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CHAPTER ONE-HUNDRED AND TWO

Zane didn't notice how long he'd been staring at the screen, his fingers moving so fast across the keyboard until a quiet knock broke through his focus. He blinked, dragging his eyes from the laptop screen.

His personal assistant's head poked through the slit in the door. "You're staying here late again, sir."

A few months ago, her soft, worried tone would've surprised him. Now, it just slightly amused him. Somewhere along the line, she had decided she wasn't afraid of him anymore, looking him in the eyes when she spoke, and he hadn't bothered to correct her. Zane preferred it when people thought of him as charming and approachable anyway.

So now, he returned to his work and responded to her in an even voice. "We're on an extreme time constraint. I can't afford to waste the little we have."

Hesitating for a minute, she lingered at the doorway, shifting her weight from foot to foot, and then she exhaled softly. "Mr. West, with every respect due--I can't help but worry about you. You've been the first to arrive and the last to leave for six weeks straight. And well, I think you may have lost weight even. As your assistant, I don't think this kind of schedule is sustainable in the long run."

Zane stopped typing once again. His jaw tightened as he lifted his head, eyes narrowed. "Did Charles put you up to this?"

Her face instantly went red, and she shook her head, but the guilt was apparent on her face.

He scoffed. "Of course he did." Clenching his jaw, Zane leaned back in his chair and snapped. "Do you have a job offer elsewhere, Joanne?"

She flushed even deeper, and the guilt on her face saturated into panic. "Oh my god, no, sir! Not at all! I am sorry."

"You should be," he replied coldly. "Next time he puts you up to something like this, let him know he should provide a new job for you."

Stumbling through an apology, the woman, half-bowing, backed out of the room, and the door clicked shut.

Zane swiveled his chair to face his laptop again. His hand hovered over the keyboard and then finally curled into a fist.

Did Charles really think this was going to work? A few dinner invites and some emotional blackmail through his assistant? He snorted under his breath, anger rising hot in his throat.

His eyes drifted to the trash can beside his desk, looking at the envelope crumpled inside. On the front was Charles' scribbled handwriting. A letter, because apparently the man still lived in the fucking 1800s. That letter was an invitation to a family dinner he was having with Asher.

That's the fourth one in almost two months. He wondered if Charles' brain was so fried by the alcohol he claimed to be quitting. If Zane hadn't attended the first three, why then did he even bother sending the fourth? He must've realized by now that Zane didn't plan to start playing happy family with either him or Asher.

He rubbed a hand down his face. What was that again, his assistant had said---yeah, that he lost weight. 

What bullshit. Okay, maybe he lost weight, but just a little! Who wouldn't when faced with the late nights he's been having building the company? It was definitely not because of Asher; he was unable to sleep. 

Asher didn't matter to him. After all, what happened between them had been purely physical and mutually beneficial, nothing else. A deal that served its purpose. Zane got what he wanted, and Asher...well, he got to walk away still breathing.

Hell, it's been two months since Asher went off the grid, and in those two months, Zane had only thought about him five times. Four times being whenever Charles sent him those stupid dinner invitations. And the fifth time he thought about Asher was when the ex-marine bodyguard he hired to protect Asher told him that Asher had gone back to racing. Asher honestly didn't mean anything to him at all. That selfish fuck.

Glancing at his laptop again, Zane suddenly realized he didn't even want to work anymore. With a low his, he shut his laptop harder than was necessary and stood up, the chair rolling back a few inches. He grabbed his jacket and keys, striding out of the company.

As his assistant had alluded, the building was silent and empty except for the distant chatter of the cleaning crew and security. He made quick work of the short distance to the elevator and he soon reached the underground garage, clicking his key fob.

His car lights flashed ahead and he continued towards it.

However, when Zane reached the door, he froze. That tightness again. It crawled into his chest every night before he went home. 

Because home still smelled like Asher.

Zane honestly didn't understand how and why it lingered. it didn't make sense. The man had only been there a few times during his heat, and after a heated night together, he left before Zane returned from work the next day. But it had been so thick that Zane changed the sheets, replaced the pillows, and aired the whole room out. But it didn't matter. It fucking reeked, stuck like a ghost he couldn't exorcise. So he'd stopped sleeping in his bed altogether. 

Zane had been sleeping on the goddamn couch in his own house just to avoid it.

Grinding his teeth in frustration, Zane prepared to head home to a couch that wasn't just conducive to sleeping. But the phone vibrating in his pocket made him pause. A glance at the phone showed him a name he hadn't heard or seen in months.

Hesitating for a breath, he finally answered the call. "Zane West." He said flatly, and a deep male voice on the other end chuckled.

"Why so stiff, friend?" The voice, like a baritone drum, hummed. "Have you finally gone vanilla on us?"

Zane's lips twitched, and a short, humorless sound left him. "I've been busy."

"Uh-huh." The teasing voice said again. "Too busy for a scene? I don't think so."

Rolling his eyes, Zane unlocked his car and slid behind the wheel. "Why did you call me, Sanders?"

There was a long moment of silence and Zane wondered briefly if he had ended the call, but then the smooth voice vibrated again. "Humor me, West. Come down tonight and convince me you haven't hung your whip."

The line clicked dead before Zane could respond.

He just sat there for a long moment, mulling over the conversation he had just had. Then he dropped his phone onto the passenger seat and muttered under his breath.

"Maybe I do fucking miss it."

Since he started fucking Asher, Zane hadn't gone, and that was unusual, seeing as Zane had a scene at least two times in a month, even if he had a partner already. Somehow, Asher kept the beast sated. Well, now that Asher had turned out to be a selfish and untrustworthy asshole, perhaps this was what Zane needed.

He turned the key in the ignition, the growl of the engine filling the car.

And for the first time in months, Zane didn't drive to his empty home.

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Hi Everyone! My deepest apologies for not updating for almost a week since I returned, but I promise I have a very fun reason, outside my insane depression that thrust me into a creative rut. CHECK THE COMMENTS! I'M SO EXCITED.