“Not even five percent?” he coaxed past his own disappointment. “Cuz I can work with that.”
Her breath fanned his lips with her laugh. “I’ll make something for us.”
His pulse leapt with joy even as he protested, “But you have work to do, Butter Cream.”
The roll of her eyes was accompanied by a smile. “I have an easy chicken chili recipe I can throw in the slow cooker. Takes me five minutes and then it cooks all day.”
“You’re sure?” Dumb ass. Take the offer and run.
“Positive,” she affirmed. “It’ll be ready anytime after six.”
“I will see you then.”
He couldn’t resist one more taste of her delectable lips, then got his ass out of her bedroom before he completely tossed being professional out the window and stood up his client.
Back across the street, he discovered Loyal had come home at some point and left again with his rental. The unmade bed in his guest room told him his brother had likely left that morning, though Asher hadn’t seen his departure while he’d been cooking Honor’s breakfast.
He showered and headed out to his appointment, then detoured over to his parents’ house by late morning to check on his dad, who hadn’t gone into the office for the first time in years.
Celia had sent a group text to all the siblings earlier that Mom had gone up to the St. Julien Hotel and Spa in Boulder. The location prompted a flurry of speculation if she’d gone to see Grayson or his mother, Vivian, but Celia didn’t have any other details beyond their mother’s express desire to be left alone for the time being, and to not tell their father where she was staying.
Then she had to sign off for court, and Shelby had class, while Loyal, and Merit surprisingly, reported they were helping out at campaign headquarters for the day.
Elena gave him a hug when he entered the kitchen. “How are you doing, hun?”
“Okay. How’s everything here?”
She lifted a shoulder. “About as good as can be expected. Your father is working through a bottle of scotch in his study.”
Asher arched his brows.
Her expression was grim as she nodded. “He told Eugene off first thing this morning. It wasn’t pretty.”
Yesterday, he’d been wrapped up in damage control, and today he was telling his campaign manager to bug off? Not good. He hadn’t talked to his dad since the night the news broke two days ago, so he made his way into the study after asking Elena to make them a fresh, strong pot of coffee.
His father sat behind his desk, chair turned to face the window, his hair standing on end from the fingers currently threaded through the silver-tinged strands. In his other hand was a tumbler half-full of scotch, with the half-empty glass decanter within reach on the desk. His tie was crooked, top button undone, and he hadn’t shaved. His father always shaved.
“Hey, Dad.”
The governor glanced in his direction before raising his glass for a deep swallow.
Asher’s chest constricted with sympathy for the pain in his red-rimmed, brown eyes. He snagged another tumbler from the side bar and walked over to pour an inch of the amber liquid. He sat in a chair and held the glass without raising it to his lips. It had been something to do, but on second thought, he didn’t want a drink.
His dad, on the other hand, emptied his in a couple of swallows and poured himself more.
“What’s the plan, Dad?” he finally prompted.
“I don’t know.”
His gruff voice sounded as defeated as he looked. His dad always had a plan. He’d taught his kids to always have a plan. That way when life threw you a curve ball, you assess the plan, adjust, and keep moving forward.
Celia, Loyal, and Shelby were big on the plan Plan. Merit’s plan was no plan at all. Asher’s had been to bury himself in his career and someday find the right woman to share his life and start a family. Not much of a concrete roadmap, he realized, but after meeting Honor, it couldn’t have been more perfect.
It might take time to convince her love—everlasting love—was something she could believe in, but he had time to show her just how good it could be.
A leather squeak across the desk drew his attention to see his father reaching for the decanter again. Asher surged up and snatched the alcohol from his hand. “If you don’t have a plan, then it’s time to figure one out. But you gotta be sober.”
His dad slumped back in his chair. He’d aged these past two days, looking a good ten years older than his fifty-six years. The disparity of his father’s weary, dejected image layered over his happy, optimistic thoughts of Honor had his gut knotting with guilt and unexpected doubt. He’d been in his dad’s position before, but more so out of humiliated anger over Brianna’s duplicity, not heartbreak.