I’m stopped for a photograph as soon as I enter—something that will surely be displayed on the foundation’s website later.
The room is full of beautiful people, dressed in elegant evening wear. I spot several celebrities, billionaires, two editors from major publications, and a prime minister. It sounds like the start of a dumb joke, and it makes me grin.
Not getting an invite to this event would be an absolute embarrassment, and Weston is directly in charge of the guest list. Because of that, I know Josh Lustre will not be here tonight, which is a relief. One less person to deal with.
A server glides by and offers me a glass of champagne, and I happily accept it. The museum is one I’ve enjoyed since I was a kid.
I take my time studying a few oil paintings on the wall. This mansion, which was once a single-family home, was designed withthe intent of becoming a museum. It’s brimming with Western art history, and it features everything from mesmerizing paintings to intricate sculptures and furniture. I can never get enough of this place, and I take my time with the art as if I were catching up with an old friend.
While many guests tour the museum, most congregate in the reception hall. I see so many familiar faces, and I stop to give quick hellos to several of my clients.
“Asher Banks,” Phillip says with a hearty laugh, holding out his hand.
I take his rough grip, feeling the calluses on his hand. While he might be a billionaire and his family owns one of the most successful cattle ranches in the country, he works his ass off. Phillip and his three brothers are in the trenches with the ranch hands, ruling their cattle kingdom.
“Hey! Wow, I didn’t expect to see you here,” I tell him just as his aunt, Martha Chambers, approaches.
She grins widely at me. “Asher! So lovely to see you again,” she says in that thick Southern accent.
I smirk, taking her hand and placing a soft kiss on her knuckles. By the twinkle in her eye, I can tell she approves.
“Mrs. Chambers, it’s always a pleasure,” I reply, hoping—nearly praying—that she doesn’t bring up Billie and me. I find that flattering her works best. “You should start seeing more of me now that I’m finally occupying my loft.”
“Mmhmm,” she responds with a raised brow.
Words are clearly on the tip of her tongue, and I know she wants to say something.
“Okay”—Phillip turns to his aunt—“what did I miss?”
“Nothing at all,” I say, and she shoots me a wink.
It’s our little secret—well, aside from the photo I posted for the entire world to see. It was painful, archiving it this morning. All that exists now are screenshots.
My eyes scan the room, searching for Billie. I’m calm and calculated.
“She’s not here yet,” Mrs. Chambers says.
I play dumb. “Who?”