Hoax Husband: A Hero Club Novel

by Candice Wright

  “Only you could come out of this deal twenty grand richer. Not to mention you didn’t even have the expense of a wedding. You always were a lucky bastard,” Graham mutters in mock disgust.

  “But I’ll admit this company is as good as ours. You said it yourself. We are offering Peterson the best deal, and with Morris out of the running, he would be a fool not to take it. Plus, with the way Gregory has been watching Linda all night, I have no doubt he will go running back to Peterson and tell him all about your bride and how loved up you are. He wanted us to be engaged or married, and we both gave him that. In fact, we did everything he asked of us. Trust me, that resort is ours,” Graham continues, unaware of the damage his words are inflicting.

  “Don’t jinx it. We still have six weeks until the deal goes through. Peterson could change his mind,” Asher warns him, his words making bile rush up my throat.

  “Or your wife could wake up and leave your ass before then.” Graham laughs as I turn and flee.

  I can’t listen anymore. I don’t need to, I’ve heard enough. I slip off my heels and run, ignoring the startled shouts from the people I bump into. When I spill out onto the street, it's just in time to see a cab pulling up. I don't hesitate before sliding into the worn backseat and telling the driver to take me home. No, not home. To Asher’s place.

  I ask him to wait when we arrive, telling him I’ll pay him double, which he happily agrees to. I dash through the parking entrance, ignoring everyone as I head straight up to the penthouse for what will be the last time. It takes me three tries to get the door open with my shaking hands. When I do, I tear through the apartment, not even bothering to close the door behind me.

  I struggle with the zipper on the dress, wanting to rip it from my body with my bare hands. The gown I felt like a princess in just hours before is now too tight, making my chest constrict as I heave, trying to suck in lungfuls of air, but it's not enough.

  I pull at the material as it finally gives, peeling it from my body until I’m left standing in the pretty lilac underwear I planned on surprising Asher with later. Tears run in rivers down my cheeks, soaking my skin, but I swipe at them angrily as I make a beeline for the bedroom.

  I yank on the first pair of jeans I lay my hands on. Same with the tank and sweatshirt. I shove my feet into some pumps, not caring how I look. I just need to be gone before Asher gets back. Sliding the rings from my finger where Asher had placed them just hours before, I drop them on the bed with the necklace and move to the closet.

  Lifting the tote bag from the shelf I placed it on when I moved in, I shove some clothes to tide me over before grabbing the toiletries I’ll need. Once everything is zipped up inside, I swing the bag over my shoulder and glance around the room that holds so many memories.

  Memories that are now a lie. I can’t handle it—the visions of Asher and me rolling around on the bed laughing, of his lips on my skin, of the look of rapture on his face as he moves inside me.

  It's too much. I slam the door behind me and head to the room I had been using as a studio, knowing I don't have time to collect everything now. I grab my sketchbook and pencils and shove them in my bag before turning to leave, freezing when my eyes land on the easel and the piece I’m currently working on.

  It’s a picture of a man bathed in color, almost as if looking at him through a stained-glass window. A smile teases the edge of his lips as he looks over his shoulder, his indigo eyes vibrant and shining with love.

  I pick it up, swallowing hard around a lump in my throat, letting the rage overtake me as I slam the canvas down over my knee repeatedly until it splits and breaks. I pull and tug until it's broken into two jagged pieces. The symbolism of it matches my broken heart, a fact that isn't lost on me.

  Tossing the canvas carelessly to the floor, I turn to pick up the tote bag and leave with my heart in tatters, making my way down the hall, through the living room to the front door, before pausing at the threshold. Turning to look back one final time, I say goodbye to my temporary home before walking away.

  My happy life was fake, my marriage just a hoax, and the man I trusted turned out to be nothing more than a liar.

  Thirty

  Asher

  I look at my watch again and see Linda’s been gone twenty minutes. Ten minutes I was able to brush off, but twenty is excessive even if there was a long line.

  “What's wrong?” Graham questions as I turn to the back of the room and frown.

  “Linda’s been gone a while,” I mutter, making him laugh.

  “See? Whipped,” he reminds me.

  “You have no room to talk,” I fire back, because we both know it's true. The only reason Soraya isn’t by his side tonight is because of the baby shower and the fact that Graham wasn’t invited.

  “How many times have you called her tonight?” I question with a smile that feels forced as my eyes keep drifting back to the archway.

  “A few, but in my defense, she is baking my kid and I worry. So, shoot me.”

  “Exactly my point. We are both whipped. All jokes aside, though, I admit I got into all of this for the resort, but none of that matters now. If the deal falls through tomorrow, I’ll get over it because I’ll have Linda by my side,” I tell him truthfully.

  “You love her?” he asks softly with no inflection in his voice.

  “More than I ever thought possible. She completely blindsided me and yet somehow, she ended up being the best thing that ever happened to me.”

  “Jesus, you sound like a Hallmark card. Go find her. I can’t handle all this cheesiness, I’m lactose intolerant,” he jeers, giving me a shove in the direction of the bathrooms.

  I laugh and make my way over but Dawn steps in front of me. I’ve managed to avoid her all night, but I knew my luck would run out eventually.

  “Dawn,” I grit out a forced greeting as I attempt to move around her, but she blocks my path.

  “If you’re looking for my substitute, you won’t find her. She left about ten minutes ago,” she says smugly.

  “What are you talking about, Dawn? I don’t have time for this.”

  “I’m talking about that poor unsuspecting fool you had draped all over you earlier. I don't know who was more surprised—her at finding out this arrangement was a sham or me when I found out you tricked the poor girl into playing a role she was ill-equipped for,” she tells me with a sickeningly sweet smile stretched across her face.

  “What did you say to her?” I snap out, my heart racing as everything inside me yearns to run after her.

  “The truth. That until she showed up with her golden pussy, you were set to play the fake fiancé with me for three months.”

  I close my eyes as my white-hot anger rushes through my bloodstream over the damage this woman has caused.

  “You stupid fucking bitch,” I bite out and her eyes widen in shock at my outburst. “I hope you have some money left over from daddy dearest because you just broke the NDA you signed. My lawyer is going to have fun taking every last cent from you.”

  Her face bleaches white. “What? No, you didn’t go through with the deal. You went with little miss clueless.”

  “Say one more word about my wife, and I won't be held accountable for my actions.” I point my finger in her face.

  “Wife!” she screeches, drawing attention from the people behind her.

  “Yes, my wife,” I spit out before leaning in closer, my lips brushing against her ear. “And the NDA covered all conversations pertaining to anything to do with the proposed arrangement. You should have read the small print, sweetheart.”

  “Asher, you can’t do this to me. I’m sorry, I was upset—”

  I cut her off with a look so vicious I’m surprised it doesn't draw blood. “My lawyer will be in touch. I’d start packing if I were you, Dawn. By the time I’m finished, you’ll have nothing left but the clothes you’re wearing.” I storm away, heading for the door, but a hand on my shoulder has me swinging around to find a concerned-looking Graham.

&n
bsp; “What the fuck is going on?”

  “Linda’s gone. Dawn struck out with her claws and because I still hadn’t spoken to Linda and explained everything from the beginning, I’m guessing she thinks this whole thing was a ruse to get the resort, which we both know hasn’t been the case for a while.”

  “Fuck. Go, I’ll head people off here and say your goodbyes for you. I’ll tell them Linda wasn’t feeling well. Find her and fix this.” He turns and heads back to the ballroom as I make my way to the cloakroom.

  I hand the ticket to the bored-looking woman manning the desk and wait until she returns with Linda’s wrap. Shit, she ran out of here without it when it's freezing outside, making me feel like an even bigger asshole. I grab it and head out onto the street and text Davis, who thankfully must have been waiting nearby because he pulls up barely ten minutes later.

  I slide into the back onto cold leather seats as the car pulls away. “Davis, have you seen Linda this evening?” I rush out—the need to find her clawing at my insides.

  “Not since I dropped you off, sir, no. Is something wrong?” he asks, concerned.

  “Just take me home, Davis, as quickly as you can.”

  “Yes, sir, of course.”

  The ten minutes it takes to get to my building are the longest ten minutes of my life. I hurry out of the car and into the building, where Thomas is at his post.

  “Thomas, have you seen Linda tonight?” I bark at him.

  “No, sir, but I’ve not long returned from my break.”

  I don’t wait for him to say anything else, even as he calls after me. I run to the elevator and hit the button to the penthouse so hard my palm stings. The doors slide closed, showing me my harried reflection in the mirrored panels as I wait for the elevator to ascend slowly.

  I didn’t hesitate to leave the gala, my instincts forcing me to find Linda and confront her, to get down on my knees and beg her to stay. But now self-preservation has kicked in, that same instinct is warning me that it won't be that easy. I’m left reeling at the knowledge that there is a possibility Linda won't listen to me, or worse, doesn’t believe me. But why would she when I lied to her from the start? Fuck, I have to try, I have to show her. Somehow, I’ll make her see that she is all that matters to me.

  Six months ago, I would have balked at the idea of being happily married. I was jaded and pissed off, writing romance off as a whimsical farce, but the last six weeks have been the best of my life. Being with Linda didn’t take anything away from the man I was, it turned me into the man I was always meant to be.

  Or at least should have been. My fear of losing her always prevented me from being upfront about my less than stellar intentions when I first sought her out, but because I hid that from her, I might lose her anyway.

  When the elevator doors slide open, I stride to the apartment door with sweaty palms and a horrible sense of foreboding. Swinging the penthouse door open, I immediately know that she’s gone. The warmth that Linda brought here with her when she moved in has disappeared like she’s taken it with her, leaving this place as cold and as sterile as it had been before she arrived.

  “Fuck,” I shout, slamming the door behind me as I head to the bedroom. Her rings and dress are on the bed where she tossed them. There are other traces of her here, her perfume on top of the dresser, her robe on the back of the door, but her clothes are gone from the closet, and the bathroom has been emptied of her things.

  It's clear she left in a hurry, only taking what she could carry. I move to her studio and note that her art is still there, but on the floor is a torn canvas I hadn’t seen before. I bend and pick it up and stare down at the image and swallow hard. It's me, and it's clear that each brush and stroke had been made with love and reverence. Love and reverence that I shit all over, and like the broken picture in my hand, I destroyed everything.

  Thirty-One

  Linda

  If I was hoping for an emotional reprieve when I woke up, I was to be sorely mistaken. The second I open my puffy eyes, I remember. The humiliation and pain are making space for their dear friend anger this morning.

  I sit up gingerly, my body aching and lethargic as if I had run a marathon. I swing my legs off the bed and sit for a moment, trying to arrange my thoughts into some kind of cohesive plan, but I’ve got nothing.

  As nice as it is for Tig and Delia to put me up for the night, I can’t say here indefinitely. On that thought, I climb to my feet and head to the bathroom for a quick shower before heading downstairs. The kitchen is deserted, but I find a note on the counter letting me know Tig and Delia are both at the tattoo shop and that I’m welcome to stay as long as I like. As much as I hate putting them out, I have zero options available to me right now other than to go crawling back to my stepfather, and I refuse to do that.

  “Okay, Linda. You’ve been in worse situations. You can figure this out. Coffee first, then job hunting,” I mumble to myself, finding this place too quiet with only myself for company.

  By the time I’ve consumed my second cup of coffee, I feel slightly more human. Job wise there isn’t much out there, but I can’t afford to be picky. I try not to feel bitter about giving up my job at Illusions because this was precisely the kind of thing I was afraid of, but I can’t be angry at anyone but myself. I should have known better. Using my phone, I apply for a few bartending jobs before deciding to go for a run to clear my head.

  If I stay here alone much longer, I’m going to fall apart. In fact, the only thing that's stopping that from happening right now is the anger coursing through me. I need to burn some of it off or I’m afraid I’m going to start smashing stuff.

  I get dressed in yoga pants and a racerback tank top with a built-in bra shelf before pulling my hair up into a ponytail. I slip on my pumps, which aren't ideal for running, but they’ll do in a pinch.

  Grabbing my phone and the spare key Tig left for me, I head for the door and pull it open only to freeze at the sight of Asher asleep in the hallway with his back against the wall. Even in sleep, he looks exhausted. My heart clenches at the thought, but then I remember what he did to me, and any sympathy evaporates. I close and lock the door quietly behind me, step over his extended legs, and leave as silently as I can. I’m not ready to deal with him yet. I’m not sure I ever will be.

  I run the trail that loops around the back of Tig's apartment to the park, pausing when I get there to take a breather. My legs burn from being pushed, but the pain gives me something to focus on.

  I hear laughter and turn to see a man and a woman with their arms wrapped around each other. They sound so happy, but the noise grates on my frayed nerves. Unable to handle listening to them any longer, I head back, praying Asher is gone when I get there.

  Thankfully, he is, so I’m able to slip in and take a shower before checking my emails. I’m shocked to find a response to one of the jobs I applied for earlier. That was fast; they must be desperate. Scanning the email, I see my assumption was correct as they want me to pop down for an informal interview due to being short-staffed.

  I change into smart jeans and a purple v-neck sweater with black ankle books from Delia’s closet. Thankfully, she is the same shoe size as me. I pull my hair back into a neat braid.

  Creeping over to the door, I peek outside to make sure the hallway is still empty. It is, so without wasting time, I quickly leave and make my way to the bar. It takes twenty minutes to get there on foot, which is perfect. I won't have to waste cash on the bus or cab fare.

  I arrive at the address, but there is no name above the bar, just a faded green sign with chipped and peeling paint. I double-check the email, but it's definitely the right place. Looking through the window, I see there are already people inside drinking even though it's not lunchtime yet.

  Pushing the dark wooden door open, I head inside the dimly lit room that smells of spilled beer and fried foods, and make my way over to the bar.

  “Hi, I’m looking for Colin,” I tell the large overweight guy behind the bar reading a news
paper.

  He looks up and takes me in, his muddy brown eyes roving over my body from head to toe before he smiles, revealing a toothy smile. “You, Linda?” he asks, leaning over to shake my hand.

  I nod and place my palm in his sweaty one, before pulling away and discreetly wiping it on my jeans.

  “I’m Colin. You worked in a bar before?” he questions.

  “Yeah, for a year until recently,” I answer with a polite smile

  “Good, when can you start?” he asks, shocking me.

  “Wait, what? I got the job, just like that?”

  He shakes his head at me with a smile stretched across his face. “Unless you don't want it anymore.”

  “No. No, I do. I’m just surprised. I thought I’d be waiting by the phone for a reply. I can start tonight if you need me.”

  “That would be great. Everyone besides Patty, who will be on tonight with you, has come down with the flu. Let me just grab a couple of T-shirts for you. Small, right?” he says, eyes drifting to my chest.

  “Erm…yeah, thanks,” I mumble in reply.

  He heads through a door marked “Staff Only” while I stand wondering if I really want to work here. I look around the room, taking in the large screen television mounted on the wall in the corner showing an old baseball game. There is a pool table along the back wall and dark wood tables littered haphazardly around the room with what look like the world's most uncomfortable wooden chairs. It's not as upscale as my previous job, but I can’t afford to be picky right now.

  A sports bar like this usually attracts a mostly male customer base, but as long as they keep their hands to themselves, I’ll be fine. A job is a job. I’m certainly not in a position to complain.

  “Here you go. Bring your identification, bank details, and whatnot tonight, and I’ll get you on the books. You’ll get paid at the end of each week and whatever tips you earn are yours to keep. Sound good?” Colin rattles off as he walks back through the door with a couple of T-shirts in his hand.