Hoax Husband: A Hero Club Novel

by Candice Wright

  “I need to go to the bank and the DMV. All the fun stuff,” I warn him, making him chuckle.

  “I tell you what, call me when you have finished, and I’ll bring you a coffee and a doughnut.”

  “You know what, Davis, I think you are going to be my new best friend,” I inform him with a beaming smile.

  Twenty

  Asher

  Surprisingly, the day passes quickly, even though my mind doesn't stray far from my wife. It helps that Davis keeps texting to keep me updated.

  Looking down at the hustle and bustle of the city below, I wait as Gregory, the lead lawyer on Peterson’s team, waffles on and on. I swear I hear Graham stifle a snort at one point. These guys are treating us like we’re newbies, fresh-faced and green in all things business, when the truth is, we likely know ten times more than they do.

  “Mr. Peterson just wants to make sure he chooses the right candidate,” Gregory prattles on.

  “Yes, I understand that, Gregory, and you know our offer is more than generous. We don't want to buy this resort to tear it apart. We want to keep the integrity of it safe. It’s already a flagship property. We just want to enhance it a little,” I tell them, stroking their egos.

  “Is there any reason Peterson himself isn't in on this call?” Graham asks something I had wondered myself.

  “He’s waiting until all potential buyers have been shortlisted. You wouldn't believe the amount of interest the resort has generated. Besides, this is what Mr. Peterson hired us for. Now back to the subject at hand, your proposal looks fine, ticks all the boxes, so to say, but there has been little to no mention of your private lives." Gregory stops talking and lets us fill in the blanks for him.

  “I'm engaged with a child on the way and a daughter already, Peterson knows this. He has met my fiancée on many occasions,” Graham answers wryly.

  “And you, Mr. Sloan?” Is it my imagination, or does the fucker sound smug all of a sudden? I'm sure he thinks he has me all figured out, but he has no fucking clue.

  “I'm happily married and have been for a little over a year now,” I inform them, matter-of-factly.

  My words are met with absolute silence, so much so I check the screen to make sure the call hasn't dropped.

  “You do realize you'll have to provide documentation to back up this claim?” Gregory's sharp voice announces.

  “Yes, that won't be a problem. I have the marriage certificate here. Is there anything else you need?” I question, keeping my voice civil. Inside, I’m thinking checkmate, motherfucker.

  He splutters for a second. I can't tell if it's with shock or indignation.

  “Where does your wife reside?” he asks haughtily.

  “With me at our penthouse apartment. Where the hell else would my wife live except with me?” I answer rhetorically and this time Graham doesn't even try to hold back his snort of laughter.

  “What I meant to say is that your marriage has been kept hush-hush. To the best of my knowledge, it's not information the public is aware of.”

  “We are a very private couple. My wife isn't into being in the spotlight, and I like to keep my wife happy. If that means I attend the odd gala alone, so be it,” I tell him firmly.

  “Well, yes, that's fine, but I'm sure Mr. Peterson would like to meet your wife at some point.” This guy has no need to inform me of that fact, it is something I’m well aware of.

  “I'm sure he will, and that's fine. Just let us know when and where, and we'll happily be there.” Okay, maybe I'm laying it on a bit thick now.

  “Okay then, I have everything I need for now. Your application is being processed. Please forward your marriage certificate to my office by the end of the day. If you’ll excuse me, gentlemen.”

  Gregory pulls out of the conference call, which causes a snowball effect of people leaving until only Graham and I remain on the line.

  “Nicely played, asshole,” Graham drawls, making me chuckle as I loosen my tie and sit back in my chair.

  “Yeah, yeah, I'm awesome, admit it.”

  “I like to keep my wife happy,” he mocks, trying to emulate my voice.

  “Fuck you. There is nothing wrong with that, and you of all people should get it.”

  He's quiet for a moment, pondering my words. “You know I do, but Soraya is it for me. Can you really say the same about Laura?”

  “It’s Linda, you fucking dick,” I snap.

  He roars with laughter, making me pull the phone away from my ear. “I'm just fucking with you. When you know, you know. I've got to go.” He hangs up without saying anything else.

  I toss the phone on the desk just as the intercom starts beeping. Hitting the button, I wait for Rosa to speak.

  “I have a woman here claiming to be your wife, Mr. Sloan.” Rosa’s voice is a little higher pitched than usual, making me wince. Oops, I really should have told Rosa about Linda.

  “Show her in, Rosa, and please let the front desk know that my wife Linda is always welcome here.”

  She’s silent for a moment before answering, “Yes, sir,” then disconnecting.

  I wait for them to arrive, a big smile on my face as the door swings open to reveal a flustered-looking Rosa, who is now staring daggers at me, and a bashful Linda behind her looking like a teenage wet dream in denim cut-offs and a band T-shirt that is shredded in places, briefly flashing the hot pink bra she is wearing underneath.

  And now I'm hard.

  “Hey, Skittle, great timing. I'm starving,” I admit—just not for food.

  As Rosa leaves quietly and closes the door behind her, I stalk around my desk until I'm standing face to face with Linda. Taking the bag of food from her, I place it on the desk before sliding a hand into her hair and pulling her toward me.

  Before she can protest, my lips are on hers, hot and insistent, demanding entrance. She opens up to me willingly, reaching around and gripping the back of my jacket, clinging to me as I press one of my thighs between her legs. I can feel the heat of her pussy spurring me on, but then common sense prevails and I pull back, enjoying the flustered look on her face.

  “Now, that’s how you say hi,” I whisper, making her laugh.

  “You can say hi like that anytime you like.” She winks. “I brought you lunch,” she adds, indicating the bag of food. “Club sandwiches and cookies,” she tells me with a smile as I walk her around the desk with me and sit, pulling her down into my lap.

  “You can't eat with me in your lap,” she protests, trying to stand, but I don't let her up.

  “Watch me. Now slide my food over here before I decide to eat something else for lunch.”

  She gulps and hesitates for a moment before reaching for the bag.

  Hmm, interesting. Perhaps another time, when the office isn’t so busy and nobody is around to hear her scream my name…

  Twenty-One

  Linda

  “So, where to, miss?”

  I give Davis the address of the club and lean back against the seat, preparing myself for what I'm about to do.

  I'm going to miss everyone at Illusions, but my job was only ever meant to be something to keep me going while I focused on my art. Somehow, a year later, it's become more of a crutch than I intended. If I’m honest with myself, the real reason I’m holding back is fear.

  Thanks to my mother, I have a lot to live up to. I am insanely proud of the artist she was and what she stood for, but what if my stuff just tarnishes the family name?

  I know comparisons will be made despite the fact she was a sculptor and I’m a painter—that's the nature of the beast. I want people to love my work as much as they did hers, but the thought of putting myself out there just to get torn to shreds is terrifying.

  Sitting in silence for the whole journey, my thoughts a jumbled mess. Davis, sensing my need for quiet, doesn’t try to make small talk.

  I finally manage to corral my wayward thoughts somewhat as we pull up outside the club. It's closed for now, not opening till much later tonight, but there is always
a skeleton crew on during the day who clean and stock the bar. Plus, Tony is always here. This place is his baby, his second home, so I know he’ll be upstairs in his office working on something.

  “Thanks, Davis. Are you just going to wait around for me or do you want me to call you when I'm finished?” I ask, having no idea what the protocol is for this sort of thing.

  “I can wait for you, miss, unless you think it might go on for a while, then I can circle around to avoid a ticket.”

  “Oh no, this shouldn't take long at all,” I reassure him.

  “Then I'll wait. Don't worry, miss, this is what I do, and Mr. Sloan pays me very well.”

  I offer him a nod and a smile. Fair enough.

  Climbing out of the car, I close the door gently behind me. I taking a deep breath and head toward the staff entrance. The metal door creaks as I push it open and walk into the dimly lit club that always looks so different in the harsh light of day. I greet a few familiar faces as I move around the tables and head upstairs to Tony’s office. Knocking on his door, I fiddle nervously with the zipper of my jacket as I wait for him to answer.

  “Yeah,” I hear bellowed, so I tentatively push the door open and see a frazzled-looking Tony studying a bunch of papers on the desk in front of him.

  With his little half-moon glasses perched on the end of his nose and the sprinkling of gray at his temples, he actually looks older than his mid-thirties, but I’m not brave enough to tell him that. He seems to think the glasses make him look smarter, so he point-blank refuses to invest in a new, more modern pair.

  “Hey, Tony, you got a few minutes?” I ask him politely.

  He looks up at my voice, clearly not expecting me.

  “For you? Always. Sit.” He indicates the chair in front of his desk, so I perch my ass on the deep, worn-leather seat.

  “What's wrong?” All his attention is focused on me, the pile of papers in front of him forgotten for a moment.

  “I need to take some time off,” I tell him, twisting my fingers in my lap.

  He frowns at my words and likely my demeanor. I'm not usually the kind of girl who is so unsure of herself, but I hate letting people down.

  “Okay, how long for, and while you're answering that, how about you tell me what the fuck is going on?”

  I take a deep breath and just blurt out the truth. I reveal everything that’s happened from the day I got locked out of the conference room in Vegas. I explain how I woke up married to Asher and how he kicked me out, to him tracking me down a year later, begging me to give this marriage a shot.

  “Wow, that sounds like something out of a cheesy Hallmark movie,” Tony replies, making me snort.

  “You obviously don't watch many Hallmark movies. If you did, you’d know that there would be a lot more snow and Asher would be a flannel shirt wearing lumberjack. There would be way less hot, dirty, sex too,” I point out, making him laugh this time.

  “Okay, fair point. I can't say I like that he asked you to leave your job though. That's usually a red flag right there, but fortunately, in this case, I guess I can see where he's coming from. Plus, as much as I love you, Linda, we both know this is not your forever job. The longer you’re here, the harder it will be for you to leave,” he rightly observes.

  Damn insightful bastard.

  “I don't want to leave you in the lurch,” I explain, but he waves me off.

  “If you can cover your shift tomorrow and Saturday, I can cover the other two and get Casey and Gwen to do your shifts next week. I’ve had a couple of people apply for jobs here who look promising, so don't worry about it. You won't be leaving me in the lurch. This might be my baby, but it still is only a bar and bar staff are not hard to find.”

  I scowl, making him backtrack a little.

  “Of course, none of them will be as impressive as you. You’re the best damn bartender I've ever had,” he vows, making me laugh.

  “Okay, you might be laying it on a bit thick now, but thank you, Tony. I appreciate the sentiment.”

  “Good. Now I know you’re not going to sit at home and be the kept missus, so tell me, what are you going to do with your free time?” he asks, kicking his feet up onto the edge of his desk.

  I take a deep breath and tell him what I haven’t confided to anyone else.

  “I'm going to paint. One day, I'd like to have my own art showing at one of those quaint little art galleries. I’ll finally have the time and no excuses not to,” I admit.

  His eyes move from my hair over my body, analytically, before nodding. “Yeah, that suits you so much better than being a bartender. Make sure I get an invitation to the grand opening. Now get out of here. Some of us mere mortals have jobs to do,” he teases me, making me flip him off.

  He laughs so loud that I can still hear him even when I close his office door behind me and begin my trek back down the rickety staircase.

  Spotting Davis waiting for me at the curb, I smile and climb inside the car, grateful for the air conditioning now that the temperatures have begun to soar once more.

  “Hey, Davis, thanks for waiting for me.”

  “It's what I do, miss,” he reminds me with a smile as I buckle myself in. “Did everything go okay?”

  “Yeah,” I answer as he pulls away from the curb and into the bustling traffic. “It might not seem like much, but for the most part, I was happy here. My co-workers are also my friends, you know?” A pang of sadness filters through me that I’m leaving.

  “Well, if that's true, then you’ll have nothing to worry about. Your friendships won't end because you don't all work at the same place anymore, and if they do, then they were never true friendships to begin with.”

  “You're right. I’m just nervous, I guess. A lot has changed in the last week and—” I stop myself, remembering I hardly know this poor guy and already I’m dumping all my shit on him.

  “Lord, I’m sorry, ignore me. The pity party is now over,” I promise.

  He laughs lightly at me. “So, where are we heading now, miss?” he questions, looking at me in the rearview mirror as I grimace.

  “Somewhere even worse than the police station, DMV, and bank combined,” I warn him, making his eyes widen a fraction.

  “We aren't going to visit someone in prison, are we?” he asks warily, making me giggle.

  “No, worse. I need you to take me shopping.”

  Twenty-Two

  Asher

  I'm just finishing up looking over an advertising firm’s proposal that appears as if it was constructed by a five-year-old, when my cell rings. I almost ignore it, but when I see Davis’s name on the screen, I answer immediately.

  “What’s wrong?” I ask, forgoing a greeting.

  “I took Linda shopping as she requested, but we ran into a slight issue,” he says quietly.

  I sit forward, wondering what the hell kind of issue they could have possibly run into shopping. “Explain,” I order, knowing he wouldn’t have called me if it wasn’t important.

  “Well, knowing the kind of events Linda would likely be attending as your wife, I drove her to the strip of boutiques that you send your...ah…women friends,” he hedges carefully, and I pray to fuck he hasn't used that term with Linda, even if it was before her time.

  “And?” I impatiently ask, waiting for him to hurry the fuck up and get to the point.

  “And, well, to put it bluntly, sir, they were all a bunch of snobby bitches. So much so that I could see after a few hours of hunting it was starting to wear on her. She became very quiet and withdrawn, which is not like Miss Linda at all.”

  “They were mean to her?” I repeat incredulously, anger clearly evident in my voice.

  “They were cold toward her. In some places, she was followed around as if she would steal something. Other places just flat out refused to serve her. In the end, she lost interest and asked to leave, saying she could find something online. I tried to step in a couple of times, but she always stopped me, and, well, I didn’t want to overstep my mark by
going against her wishes,” he admits, and I can hear how frustrated he is.

  I stand up and shove the proposals into my desk draw before snagging my jacket off the back of my chair.

  “Where are you now?” I question, pulling open my office door, making Rosa jump when it bangs loudly against the wall. “Rosa, I'm heading out for a while. Transfer all important calls to my cell and take messages from the others.”

  I head toward the bank of elevators as she nods, ignoring everyone else around me as I wait for Davis’s reply.

  “We are at the little cafe on Fifth. Miss Linda looked like she could use a coffee and something sweet,” he replies, making me thankful he’s with her today.

  “Stay there. I'm on my way.” I hang up and slide my phone into my pocket. The elevator door slides open so I step inside, my mind so focused on getting to Linda that I fail to notice anyone else in the elevator until the door slides closed.

  “Hello, Asher.” I turn at the purring voice behind me and frown. How the fuck did she get in here? She is not supposed to be able to get any farther than the lobby.

  “Why are you here, Dawn?” Seriously what the fuck does this woman want?

  “I came to see you. We haven't spoken since you approached me with your little idea, so I came to check up on you,” she answers, placing her hand on my arm as she steps closer to me.

  I shrug her off and take a step back.

  “The deal is off, Dawn. I told you that. It was a stupid idea to begin with. I must have still been hungover when I came up with it. Sorry you had to waste your time and your energy by coming down here.”

  “Oh, Asher, now don't be rash in your thinking. Having a fiancée will only help make your character seem more wholesome and stable. I'm willing to do that for you, honey.”