I find a spot in the back near a fireplace, wondering idly why the fuck they have a fireplace in Vegas, when a cute waitress approaches to take my order. Not trusting my stomach not to revolt, I just ask for coffee.
“Make that two,” Graham tells her as he approaches from behind her, making her jolt.
She nods her head and scurries off to do our bidding.
“You look like shit,” he remarks as he opens the button on his dark-gray suit jacket and sits in the chair opposite mine.
“Fuck you,” I retort light-heartedly.
“I’ll pass,” he answers dryly, making me chuckle then groan when my headache reappears with a vengeance.
“How did it go, anyway?” I ask him, even though he kept me relatively updated by texting through the night, not that I found the messages until this morning.
“It's pretty much a done deal. Parker and Johnson are coming by my office on Monday to sign the contracts. Just make sure you turn up for that. There are only so many times I can tell them your grandmother died before they get suspicious.”
“Don’t worry, I’ll be there,” I reply as the waitress places our coffees on the table in front of us.
“What time is your flight?” he asks before taking a sip, seeming impervious to the scalding temperature.
I check my watch before answering. “In a couple of hours. Yours?” I look around as the restaurant starts to fill with hotel guests emerging from their rooms in search of food.
“Not until this evening. I have another meeting scheduled for two—if my useless secretary didn’t fuck that up as well,” he grumbles.
I laugh, ignoring the thumping in my skull.
“What is it with you and your secretaries? It's like you're going for the most likely to quit world record.”
“Good staff are hard to find. Apparently, my current one can’t even source a pitcher of water.” He waves me off when I start to speak, letting me know he’s done talking about it.
“I’ve got to go,” he tells me as he finishes his coffee and stands.
“We’ll grab lunch on Monday after the contracts are signed. You’re buying,” he throws over his shoulder as he walks out, leaving a twenty on the table for the waitress.
I take my time finishing my coffee, letting my eyes rove over the now busy room and briefly wonder if the woman from my bed this morning is here somewhere, but I shake off that thought. Vaguely, I recall her saying she was here for the same meeting I was, so she’s likely long gone by now, which is just as well. I don’t go back for seconds unless the woman knows beforehand what she’s getting—ultimately nothing more than a series of fucks before I swap her out for someone else so she doesn’t form any unwanted attachments.
As I’m swallowing the last mouthful of my coffee, I have the startling revelation that I’m far more like my father than I realized.
Three
Linda
Another day, another mirror, and I can’t say I like my reflection any more than I did back in my hotel room in Vegas. I finish swiping on the coat of mascara that darkens and lengthens my lashes and call it good.
Today I’m in smart black Capri pants, with a white chiffon, long-sleeved blouse that has a bow at the neck. The long sleeves cover the tattoos as per usual, but I chose this top for the knotted bow at my neck, which hides the fading teeth marks from the man I haven’t been able to get off my mind. Not since he kicked me out the morning after the night we spent together.
I turn from the mirror and slip my black wedge heeled sandals on my feet, promising myself that if I make it through the week—fuck, if I just make it through today—I’ll treat myself to another tattoo. Lord fucking knows I deserve one, and something tells me that today is going to be the kind of Monday that will drive me to drink.
I head to the office early, not wanting anything to set Graham off again. Not after enduring his ten-minute speech about fucking secretaries and their incompetence because of me getting locked out of that godforsaken room. Even though it was the asshole's fault in the first place.
Technically, I don’t start until nine, but for the six weeks… Jesus, has it only been six weeks? It feels like six soul-sucking years that I’ve been here. Anyway, yeah, I’m contracted to start at nine, but I’ve been arriving thirty minutes early every day since the start.
Today, I’m not taking any chances and decide I’d better make it in an hour earlier, just in case.
Passing through the main doors, I offer a smile to the receptionist that goes unreturned and head to the bank of elevators at the back of the building. I take a deep breath and give myself a mental pep talk.
I can do this. I have been doing this. Although it’s by far the worst job I’ve ever had, I still turn up and do my best every single day. Today will be no different, and after the shittastic weekend in Vegas, it’s hardly likely to be any worse.
Taking another deep breath and letting it out slowly, I smooth my hair back, which is in a low ponytail today, and stand tall.
Come on, Linda, time to suck it up. Things can always be worse.
The doors slide open with a ding, and I walk out into the air-conditioned corridor leading to Graham's office and my desk just outside it. Once there, I hang my purse on the back of the chair, fire up the computer, and start making my way through today's list of tasks.
Graham is in back-to-back meetings for most of the day, so at least my interactions with him will be minimal. At 8:45, I make my way over to the staff breakroom and fix Graham his morning coffee before heading to his office that I know he has likely been in since six this morning.
I knock lightly and wait patiently for a response.
I don't have to wait long before he yells through the door, “What?”
“Coffee, sir,” I call out, keeping my voice even and professional even though in my mind I’m inside his office pouring coffee all over his lap.
“Well, hurry up then, before it goes cold,” he yells again, so I open his door and make my way to his desk. Placing it gently on the edge, I turn to leave before his next words stop me.
“Is everything set up for my 9:30?” he barks, and I blink for a second, wondering how likely I am to get off with an insanity plea if I snap and strangle him with his tie.
“Yes, sir. Stephanie will meet everyone in reception and show them to the conference room for you. I’ll have refreshments ready once everyone is seated.”
“Hmm…let’s hope you’re more successful in your duties today than last time then,” he says as he turns away, clearly dismissing me.
What a fucking tool.
I see myself out, catch up on unanswered emails, and keep my head down when twenty minutes later, Graham leaves his office. Thankfully, he ignores me as he heads to the elevator. I finish my tasks before checking the time and decide to get the drinks set up now so I don't disturb everyone once the meeting has started.
I make it to the conference room before anyone else and line up the cups on saucers with shiny silver teaspoons beside each cup. I hear the door open and voices talking as the room begins to fill behind me. Shutting it out, I concentrate on my task at hand, pouring coffee into each of the eight cups. I figure instead of just asking how everyone takes theirs, I will add the sugar bowl and the jug with the creamer to the table so people can help themselves.
Sensing that everyone is seated, I pick up a cup in each hand, plaster on a fake smile, and turn to the table when I catch sight of who is sitting beside Graham.
I’m so shocked I stumble, tripping over my own feet and watch in horrified slow motion as the cups fly through the air, dousing both Graham and Asher in hot coffee.
I land hard on my hands and knees to the cacophony of shouting and curse words. I risk looking up, my eyes clashing with the indigo blue ones that had previously stared into mine with lust as he moved inside me.
Now they hold nothing but anger and frustration. What they don’t show is an apology. Even more soul-destroying is that there is no flicker of recognition either.
“Get your stuff and get the fuck out of my building. You’re fired,” Graham’s voice spits angrily from beside him, drawing my attention away from Asher.
I drop my head in defeat.
A hand appears in front of me belonging to an older man with a frown on his face that’s aimed at the two assholes, not me. I take it gratefully, offering him a shaky smile and allow him to help me stand.
My knees throb and my palms sting, but I ignore it, thanking the only man in the room who showed me some kindness and head toward the door. I pull it open and then close it behind me, without looking back. I take a deep breath and wait for everything to hit me, because at the moment, all I feel is utter relief.
I move on autopilot toward my desk. Collecting my things, I turn to leave when a thought occurs to me. I sit in the office chair for what will be the last time and write a note titled Dear future secretary and hide it in the memo list that only the secretaries access.
Standing again, this time with a smile, I grab my jacket and my bag and head back toward the elevators, mulling over the words I left for the unlucky soul that comes after me.
Dear future secretary,
It's not you; it's 100% him. Hold your head up high and smile, then pick up your bag, stride out in your fabulous shoes, and treat yourself to a cocktail. You deserve better than to be treated like a nobody. Life is way too short to be treated as one by a man who will never appreciate you, whether that man is your boss, your father, or your partner.
Stand tall in those fabulous shoes and walk the fuck away.
I smile as the elevator doors slide open, feeling lighter somehow, freer. I walk over to the receptionist who never smiles and wait until she looks up at me.
“Can you send a message to Mr. Morgan, please?”
She nods, taking out a pen and paper. “What do you need me to tell him?” she questions, ever efficient.
“Tell him, Linda says, fuck you.” I smile, turn on my heel, and leave Morgan Financial Holdings for the last time.
I don’t look back, but as the glass door closes behind me and I turn to walk away, I catch sight of the receptionist's lip twitch before a broad smile splits her face.
Four
Asher
After a rocky start, the meeting runs smoothly and all the contracts are signed.
“You still want to grab breakfast?” Graham asks when the last person leaves.
“I’m going to have to take a raincheck. I need to head back home and get changed now before the meeting I have downtown this afternoon.”
“I’m sorry about Laura. I swear I should have just fired her weeks ago.”
I shake my head at him. The number of secretaries Graham goes through is legendary.
“Call me later and we’ll set something up for next week,” I tell him as we shake hands and I leave him to it.
Making my way to the elevators, I whistle quietly while I wait and think about what I have on my calendar for the rest of the day. I ride down to the lobby somewhat distractedly, smiling at the brunette who passes me as I leave the elevator.
A flash of heat washes over me, not because of the woman at my back, but at the memory of one who fucked me stupid back in Vegas. Shaking my head to clear it before my dick starts saluting people, I look toward the reception desk as I pass, catching a snippet of the conversation.
“She said, sir, and I quote, fuck you. Am I right in assuming you’ll need me to contact the agency about a replacement secretary?” the woman asks sweetly, making me chuckle.
Pushing the doors open, I stop for a moment and inhale deeply. The air is damp today after last night's rainfall. I fill my lungs before turning and heading home to change. Nothing, not even spilled coffee, is going to mess with my mood today. At least it only burned my legs not my dick, right?
Of course, I really shouldn't have tempted fate because when I pull up to my office building an hour and a half later, I immediately notice the Audi parked out front.
“Fuck,” I gripe, climbing from my car and heading inside.
I can’t even sneak past because the receptionist clocks me the second I walk through the door.
“Good morning, Mr. Sloan. Your 11:30 called. They are running a little late and Beatrice from Carter and Johnsons called to make an appointment for next week.”
“Thank you, Clara,” I tell her, grabbing the note from her hand when she offers it to me.
“Your…stepmother is also here to see you,” she says awkwardly. Her reaction isn’t surprising given that the stepmother in question is younger than me.
I offer her a nod and a tight smile before turning to face the woman I have no desire to see.
It's barely lunchtime, yet Dawn is wearing a skin-tight, short black dress with matching high heels, looking as if she’s ready to go clubbing. She makes her way over to me, flicking her long, bleached-blonde hair over her shoulder as her red-stained lips stretch into a predatory smile.
“Asher,” she greets in an exaggerated way that grates on my nerves.
“Dawn,” I clip out in return.
Not wanting to cause a scene in the lobby, I escort her upstairs to my office, tuning her out as she chatters on about inconsequential shit that I don't give one single fuck about. Shutting the door behind her, I sit in my chair and talk right over her, knowing if I wait for her to get to the point on her own, I’ll be here all week.
“Dawn, what are you doing here?” I ask her bluntly, feeling the beginnings of a headache pressing against my temple.
“I signed the divorce papers this morning and your father informed me he's getting married?” Her voice turns shrill at the end.
“Yes, and?” I question, wondering what the fuck I did to deserve this.
“And? And? Jesus, Asher, the ink isn’t even dry and he’s picked out his next bride. What will people think?”
“Honestly, Dawn, they’ll think the same as they did last time. You know, when he divorced Carina before marrying you. You didn’t seem so bothered by it then,” I point out.
“I was blinded by love,” she huffs, making me roll my eyes.
More like blinded by dollar signs.
“Regardless, I still don't understand what you’re doing here,” I reply impatiently.
“It's just…everything is so expensive here….” She drifts off.
“Guess it's time you thought about moving back home then.” I stand to show her out, but she walks forward and places a hand on my chest, the other dragging red-tipped nails up my arm seductively.
“Maybe you could take me out to dinner and we could…talk some more.” She says the word talk like she would say fuck.
I step back and open the door wide.
“I’ll pass. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a hectic day that I have already taken time out of to speak with you.”
She picks up her bag with a huff and stomps out of my office, back toward the elevators. I close the door, move around my desk, drop my ass into my chair, and hit the button on my phone for Clara.
“Clara, please add Ms. Larson’s name to the Mr. Sloan is not available list, thank you.” I hang up before she says anything.
Damn, I miss Rosa. Where Graham goes through secretaries like men go through dollar bills at a strip club, Rosa has been with me since the inception of my company. Now she’s off for two weeks to help her daughter, who has just given birth, and I’m man enough to admit this place doesn’t run half as well without her.
She would have gotten rid of Dawn the second she stepped her shiny Louboutins inside my building. I take a deep breath and stand then walk to the bank of windows that look down on the street below just in time to see Dawn hailing a cab and climbing inside.
It’s always the same story, each time playing out with a different star. I wonder if my father knows how many of his exes hit on me or if he would even care. One thing’s for sure, this little scene just solidifies everything I already know about what kind of man I am.
And it is not the marrying kind.<
br />
Five
Asher
One Year Later
“You can’t be serious!” I spin away from the window to face Graham, who looks no happier about this information bomb than I do.
“When do I ever joke about business? Whatever the guy's reasoning is, the fact remains that it’s Peterson's company, and he can sell it to whoever he wants.”
“He’s fucking insane. We’ve offered him more than every other potential buyer out there, and I know this for a fact. Are you telling me he’s going to turn down cash in favor of love?” I question scornfully.
Graham shrugs. “He wants his company to go to people who appreciate the meaning of family. I might not agree with his methods, but I can't disagree with his reasoning,” he answers evenly.
“Soraya is making you soft,” I tell him with a sigh, folding myself into my office chair.
“Trust me when I tell you my fiancée makes me anything but soft,” he retorts with a smirk.
I shake my head and feel my lips twitch despite my current mood. Graham and Soraya’s relationship has been anything but plain sailing thanks to the reappearance of a venomous ex and a daughter he never knew he had. Still, they worked through their shit and are now expecting a kid of their own.
“I want this company, Graham.” I tell him something he already knows. I was, after all, the one who approached him with this joint venture.
“I know you do, and if there wasn’t a stipulation in place banning the new buyers from selling within the first three years, I’d buy it and sell you half after the fact.” He looks at me for a moment, considering his next words. “What about a fake fiancée?”
“Say what now?”
Hoax Husband: A Hero Club Novel Page 2
