Asher’s POV

I kept my hand wrapped around the glass, red wine bubbling inside. My fingers were cold against the slick surface.

My eyes darted across the room; there was a sea of guests chatting loudly, but my gaze found just one person. Another drink slid down my throat, sharp and burning.

I had lost count of how many drinks I had; it should have helped dull my senses, but it didn’t. It didn’t dull the irritation simmering inside me.

Derrick.

The dumbass photographer. The smug, audacious prick. Oh, the nerve of him! It was already bad enough that he was hanging around Ivy throughout her trip. It was maddening...