“Yes. And thank you. This is perfect,” I tell him, taking the shirts when he offers them to me.
He laughs at that. “We’ll see if you still think that tonight at closing. Be here at 7:00 p.m. and don't be late,” he replies dismissively as he smiles at an approaching customer.
I don't hang around. I walk out onto the street, feeling relieved that I won’t have to mooch off Delia and Tig for much longer, now that I’ll have a regular paycheck coming in. Making my way back to Tig’s, my relief at finding a job so quickly wanes when I see a familiar figure sitting on the floor in the hallway beside the front door once more.
“Motherfucker,” I whisper.
I’m so not ready to do this with him, but like with everything else, Asher just does what Asher wants. He sits there watching me approach, proving he couldn’t care less about what I want.
Well, if he thinks he can sweet talk me, he is out of his freaking mind.
Thirty-Two
Asher
I finally tracked her down to Tig’s, but the asshole wouldn't let me in to see her. Even so, I refused to leave. I didn’t even realize I had fallen asleep until a pissed off Delia started shaking my arm telling me Linda had gone out and she didn’t know when she would be back.
I went home and grabbed a shower and forced myself to eat something, which ended up tasting like sawdust, before returning to wait for her to get back from wherever she’d gone.
I haven’t been here long before I hear the staccato noise of heels tap-tap-tapping over concrete as they draw closer to me. Lifting my head, my eyes clash with her angry blue ones.
“What are you doing here?” she spits out angrily before I can speak.
“I came to see you.”
“Well, I’m sorry you've wasted your time.” She steps around me and fumbles with her key in the lock. I wrap my hand around hers, freezing her movements before she yanks it away as if my touch burned her.
“Don’t touch me.” The anger is still clear in her voice, but beneath it, I can hear the hurt I caused, even as she tries to hide it from me.
“Please, Skittle, let me explain.” She whirls on me, poking my chest with her finger.
“I’m not your Skittle. Fuck, I’m not your anything. I’m certainly not your wife. You, Asher, are a liar and a user. I don’t want to see you again unless it’s to serve me with divorce papers,” she yells with tears running down her cheeks. Then she somehow manages to get the door open and shut herself inside while I stand there, reeling from her words.
I lean my head against the wood and plead with her. “I’m sorry, Skittle. I swear to god, the second I laid eyes on you behind the bar that day, my whole plan changed. I knew right at that moment that I wanted to keep you forever. Please, baby, give me a chance to explain,” I beg.
I hear a thump, which sounds like her banging her head against the opposite side of the door before she answers. “Please just go. If you ever loved me, even just a little bit, you’d leave,” she whispers on a sob.
“I’d give you anything, Skittle, but I can’t give you that,” I tell her honestly.
She doesn’t answer, and after ten minutes, I know she isn’t going to.
I sit in the same spot I did before, leaning my head back against the wall and close my eyes. How did I let everything spin so far out of control?
I must drift off again because the next thing I know, I’m being nudged awake less than gently by Tig’s giant foot.
“I usually like to keep the garbage on the curb,” he informs me with a scowl.
“I’m not leaving.”
“I could call the police and have you removed,” he says with a smug smile that I want to smack off his face.
“You could, but I’d just come back,” I reply in earnest.
He sighs and the smugness leaves his face as he looks toward the closed door.
“Look, the longer you stay out here, the longer she stays in there. She needs space to lick her wounds. You fucked up. This is the price you pay.” He holds up his hand to shut me up as I try to speak. “I’m not saying give up. I’m saying be smart. Sitting outside my door like the loser you are won’t win you any brownie points. How badly did you fuck up?”
“She didn’t tell you?” I ask, surprised.
“No, she didn’t really talk much at all. Just asked if she could crash here for a few nights.”
“I fucked up big,” I admit, not sugar-coating it.
“Then the apology needs to be bigger. Don’t say it, show it. This,” he waves at me, “is not showing it.” He turns and enters his apartment, leaving me to ponder what he said.
Fuck, I can’t believe I’m going to admit this, but he’s right. I look at the door and sigh. As much as I don't want to leave, it's time to come up with a new plan of action. I call Davis and have him take me back to the penthouse, where I spend the rest of the day fielding calls and making plans. By the time I’m done, it's dark outside and my stomach is yelling for food.
I order some Chinese food, then decide to order food for Linda too, and get all her favorites delivered to Tig’s place. I send her a text, not surprised when I don't hear back from her and toss my phone onto the sofa only to rush back over to it when it rings.
Unfortunately, it's my father, not Linda. I let it go to voicemail, but he just calls again and again until I give in and answer. “I’m kind of in the middle of something here, Dad,” I tell him, frustrated.
“Charming,” he answers dryly. “I’m calling to invite you to dinner. Melody would like to meet you.” I shake my head, really not wanting to get into this right now.
Hell, if he had asked me what his wife's name was before he mentioned her, I wouldn’t have been able to give it.
“I have a lot going on at the moment, Dad. I’ll let you know when I’m free,” I lie easily.
He sighs like I’m the biggest pain in his ass. “Family is important, son. The sooner you figure that out, the better.”
My back goes straight at his words, my free hand fisting at my side. “You don’t need to tell me that. I know how important family is, and it's not because I learned it from you. It's because of my wife, a wife who at this moment in time doesn’t like me very much.”
“A wife?” he splutters.
“Yeah. I’m sure you’re familiar with the concept, Christ knows you had enough of them.”
“Now, hang on a second—” he bites out, but I talk over him, my anger and frustration lashing out, not caring who their target might be.
“Just save it. You are in no position to give me advice, which fucking sucks because I could really use some right now. I love you, Dad, but I’m in no frame of mind to have dinner with you and one of your interchangeable wives when we both know this time next year you’ll be eating dinner with her replacement.” I hang up on him and put the phone on silent, having reached my limit of bullshit for today.
I sit at the breakfast bar and eat the food when it arrives, realizing just how fucking quiet it is in here. If I can’t convince Linda to come home, this will be my new normal. No, fuck that. One way or another, I will make my wife fall in love with me again.
I don’t care what I have to do, whatever it takes for however long, I’ll show Linda that I can be the husband she needs me to be even if I have to kidnap her and tie her to the bed to do it.
Thirty-Three
Linda
It started with Chinese food and a text saying your hair—nothing else.
The text came through while I was working that first night, so I didn't get it until afterward when I walked through the door to Tig’s place and found a note with the Chinese food in the fridge. Was I mad still? Yup. Did I eat the food anyway? Of course I did, but I ate it angrily.
The next day it was Indian curry delivered to the door while I watched Friends reruns and a text saying your taste.
This pattern continued for two weeks, a different meal, and a different message sent every single night listing all the things he loved about me.
> Except for tonight.
Tonight I found an invitation to an art gallery opening for a new up-and-coming artist two weeks from now and a box containing a beautiful black silk floor-length dress with a slit up the left thigh revealing the hot pink lining underneath. Also tucked inside the box was a pair of gorgeous pink strappy heels and a beautiful vibrant rainbow-colored pashmina wrap.
There was also a note inside the box written in Asher's cursive writing. “For the woman who brings color into my world.”
I close the lid and drop my head to the table and sigh.
“You can’t ignore him forever, you know?”
I look up at Delia and frown. “Sure, I can,” I tell her defiantly.
She laughs and pulls out the chair opposite mine at the table. “Did I ever tell you about the time Tig and I split up?” she asks casually.
“What? No, when was this?” Tig and Delia have the kind of relationship I dream about. I had no idea they had come so close to walking away from each other.
“It was a long time ago now. I wasn’t much older than you. We had just opened the tattoo parlor, and it was hard. Money was tight. Tig worked long into the night to make ends meet. We hardly saw each other, and when we did, we fought. In the end, I walked out because somewhere along the way, my life became all about Tig, and I lost myself in the process. I felt stifled by him, but without him beside me, I found I couldn’t breathe. He hurt me, I hurt him, we fought, yelled, screamed, and threw stuff, but I couldn’t sleep in my bed without him beside me. You need to ask yourself what you can live with. He lied to you and hurt you, but he is trying to atone for it. Can you live with his reasoning? Ask yourself if you can live with the possibility of never waking up beside him again or worse still, knowing someone else is taking up the space in that bed and his heart that once was yours.”
Her words cause a sharp pain to tear through my heart at the thought of Asher with anyone else. “I’m scared,” I admit. “What happens if he changes once the deal goes through?” What if all this really is a lie? I just don’t know what to believe anymore.
“Then wait until after the deal deadline. If he welcomes you home, you have your answer. If not, well, then you still have your answer and I have a shovel and a large trunk, just saying.”
I laugh as she stands and walks over to give me a quick hug.
“Now get your ass in the shower. You stink. I’ll see you after work later, okay?”
“Okay, and Delia?”
She turns back to face me with her hand on the door handle.
“Thank you.”
“You wanna thank me, come down to the studio and let me pierce you. You let Tig put all this gorgeous ink on you. I want my turn too.” She pouts, making me shake my head as I move to leave the kitchen.
“Can’t say I find the thought of you shoving a needle through my nipples appealing in the slightest, Del.” I cringe at the thought.
“The pain lasts for seconds, but when they’re healed and being tugged on while you ride a big dick, you’ll thank me for it,” she yells over her shoulder before slamming the door behind her on my laugh.
I make quick work of the shower and shimmy into black skinny jeans and the t-shirt with the bar’s logo on it before blasting my hair with the dryer. Once done, I gloss my lips and grab my leather jacket as my phone rings on the kitchen counter. Rushing toward it, I frown when I see a local number I don't recognize.
“Hello?” I answer with some trepidation, half hoping it's Asher calling from a different number, half hoping it isn’t.
“Mrs. Sloan? This is Molly phoning from Union Arts. I just wanted to reach out in person and tell you how thrilled we are to be a part of your art debut. Your work is as stunning as your husband said it was. Would you be able to come down on Saturday and help with the placement of the display pieces? At say, 4:00 p.m.? Oh shoot, I have another call. Thanks again, I can’t wait to finally meet you in person. I do hope you’re feeling better.” She disconnects, leaving me staring at my phone in shock.
What the actual fuck?
I open the text screen and, for the first time since leaving, I send Asher a text.
What did you do?
When he doesn’t answer, I storm into my room to grab my boots before heading out to work. I will have to deal with him later. Maybe I should take Delia up on her shovel and trunk offer.
It isn’t until later, when there is a lull in the crowd of customers, that it hits me that my artwork is going to be on display for all to see. My heart races at the thought, my palms get sweaty, and the urge to throw up overwhelms me, but I manage to swallow it down.
Why did he do this? Is it just to earn brownie points? But even as I think about it, I know that’s not it. This could very easily have gone both ways for him. He knows how I feel about the thought of having my work displayed, how my heart wars with my self-loathing. I want this more than anything, but the thought of putting myself out there for people to rip to shreds has always held me back.
Asher has forced my hand, giving me a target to channel my anger toward if I fail spectacularly.
He has also given me the one thing I refused to give myself.
The chance to shine.
Thirty-Four
Asher
“Well, I can say you have surprised me with your tenacity—you, Asher, perhaps even more than all the other candidates. I’ll admit that I had some preconceived notions about you, but you have proved me wrong time and time again. Now we can spend the next few hours going over everything and my baby will become yours. Sound good?” Peterson says with a wide smile. I stand to shake his hand and smile back, but it feels brittle.
I should be feeling on top of the world. This is what I wanted. It's what I’ve dreamed of. I lived and breathed this deal until a certain rainbow-haired beauty entered my life, leaving exquisite chaos in her wake.
“Thank you, sir. I’m honored. Graham and I are as passionate about this resort as you are,” I answer him, stepping aside as Graham moves in to shake Peterson’s hand too.
I glance at my watch and note the time. Linda’s showing starts in thirty minutes and I know she is probably wearing out a spot on the floor, pacing backward and forward as her nerves eat at her.
I watch as Graham laughs at something Peterson says, but all I can see is a montage of images flashing through my mind. Linda, with her head thrown back, laughing. Linda, with her eyes glazed with lust as I moved inside her, and those same eyes filled with tears after I broke her heart and trust and made her feel like she didn’t matter.
I made her feel worthless when the truth is, she’s the only splash of color in my gray world. The only one that matters. Fuck, what am I doing? I glance at my watch again and make a decision that I should have made weeks ago.
“Asher?”
I hear Peterson’s voice call my name. I look up at him to see him staring at me with confusion. I notice then that I had grabbed my jacket and briefcase without even realizing it.
“I’m sorry,” I tell him before looking at Graham. “Really fucking sorry.” I reiterate to my best friend, who looks at me with resignation and a hint of humor.
“What’s going on?” Peterson asks, his friendly demeanor quickly disappearing. “Is this some kind of joke to you?” he blusters, making his lawyers sitting in their seats behind him start to circle like sharks looking for blood.
“No joke, sir. I am truly sorry. I want this resort more than you could possibly know, but there is something I want more, and that is to be with my wife on her big night. She needs me, and by being here with you instead of being there, I’m hurting her all over again. I want the resort, but I can live without it. What I can't live without is my wife. I have to go.”
I don't say anything else, already knowing I’m going to be pushed to get to her on time, but I will make it even if it kills me. I message Davis as I wait impatiently in the elevator for it to descend to the lobby. Thankfully, he is already outside as he was unsure what time I would need him, so
he decided to stick around.
“Davis, remind me on Monday to get Rosa to sort out a pay raise for you,” I tell him as I slide into the back seat.
“What? I mean, thank you, sir,” he says, surprised.
“You’ve earned it. Now, can you get me to the Union Art Gallery as fast as possible without getting us pulled over?”
“Yes, sir. Absolutely.” He doesn't waste any more time making idle chit chat as he pulls into the flow of traffic.
I take a deep breath and lean my head against the cool glass, watching as the rain that has been threatening all day finally begins to fall. I just walked away from the deal of a lifetime, and yet all I feel is the burning need to get to my wife to make her see that I will always choose her over everything else.
Forty minutes later, we pull up outside the gallery. I jump out into the deluge of rain, leaving Davis to find somewhere to park. I weave around the crowd of people and make my way inside to the front of the entrance line, only to be stopped by a guy with an earpiece and a clipboard.
“Name?” he asks as I ignore the grumbles behind me.
“Asher Sloan,” I answer, trying to look around him.
“Sorry, sir, you’re not on the list.”
“You don’t understand—”
He cuts me off with a long-suffering sigh. “Look, I get it, but no invite, no entry. I don't make the rules. I just enforce them, so do me a solid and go home, yeah?”
“Look, you don’t know who I am.” I cringe, realizing too late how conceited that sounds, and judging by the scowl on his face, he didn’t miss it either.
“I’m all ears,” he drawls in a patronizing tone, making me realize that he couldn’t care less if I were the pope. “I’m just dying to know who you are.”
He’s clearly not, but I have to get inside. I open my mouth to apologize and explain when a soft voice that makes my dick throb answers from behind him.
Hoax Husband: A Hero Club Novel Page 17
