Total pages in book: 129
Estimated words: 129110 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 646(@200wpm)___ 516(@250wpm)___ 430(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 129110 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 646(@200wpm)___ 516(@250wpm)___ 430(@300wpm)
Oh boy, his ass in those jeans.
His weight from when we fell and he landed on top of me.
Crap I know what his package feels like.
Not small.
I'm hyperventilating.
I take a long swing of my water.
He's in a blazer and looks sharp. He looks good. Really damn good. And tired. He's got lines around his eyes.
Huh.
The host starts asking your typical stupid questions. He answers, but something seems off. He’s smiling, but it’s not the one I got to see.
He's not amused.
I’m not thinking clearly. I'm pretty hung over. I'm fucking angry.
I reach for my phone, my fingers already used to hovering over his name.
Me: So you DO still exist.
Send.
Oh no.
His phone must have been in his pocket and I see it.
The way he slightly fumbles at the exact moment I hit send. He glances down out of the corner of his eye as the two hosts bicker. Then the craziest thing happens.
He smiles.
Amusingly.
My heart races and the air gets caught in my throat.
The second the show goes to commercial break my phone dings. I don't have to look at it to know I finally got what I've been waiting for. Still, I can't get there fast enough.
The Nicest Man Ever: I could say the same for you.
Me: Well cheer up. You're doing well.
The Nicest Man Ever: Been a busy few weeks. Do I look that bad?
Me: You’re fine.
The Nicest Man Ever: Talk to me more about that.
Me: You're one of those annoyingly vain celebrities aren't you?
Just like in my dreams we pick up right where we left off.
He doesn't respond before the show returns and I know I won’t hear from him for a little bit now, leaving me time to recap... and think... and fly.
My heart soars.
As the end of the interview nears the hosts finally get to the good stuff. There’s some talk about Sabrina Wilson. He avoids it like a pro.
Then the million-dollar question: What was that Tweet about? Are you putting out a new album?
Asher flashes his award-winning smirk and pauses for effect.
“That’s right. I’m ready.”
Four words.
Four wonderful words that mean he told me this before anyone else.
It was real.
Oh my god his smile as the studio audience erupts.
My phone dings. I wonder how he could be texting while on live TV, but it’s Jess freaking out.
I'm an idiot. Of course it's not him.
“There's more,” he's got that glow. That Asher brightness. Only I know he's not nearly this outgoing in person.
He chuckles through another grin as he puts his hands up to settle the crowd. His smooth voice captures everyone's attention. “There will be a surprise show in New York City this weekend. I’ll be previewing songs off my new album. Tickets go onsale tomorrow.”
The hosts ask why New York out of all places. I'm far too close to the small television, hanging on to every word. The other girls groan about not being able to see but I ignore them.
He briefly looks down at his pocket - the one his phone is in - with a wistful expression.
“There's something special about New York.”
Oh my lord.
The interview goes on. More about tickets and a contest, but I'm freaking out.
I'm New York right?
Am I crazy for thinking that?
I fall back into my chair as my mind decides which of the million directions to go.
Oh no. Not there.
Are there other New York's out there? What if they’re just as excited? Are there Florida's or Nebraska's? Are they all watching this and hugging their signed envelopes too?
My gut wrenches.
I'm not capable of this game of trust.
The next time I look up everyone is whispering. The show ended a few minutes ago.
"Elle you coming?"
I stare at my cubicle-mate. Then notice everyone around us mulling about.
Our editor in chief called a meeting.
Sam makes a face as Amelia walks by and I force out a laugh.
She doesn't know it's fake.
Everyone is starting to filter into the conference room. I gather my notebook. Then I stand and push in my desk chair, freezing as my phone dings.
The Nicest Man Ever: Well? (I hope you saw the rest of the show or this is an odd message).
Me: I did.
The Nicest Man Ever: And? This weekend, mate? Will I see you?
Me: Looking forward to it, buddy.
The conference room door is closing but I still can't move.
I'm going to see Asher this weekend.
6
I Can Meet You Somewhere
By Friday things in the office are tense. Actually it's more like a war zone. Any second a bomb may go off in the form of shrieking, yelling, and high-pitched female huffs of annoyance.
Asher’s people won't include the magazine in the press interviews before the concert.
It’s not surprising. Our target audience is young teens which aren’t really his demographic anymore. At least that’s what his people told us. They said there was a clear interest with our audience for his latest movie, but the teens that were once into Let’s Go and his music are older now, and it would be a waste of his time for us to be there during the interviews. And I mean god forbid we waste his time.