Saving Ash(book #2) Chapter-four

I’m not exactly sure what this place is. Yes, it’s gorgeous, in a sterile sort of way. White tile and white carpet. The walls are covered with expensive art. The furniture is also white on metal frames. A glass coffee table with a lone flower in a vase is placed in the center.

I drop the backpack and begin to explore the place. First, I start with the outside balcony. Walking over, I find the glass doors locked and flip up the lever. I’m waiting for some sort of alarm to go off. When I hear nothing, I slide open the glass panel and step out.

Wow! The place has a pool? On the roof? Too bad it’s getting colder. I bend down and place my hand in the water. Just as I suspect—it’s heated. Then I notice the hot tub.

Who lives like this?

Ash Sinclair, that’s who.

I walk over to the edge of the balcony and look across the city. I’ve never been this high up before. All the colors and lights…

Even the air smells cleaner up here. The city looks beautiful from this view, and I have to touch myself to make sure any of this is real.

I pull my phone from the back pocket of my jeans and check the time, 5:30. How long does Ash work? I decide to send a text and pull up our last conversation.

I’m here. Your place is beautiful.

I wait for his response. Nothing, not even bouncing dots. Maybe he’s still working. I go back inside and look for the bedroom I woke up in three weeks ago. I know I was well inebriated when he brought me, but this is not the room we walked out of when we left to have breakfast. He has two places in the city?

Of course, Ash would have two penthouses.

The place is too quiet making the place seem…ghostly. I need some music, or something to kill the dead silence. There has to be some sort of device to play music on. I open the bluetooth on my phone and search for any device sending a signal. Nothing shows on the screen.

Shoving the phone back into my pocket, I go and explore the place, starting with the kitchen. Large, open, and completely white. Man this place needs some color. It’s so different from his place in Providence…and his dark, glowing torture room.

Next, I look for a bedroom and come to two double doors—white. Slowly, I turn the handle to one expecting an alarm to go off. I don’t know why I feel this way, he had his driver bring me here. I’m supposed to be here.

When the door opens, I find a large bedroom, a four-poster bed with a lacy canopy. I suddenly feel like Goldilocks in The Three Bears. It’s when I step inside do I realize the floor is not white tile but white carpet. I glance down at my black converses and hope there are no dirty shoe prints.

Somehow, I can’t picture Ash living here. It’s too…light. Nothing about this place fits his MO. It’s open—not like Ash. It’s freeing—not like Ash. It’s also very feminine. Frilly like.

I step back out into the hall and remove my dirty converses before continuing my exploring of the bedroom. My feet sink into the white, fluffy carpet. I’ve never felt carpet this soft before. It’s like I’m walking on a cloud.

Glancing around, I then notice all the large framed art of…butterflies that cover the walls. Butterflies everywhere. Are they painted by someone famous? Because everywhere you look—butterflies.

Does Ash have a butterfly obsession?

How strange.

Walking over, I look for a name painted in the corner of the pictures. Lilly Sanchez. I’ve never heard of a Lilly Sanchez. Though I like to paint and sketch, I’m not familiar with famous artist. It never seemed that important to me. I’ve only ever created what I see, and not try to imitate others. But these butterflies are very beautiful.

I walk over to the bed and brush my hand along the white, silk duvet. This is definitely not the bed I woke up in three weeks ago. I have to see what this feels like and slowly crawl upon the mattress. I lie back, closing my eyes. Heaven. Opening my eyes, I then see the pattern of…butterflies in the lacy canopy.

“I hope you don’t make it a habit of lying on the bed with your street clothes on?”

Ash.

I quickly sit up and see the stern look on his face. This Ash is back. The black Ash with hard lines etched in his face. Though he’s still to die for gorgeous.

I scramble from the bed, attempting a graceful exit. But I still look like a kid caught doing something wrong. I then see my converses dangling from his fingers.

“Yours, I presume.”

“Ah…yes. You did see I left them out in the hall.” My eyes dart back to the spot when I first walked in. Please, don’t let there be any dirty shoe prints there.

He pulls them up and seems to be studying them. There’s a look of disgust on his face. What does he expect? I’m a poor foster kid. I don’t exactly come with a dowery. I could ask him about all the girly butterflies, but think better of it.

“These are going in the trash. You’ll wear something more suitable when living here.”

“Ah…how about just putting them away for now. I’ll need something for my feet for when…for when it’s time for me to…leave. Plus, an old boyfriend gave them to me.”

His face hardens, like I just slapped him. “So, you’re telling me, these,” he shoves out toward me, “have sentimental value?”

What is going on here? Where’s the Ash that took me to breakfast and practically begged me to move in here? Did I sign a contract when he brought me home…drunk?”

“Ahh, just forget it. Do whatever you want with them,” I say, just so we can move on.

He looks at the shoes, and then to me. “Just for the record, we haven’t discussed when you leave. Plus, if  or when that happens, you’ll leave here with couture much better than this.”

If, or when?

I clear my throat and gesture to the room. “You have a very lovely place.”

“Thank you. This will be your place as long as you’re under my care.”

My place—like he won’t be here?

“Wait, don’t you live here?”

“No, I don’t. This is where I keep my…when I have an arrangement with someone, they stay here.”

“But you said I would be moving in with you. This is not the same thing as staying with you.”

“Are you complaining about your situation already? You clearly misunderstood…Cinder.”

Did I?

“No, I’m not complaining. And…I appreciate your offer.”

“Good. Now, clean up and change into the clothes I have provided you with in the closet. I will have dinner delivered in an hour,” he says, and turns to leave the room.

I don’t think I will ever really know him. He’s like night and day, hot and cold. Black, and the next, a rainbow.

I looked toward the en suite and make my way into another room that is white and the size of my classroom at school. No wonder he owns the entire top floor. One thing for sure, there can’t be a basement/torture room—not this high up. However, I haven’t observed the entire premise. I’m sure Ash has some sort of sex room here. I just haven’t found it…yet.

Although I showered before coming here, I can’t wait to sink into the large garden tub and reach down to begin filling it. I spot some lavender bath salts, dumping some in. Next,

I open the vanity drawer in search of a hair tie. Everything is perfectly organized, making my search easy and find a container of hair ties. I throw my hair up into a loose knot, remove my peasant clothes, and step in.

Ah, heaven. I could get used to this.

Ash? Well, that’s a horse of another color. And he has many.

***

Saving Ash© 2024 Gina A. Jones rights reserved under the International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, organizations, events or locales is entirely coincidental.