Hoax Husband: A Hero Club Novel

by Candice Wright

  Is she serious right now?

  “You’re making it sound like you'd be doing me a favor when in all honesty, Dawn, you'd be doing it for cold hard cash. Nothing more, nothing less,” I remind her.

  She laughs lightly at my words, leaning over to press the emergency stop button. “It's not all about money and you know it. I've always found you attractive, Asher, I think we could really make this work.”

  Before I can anticipate her move, her lips are on mine—cold, hard and insistent. I'm frozen for a moment, shocked at her fucking audacity before I grab her arms and roughly shove her away.

  I hit the button to continue our descent before leaning in toward her, my anger palpable as it crackles between us. “Touch me like that again, and I'll make you wish you were never born. Get the fuck out of my building and don't come back. If I see you anywhere near this place, I'll destroy you,” I seethe, meaning every fucking word.

  The elevator door slides open with a ding, the small group of people waiting to enter freeze at the look on my face and take a collective step back, so I don’t plow through them as I storm out of the elevator with a furious glare on my face. I march over to the reception desk and try to get a hold on my temper as the receptionist visibly wilts in the face of my anger.

  “This is the last time I will say this. Ms. Larson is not allowed entry to this building under any circumstances. If she turns up, call security, and if she still creates a scene, call the police,” I order.

  The receptionist, who must be new because I don’t recognize her, looks at me with wide uncertain eyes.

  “Yes, sir, Mr. Sloan,” she agrees politely.

  I nod my head and stomp out of the building and wait impatiently for the valet to bring my car around for me.

  When he finally pulls up and tosses me the keys, I tip him and climb inside, heading over to the cafe where Davis told me they were eating. I grip the steering wheel tightly, my knuckles turning white as I fume silently over Dawn’s actions.

  How could I possibly have considered her for the role of my fake fiancée? My skin crawls at the thought.

  Thank fuck I made her sign a nondisclosure agreement because I have no doubt that Dawn is vindictive enough to cause an issue. What she won’t do is risk her money, or what little is left from the settlement my father left her. She knows if she breaks the NDA, she’ll lose everything because I’ll take her to the cleaners. I’ll leave her so broke her descendants will still be paying off her debts.

  Ten minutes later, I pull up outside the cafe and take the last available parking space. I grabbed a coffee from here once or twice when it first opened. Looking around at how busy it is now just shows how popular this place has grown.

  I push the large glass door open as a dozen heads turn to face me, but none of them are who I’m looking for. It isn't until I'm in the center of the room that I spot Davis’s tall frame over the crowd, sitting at a small table in the far corner.

  I maneuver myself around the crowd of people placing their coffee orders and head over to join Davis. As I draw closer, I see Linda seated with her back to me. She’s hunched over the table, her shoulders slumped in a defeated posture. The fury I had managed to get a handle on while driving over here flares to life once more.

  As I approach the table, Davis looks up and nods, but then his eyes go wide when he takes in my face, and I frown. I don’t get to dwell on his bizarre reaction to seeing me, though, because his odd response makes Linda look over her shoulder.

  Her whole face lights up as she sees me, a broad smile spreading across her face that falters moments later before disappearing completely. She gasps loud enough for me to hear her, before turning to look out the window, effectively dismissing me.

  What the fuck?

  “What? Do I have something on my face?” I ask jokingly as I slide into the empty chair beside her.

  “I'll just leave you both to it. Call me if I'm needed,” Davis says quietly, standing and leaving as soon as I nod in agreement at him.

  “Linda?” I call her name softly when she continues to gaze out the window beside her.

  Slowly she turns to face me, and I'm surprised to see her eyes look wet with unshed tears.

  “What the hell is going on? Why are you crying?" I respond, reaching for her, but her body locks solid before she yanks herself away.

  “You have lipstick on your face,” she whispers angrily, making me frown for a second as I try to make sense of what she's saying.

  “That fucking bitch,” I growl as it finally dawns on me what’s wrong. Livid, I grab a napkin off the table and scrub my mouth in disgust. “I realize this looks bad, but when I said I would be faithful to you, I meant it. I'm a lot of things, Skittle, and not all of them are good, but a cheater is not one of them. This is the handiwork of my father's latest vindictive ex-wife,” I admit, having nothing to hide when it comes to Dawn.

  Linda is the only woman I want.

  Her eyes widen, her expression hurt and confused. She has the worst poker face of anyone I’ve ever met, showing everything she feels completely unguarded. I can see she wants to believe me but is still unsure.

  “Dawn is not happy to be yet another in a long line of ex Mrs. Sloans. She thinks the younger Sloan is the way to go.” Not the entire truth but not strictly a lie either.

  As much as I want to give her the full story, it would mean admitting what brought me back into her life, and I’m not sure our relationship is strong enough to weather that storm just yet. It’s a double-edged sword because the longer I go without spilling everything to her, the harder it gets.

  “I was on my way here and she pounced on me in the elevator. I shoved her away and instructed my staff that she is not to set foot back in my building. If she turns up and causes a scene, I'll have her arrested on the spot for trespassing,” I reassure her.

  She stares at me for a long moment before coming to a decision. Slowly, she nods, before taking the napkin from my hands and wiping the space at the side of my mouth I must have missed.

  “I’m sorry I jumped to conclusions,” she apologizes quietly.

  “No,” I tell her, taking her hand, “this is pretty damning. Thank you for believing me.”

  She smiles. It's not her usual blinding one, but I'll take it.

  “What brings you here, anyway?” she questions, placing the napkin back on the table and moving the conversation into safer territory.

  “A little birdy might have told me that shopping was no fun for you today,” I hedge carefully, unsure how she will react to Davis reporting back to me.

  “A little birdy, huh? And does this little birdy's name rhyme with Mavis by any chance?” She shakes her head and laughs softly.

  “Maybe, but it doesn't change the fact that something happened today, and you didn’t call me. Tell me what happened.”

  She looks away with a sigh until I slide my finger under her jaw and turn her head back to face me.

  “Talk to me,” I urge.

  “What do you think most people see when they look at me?” she asks, blowing out a frustrated breath.

  “I think they see a gorgeous girl they want to emulate. Girls want to be like you and guys want to be inside of you,” I answer immediately.

  She slaps my chest playfully and laughs, but it has an edge of sadness to it, which I don’t like one little bit.

  “You, hubby, are clearly biased, but I appreciate it. In real life, though, that's not the case.” She sighs and looks back up at me.

  “Back on my side of Manhattan, I blend in. I'm just one of the masses in all my Technicolor glory. On this side of town, though, I'm judged and found lacking before I've even opened my mouth. After a year away from it all, I forgot what it was like. Almost. I can change who I am to fit the mold you need me to fill. I've done it before but, Asher, I was so unhappy.

  “Have you ever felt like you didn’t belong to the life you were born into? It wasn't always that way for me, but after a while, the expectations grew, and I ended up
feeling like I was an imposter playing dress-up to please the masses. And inside, I was slowly dying.”

  I look at her and remember flashes of that night so long ago back in Vegas. The sensible skirt and flattering blouse, sexy in an understated way, but definitely missing the wild flair that I love so much about her.

  “I don't want you to be anyone but who you are.” And I mean it. That would be like holding a beautiful butterfly in my hands and wishing for a moth.

  “I know, but there will be times, many if this works out between us, where I won't fit into your world. I don't mind dressing up and playing my part for special events, but this,” she waves her hand over her body before looking back up at me, “is as good as it’s going to get on a day to day basis.”

  “Skittle, if this is who I get to wake up to every day and slide inside of every night, I'll die a happy man who spent a lifetime bathed in color.”

  She stares at me in open-mouthed shock. “Who the hell are you, Asher Sloan?” she whispers, searching my eyes for an answer.

  “I'm the man who is about to rectify a wrong. Nobody messes with my wife and gets away with it,” I inform her.

  Twenty-Three

  Linda

  We pull up outside the first boutique we went to earlier in the day, parking in front of the store, giving the assistants that snubbed me an unobstructed view of the Lexus through the large plate-glass window.

  I sit patiently as Asher climbs out and prowls over to my side of the car like a man on a mission. Swinging the door open wide, he offers me his hand and helps me climb out.

  “Where to first?” he asks, making me hesitate. “Did you see anything that caught your eye?” he prompts.

  I think back and remember the black dress with the rainbow-colored sheath beneath it and point to the small store across the street from us.

  “Okay, then, that's where we’ll start,” he announces matter-of-factly, taking my hand in his.

  I let him pull me along, deftly maneuvering us across the busy street and into the high-end boutique that smells of honey and lavender. An odd combination, perhaps, but it somehow seems to work.

  “Can I help you?” a regal sounding voice asks, making both Asher and me turn to look over toward the counter.

  A tall, elegant blonde woman in an expensive-looking heather-gray pantsuit walks around the counter, approaching us with a professional smile on her face. Thankfully, she isn’t the woman who was rude to me earlier.

  “I hope so. My name is Asher Sloan, this is my wife Linda, and we are here to do some shopping. She was here earlier today and found something she liked but left empty-handed when staff members made her feel uncomfortable. Tell me Miss...” He waits for her to fill in the blanks as I grip his hand, embarrassed.

  “Jones. Mrs. Jones,” she answers, looking from Asher to me with a frown on her face.

  “Mrs. Jones, right. Are you willing to help us or should we go elsewhere? I have the money, but zero patience for bullshit,” he adds.

  I look up at him with a scowl as I elbow him in the ribs before addressing the woman. “What my rude ass of a husband is trying to say is, I’ve had a less than stellar morning. I don't fit the mold like most of the women who frequent these shops do. I'm a jeans and t-shirt kind of girl. With these tattoos and the crazy hair, well, let's just say most of the shops along this strip have been less than hospitable. I promise, I’m not a troublemaker.”

  She holds up her hand for me to stop talking as Asher tenses beside me.

  “Did someone here mistreat you?” Her voice is sharp as a whip and leaves no room for arguments.

  “Erm... a young woman with red hair and a face that looked like she had sucked on a lemon,” I answer quietly, making Asher chuckle.

  “Ah, Julia. Well, rest assured, I shall be talking to her when she returns tomorrow. And just so you know, Mrs. Sloan, my husband is a biker. Every inch of his skin is covered in tattoos, which I'm quite fond of if I do say so myself,” she informs me with a wink, making me smile my first genuine smile of the day.

  “Come, let's move this over to the changing rooms, and I'll bring you what I have in store that I think will complement your coloring and style. Was there anything in particular that caught your attention earlier?”

  I tell her about the dress I saw in the window this morning, making her smile widely.

  “Oh, that will be perfect and with your hair, it's like it was made for you. Mr. Sloan, are you coming?” she asks, turning her attention from me back to Asher once more.

  He looks at me before nodding, following behind me as Mrs. Jones takes my arm and walks me over to the changing rooms at the back of the store. I look over my shoulder and blow him a kiss before I'm ushered into a dressing room.

  “I'll be back,” she lets me know, before strolling off like she’s on a mission.

  I hesitate before closing the door, looking up at Asher who is right behind me.

  “You don't have to stay.” I know he must be busy from taking the day off yesterday, but he just leans down and kisses my forehead.

  “I'll sit right there.” He points to a comfy looking gray velvet chair situated in prime position for me to model for him.

  “I have my phone. I can work from here for now. Go have fun.”

  I roll my eyes at that. Fun might be pushing it a little.

  Closing the door, I strip out of my clothes, leaving me in just my underwear until Mrs. Jones returns a few minutes later with three dresses, one of which is the one I spotted in the window earlier.

  “Here we go, size six, right?”

  I nod in agreement.

  “Perfect, start with these. I'm going to find you some underwear that will have your husband salivating,” she whispers with a conspiratorial wink before closing the door behind her.

  Dress number one is a blood-red color. It's tight across the bust and completely strapless, leaving my shoulders bare and my tattoos on full display. It’s a corset style, but with a hidden zipper, so I don’t have to fight with a million laces at the back, thank goodness. Where the top part is tight, the skirt portion of the dress flows loosely to the ground like water, the material some type of chiffon with a shimmer that catches the light as I twirl. It’s a flirty outfit, a mix of sweet and sexy that fits my style perfectly.

  I open the door and wait for Asher to look up from his phone. His eyes widen a fraction when he catches sight of me. They rove up my legs, pausing at my hips before moving slowly over my breasts and up to my face. The look in his eyes makes heat pool low in my belly.

  He coughs to clear his throat. “Yes,” he tells me nonchalantly, before returning his attention to his phone.

  I stifle a laugh as he tries to pretend he’s unaffected and close the door before moving on to the next dress.

  This one is a deep purple and fits like a second skin, so much so that ideally it will need to be worn without underwear. It's strapless like the one before it, but that's where the similarities end. It's tight all over and ends mid-thigh. It's simple and understated yet makes my tattoos the focal point. It looks good if I do say so myself.

  Opening the door once more, I find Asher’s eyes already on me. He lifts his hand and indicates with his finger for me to spin. So I do, slowly turning in a circle so he can get the full effect. I feel his eyes burning their way through the thin material of the dress, making me feel like a goddess.

  “Yes,” he states, his voice a touch deeper than usual. I look over as I’m about to close the door and grin as I catch him adjusting himself.

  “Oh, that looks fabulous. Here, try these too.” Mrs. Jones appears out of nowhere, handing me a pile of silky underwear before turning me back around, helping me with the zipper at the back of the dress without me having to ask. “There, now I'll give you some privacy. I’ll be out front if you need anything else. There is a help button just beside the door if you’d like me to swap the size or find anything else for you,” she tells me kindly.

  “Thank you, you’ve been so helpful
. I really do appreciate it.”

  She squeezes my hand before leaving, nodding her head in Asher’s direction as I lock myself inside the changing room once more.

  Laying the silky bundle of delicates gently on the chair in the corner, I strip out of the dress and swap it for the one that caught my eye in the shop window.

  I fall in love with it the second I slide it on over my head. It’s knee-length and has a 50s style pinup look to it. The silky material ties behind the neck, pulls in tight at the chest and waist, and flares out at the hip. The black material is layered underneath, giving it a poofy effect. Each layer is multicolored, making it look like a rainbow is wrapped around my hips but only peeking through as the dress swishes when I walk.

  Apart from where it ties behind my neck, the dress is completely backless until it hits the top of my ass, making me feel sexy.

  I take a deep breath, feeling beautiful but, most importantly, still feeling like me.

  Opening the door, I nearly jump out of my skin when I find Asher leaning against the frame instead of sitting in the chair.

  “Jesus, you scared me,” I stutter, but Asher doesn’t reply, taking a step back to drink in all my glory.

  “This is the one. If I had to design a dress to illustrate you best, it would be exactly like this,” he says firmly as he reaches for me, wrapping a hand around my waist.

  When his palm encounters nothing but bare skin, he smiles and turns me, finding my back exposed. He trails his fingers down my spine, his gentle touch eliciting a shiver.

  “You'd better get changed before I do something we really shouldn't be doing in an upmarket boutique,” he whispers huskily, closing the door behind him before I can protest.

  I turn to get undressed when my eyes fall on the pile of undergarments Mrs. Jones brought in and a wicked idea springs to mind.

  Stripping off the gown, I drape it on the hanger carefully, taking in my body for a moment in the mirror. High firm breasts, toned stomach, and long shapely legs, ink adorning fifty percent of my body. I have my mother's figure, but I also work hard to maintain it.