Don't Hate Me (My Secret Boyfriend Book 2)

by S Doyle

  I could feel myself panting. Could feel my lungs starting to heave and reject the oxygen I desperately needed.

  “Ashleigh, look at me,” Marc said, getting up in my face. His hands were cuffed behind his back so he couldn’t touch me. I tried to pull at his arm as if I could will them to come apart. “Look at me and breathe.”

  “I’m sorry,” I sobbed. “Please don’t hate me.”

  “We’re going to figure this out. I didn’t do anything wrong. We both know this is temporary. You need to trust me.”

  I shook my head. “This is him. This is them.”

  “They can’t prove I did something I know I didn’t do. We just need to work through this. Do you get me? We can do this, but I need you to be strong.”

  “Let’s go,” one of the agents said, as he pulled Marc away.

  Strong? My knees were threatening to crumble. Still, I managed to follow them through the airport, out to where they had a car waiting to take him away. As they walked him through the airport, they read him his rights, explained he would be taken to the New Jersey field office for processing, before being transferred to the Metropolitan Correctional Center in New York, as the charges were being filed from the Southern District of New York.

  “I’ll find you there,” I told him, as they pushed on his head to force him into the back seat of the car. “I’ll bring bail money.”

  The car door shut, and I could do nothing but stare as the agents drove away with my husband.

  “Ashleigh.”

  I heard my name, but it sounded muffled. Like everything I was hearing was coming at me through some kind of a fog. My head felt thick. My body felt weighted. They’d taken Marc. They’d arrested Marc. Because of me. Because of what I asked him to do. For the second time, he’d been arrested because of something related to me.

  Twenty million dollars. Not two thousand.

  “Ashleigh!”

  I turned then, and saw Arthur coming toward me through the crowds of people navigating the sidewalk. His face was flushed, bloated. Like he’d been on a drinking bender for days.

  He stopped before me and I could see the rage in his eyes, but it wasn’t like he could hit me in public.

  “Let’s go. George is bringing the car around.”

  George. Oh, God. I was going to have to tell George what I’d done. What I’d gotten Marc to do for me. George would never forgive me. Never. Not for putting Marc in this kind of trouble.

  I shook my head. I would face George, but not today. Today I just had to get away. Find some place to hole up. Figure out how to get the money for Marc’s bail.

  But Arthur was quicker, and had his hand wrapped around my arm.

  “Let me go, or I will make a scene,” I warned him.

  “Make a scene and I will make sure Marc Campbell spends the rest of his life in federal prison. Doubt me?”

  I did. Crimes weren’t something you could just create without evidence. As powerful as Arthur and Evan might think they were, they weren’t more powerful than a government agency. Still, I didn’t know enough about the situation to act rashly. I needed to keep my head, and focus.

  Marc and I were married. Nothing could change that. All we needed to do was figure out what Arthur had done, and find proof of the setup. Marc couldn’t do that from his position.

  I could from mine.

  “Okay. Fine. You win,” I said.

  “What made you think I wouldn’t?” he asked me. “You’re my daughter. My property. You seem to forget that.”

  I had no answer. George pulled the car up, and Arthur and I got inside.

  “Your nephew has been arrested, George. I hate to be blunt about it, but he stole from me. Given the amount, I was left with no choice but to alert the Feds.”

  “He’s lying, George. He’s a liar.”

  “Shut your mouth,” Arthur hissed. “You will be respectful.”

  I had nothing left to say, and George said nothing, either. He simply drove us away from the airport, to the estate. I wanted to follow George to the carriage house, to tell him everything. Only I knew it was impossible. We shared a look in the rearview mirror. I hope it conveyed that I would do everything I could do, to undo what Arthur had done.

  Then, reluctantly, I walked inside my grand home, the mansion I’d left only days ago with such a feeling of hope.

  Now, there was only fear.

  I did this. I did this to Marc by thinking he could save me from this future, that, apparently, had always been my fate.

  Starting up the stairs, looking for the escape of my bedroom, I wasn’t quick enough before Arthur called to me.

  “Not yet, Ashleigh. We need to discuss your behavior first.”

  I nodded, moved toward the living room, and sat in one of the chairs. Meanwhile, Arthur made his way to the wet bar and poured himself a drink.

  “Unfortunately, I wasn’t able to avoid informing Evan of this mishap. He’s upset, as you can imagine, but he’s willing to overlook a bit of rebellion.”

  “Marc and I got married,” I announced boldly. “We went to Vegas, and now we’re married, so Evan is officially out of luck.”

  This time, unlike the first time he did it, I expected the backhand across my face. My body absorbed it and I didn’t fall off my chair. I also didn’t hold up my hand to cover my cheek where it throbbed with pain.

  “You little shit, do you know what Evan might do? To both of us?”

  “He’s not going to marry me. That’s one thing I know he’s not going to do.”

  Arthur barked out a harsh laugh. “If you think something as insignificant as a marriage certificate is going to stop Evan from taking what he wants, you’re wrong.”

  It hurt to talk. To open my mouth and move my cheek. Still, I had to ask. “Why us? Why you and me? Why bother with us at all?”

  “Control. He has it over me. He thought he had it over you. We need to re-establish that he does, or we’ll be expendable to him.”

  I sucked in my breath. “You make it sound like he might kill us. Is that who you sold me to? A murderer?”

  Arthur said nothing, just took a deep swallow of his drink.

  “May I be excused?”

  I could do this. I could play this game of politeness, if it meant re-establishing trust with Arthur enough to discover his secrets. Secrets that involved a missing twenty million dollars.

  “You may. However, you’ll notice I’ve made some changes in your absence. The lock on your door is now on the outside. I’ll control when you come and go. You understand?”

  Of course, I understood. Marc and I were both going to prison. Mine was just significantly more comfortable.

  14

  Metropolitan Correctional Center

  Marc

  “I’m Evan—”

  “I know who you are.” I cut off the man sitting on the opposite side of the glass partition. I’d been expecting my lawyer. When I said lawyer, I meant a friend of mine from Princeton, who I knew had just passed the bar exam. I didn’t know if John was a good lawyer or a bad lawyer, but he was a lawyer and all I could afford.

  George had come to tell me they’d locked Ash in her room. She wasn’t coming with bail money, and George had no way to put that kind of cash together. I was stuck in MCC for the foreseeable future, until John figured out what kind of case the prosecutors had.

  I obviously hadn’t stolen twenty million dollars, so there was no way to prove I had. That, and thoughts of Ash got me through each hour.

  Until today, when this unexpected visitor showed up.

  I’d seen enough pictures of Evan Sanderson in magazines, most of them with Ash on his arm, to know who he was. Slick, handsome, he oozed a vibe of money and something else.

  Something sinister. This was not a guy I would ever have a beer with.

  “You’re not on my approved visitor list,” I told him.

  He smiled. “I have connections.”

  “Obviously,” I said. “Given that I’m in jail.”

&nb
sp; “Word on the street is you skimmed twenty million dollars from Landen’s hedge fund. Needless to say, his investors are not happy.”

  “Don’t waste my time, Evan. Why are you here?” I asked him.

  He tugged on the shirt cuffs under his suit coat. No casual jeans for this guy when visiting someone in jail. He took a deep breath and let out a sigh.

  “As I’m sure you’re aware, I’m engaged to Ashleigh Landen. She’s going to be my wife.”

  “Not anymore,” I told him, smugly. Because, at the very least, that had happened. I’d married her. She was my wife, and there was some safety from him in that.

  I was going to find someone who believed my story and get out of this nightmare, then we would go on with our fucking lives. That was going to happen. I had to believe that was going to happen or I would go insane.

  “Yes, I understand there was a wedding while you two were off in Vegas. You’re going to tell me where you two got married, and I’m going to make the whole thing disappear.”

  “Doesn’t matter where we were married. The license would have already been filed with the county clerk’s office.”

  “Not necessarily.” Evan smiled. “They have up to ten days to file, and you were married less than a week ago. I’ve got people in Vegas now who can intercept that transfer, and, voila, it never happened.”

  Who the fuck said voila?

  “I have a copy of the license,” I said. It was true. I’d packed it in my suitcase I’d checked for our flight back. Best guess, it was now sitting in the unclaimed luggage section of American Airlines. Had Ash thought to pick up our bags? She’d been so distraught when it all went down, that was unlikely.

  “Your copy means nothing. And I’m told most chapels do wait the ten days to send over the signed licenses just to make sure the couple doesn’t return with regrets. So, you’re going to tell me where you were married. Obviously, I’ll also need to check for any video that might have been taken.”

  I leaned forward, the hard metal chair scraping on the floor as I pressed myself as close as I could to the glass.

  “What makes you think I would tell you anything? You’ve lost, Evan. Find another beard wife you can control. Shouldn’t be too hard for a guy like you. There are plenty of women out there who will like your money well enough.”

  “Yes,” he said, also getting up close to the glass, so we were only inches apart. “But this one comes with a known medical condition. So easy to arrange for her passing, should that become necessary.”

  I sucked in my breath. This guy wasn’t just slick, or sinister. This guy was a psychopath.

  He smiled, and, for the first time, I could feel real fear bubble up inside me. Fear for Ash. Fear for myself.

  “Tell me where you two were married, or I’ll hurt her,” he said. Quietly, calmly, so as not to raise an alarm with the guards who watched over the visitor room. “It’s that simple. I’ll start by breaking every finger on her right hand, and, if that isn’t enough to convince you, I’ll cut one off and bring it in here to show you.”

  My hands clenched into fists. “I swear to God, if you touch a hair on her head, I will end you.”

  He gave me a quizzical expression. “How? You’re in jail. You have no power in this. You’re going to tell me where you were married, I’m going to pull the license, and I’m going to marry Ashleigh Landen as planned. Meanwhile, you’re going to go to jail for years and years. No doubt you’ll begin to resent that she brought you to this end, then start to hate her. By the time they let you out, you’ll be so happy to have what’s left of your life back, you’ll never think about her again.”

  A sense of helplessness overwhelmed me. But I was on the prisoner side of the glass. If I shouted or yelled or made any kind of scene, it would be used against me. I needed to remain clearheaded and control my anger.

  Because I was dealing with a fucking monster.

  He made a scissor motion with his fingers. “Tell me, or snip-snip.”

  “Hearts of Love Chapel. On the Strip,” I offered. “This isn’t over, Sanderson. I’m not dumb. I will figure this shit out, and when I do, I’m coming for you.”

  He frowned, and, again, it was an exaggerated expression. Like everything about him was a carefully constructed act.

  “Maybe you’re not dumb, but you’re naïve as fuck. Needless to say, I’ll enjoy banging the shit out of your former wife.”

  I took the hit and swallowed it. Then I watched him stand and casually walk away. A polite nod to the guard at the door.

  “Campbell,” the guard on the other side of the glass called. “Let’s go. Back to your cell.”

  Numb, I stood, and did as required. No emotion. No anger. No anything. I was going to have to swallow all of it to get through this. Because in that moment, I vowed to myself that I was going to make it happen.

  I was going to end Evan Sanderson, one way or another.

  A few days later

  Marc

  I was looking at my lawyer, John, on the other side of the glass, willing him to provide me with some good news. Since Sanderson’s visit, there had been no communication from Ash or George.

  I’d told George the last time he came not to leave Ash’s side if he could help it. It was more important he was there with her, on the estate. Pretending things were normal, would, at least, keep her father in check.

  Maybe. Now that I knew what Sanderson was, I couldn’t be certain.

  All that time Ash had talked about her father, about the creep he’d brought around, and I’d thought it was so much drama. The burner phone, the way she hid her movements so as not to seem like she was stepping off the path her father had laid out for her. All of it made sense now.

  She’d been legitimately frightened, and I’d fucking given her shit about it.

  Another reason to be angry. Another chunk of it to swallow. My gut was so filled with suppressed rage, I could barely eat.

  “Talk to me, John,” I growled.

  He lifted his hands. “They want to know what you did with the twenty million dollars. I think if you tell them, we might be able to make a deal.”

  “I didn’t steal twenty million dollars. I took two thousand from an account that was in my name, money I’d earned through investing it.”

  “I believe you,” John said. “I do. But it’s about what we can prove in court. Or at least, I think it is. Now is probably the time to tell you I’ve never actually been in a courtroom.”

  “I’m fucked,” I muttered.

  Just then, the door to the visitor area opened and I saw a suit walk in. Another lawyer, no doubt here to see his client, but, unlike John, who was still carrying a backpack, this guy was sporting what I knew to be a three-thousand-dollar, designer briefcase. The guy caught my attention enough for me to follow his movements, only to realize he was stopping directly behind John.

  “Marc Campbell?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’ve just posted your bail. They’re going to process and release you. I’ll have a car waiting outside. If you wouldn’t mind, there is someone who would like to speak with you.”

  “I mind,” John said, twisting in his seat. “Who the fuck are you?”

  The man turned over a business card to John.

  “I’m his lawyer,” John said, reading the card.

  “No. You are someone who just passed the bar exam. I’m his new lawyer. Steven Entwhistle. I’ll be waiting for you outside, Marc.”

  He left then, and the guard was there behind me.

  “Campbell. Let’s go. Bail’s been posted.”

  It was surreal. One minute, John’s asking me to tell the prosecutors where I stashed twenty million dollars, then next thing I knew, I was back in the clothes I’d worn on the flight from Vegas, standing outside on the streets of New York.

  John was there, too. Eager, clearly nervous. At least he hadn’t left me.

  “I checked the guy’s credentials. Holy fuck, Marc. He’s, like, the leading defense attorney in the
whole damn country. His firm is legendary. Why the hell am I here if you can afford him?”

  “I can’t afford him,” I said, just as a limousine pulled up in front of the correctional facility.

  The door opened, and Entwhistle stepped out. “Mr. Campbell, if you would please join us.”

  I shook my head. I knew the players I was dealing with now. I had no certainty this wasn’t a trap. A more expedient way to get me out of the picture. What if Sanderson’s men hadn’t gotten to the chapel to intercept the license and it was already filed at the courthouse?

  There was another way, beside divorce, to end a marriage.

  “I don’t know you. I’m certainly not getting in a car to go anywhere with you.”

  John stepped closer to me and I appreciated his loyalty. It would be no small thing to try to abduct both of us standing outside the correctional facility, where lawyers and police officers were constantly entering and exiting.

  Entwhistle dipped his head inside the car. Then another suit stepped out of the car. Older than me by maybe ten years. Obviously wealthy, judging by the Rolex on his wrist. That, and his coat was tailor made to fit him. He was blond, tall, and wore the serious expression of a man who didn’t fuck around.

  “Marc Campbell, my name is Dean Benfield.” He stretched out his hand and instinctively I shook it.

  I knew that name. How? It was definitely in the context of work. Then it clicked. “You used to work for Landen.”

  He nodded. “I did. Now I do better self-employed.”

  “What do you want with me?”

  “I heard your story and I thought maybe we should talk. Because I have the feeling you and I are the only two people who know the truth.”

  “That Landen’s a crook. That the twenty million dollars he says I stole, is how he’s covering his scheme of using new investor money to pay off bad investments. I’d bet on it. No one who is drinking the way he does is making money for his clients at the rate he says he is. Which means he’s lying.”

  Benfield smiled. “Exactly. And you’re going to help me prove it. Now, join me?”