Possessive Fake Husband

by B. B. Hamel

  Possessive Fake Husband

  BB Hamel

  Copyright © 2020 by B. B. Hamel

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Cover design by Coverluv Book Designs

  Contents

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  1. Maggie

  2. Josh

  3. Maggie

  4. Josh

  5. Maggie

  6. Josh

  7. Maggie

  8. Josh

  9. Maggie

  10. Josh

  11. Maggie

  12. Josh

  13. Maggie

  14. Josh

  15. Maggie

  16. Josh

  17. Maggie

  18. Josh

  19. Maggie

  20. Josh

  21. Maggie

  22. Josh

  23. Maggie

  24. Josh

  25. Maggie

  Also by BB Hamel

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  1

  Maggie

  I follow my father in through a set of large wooden double doors and a man in a tuxedo gives me an odd look. My heels make a clicking sound on the marble floor and I feel underdressed, even though I’m wearing a long dress and my hair’s up in some stupidly complex twisted pattern I spent all day perfecting. I don’t know who owns this house, but it’s packed with men and women, all older than me, and all of them wearing expensive outfits. Women have glittering jewels in their ears, at their throats. The men look at ease in absurd tuxedos. There’s an oil painting hanging on the wall that I swear I’ve seen in a museum before as we slowly move through the crowd toward the back door.

  The house is more like a mansion and it took us an hour of driving to find it tucked away in some small town outside of Philadelphia. My father glances back at me with a little smile and takes my arm. He’s tall, graying hair going thin, and his suit is just slightly too baggy for his skinny frame.

  “I know, Mags,” he says. “You don’t have to say it.”

  “Say what?”

  “This place. It’s not really our style.”

  “I don’t know what you mean, Dad.” I give him a look.

  He laughs. “Look, I told you this was important, okay?”

  “And that’s why I’m here. Wearing this dress. With this hair.”

  He grins at me. “You look great, honey.”

  “I look like I’m going to my prom, but whatever.”

  He laughs again and shakes his head. “If I remember right, you skipped your prom out of protest.”

  “They wouldn’t let boys go with boys,” I say. “I mean, seriously. I’m still outraged.”

  “It was a Catholic school, sweetie. What did you expect?”

  “I don’t know. Some humanity?”

  “It’s not inhumane to have beliefs.” He sighs, shaking his head and smiling. “You showed them though, didn’t you? Went to Harvard, graduated with honors.”

  “Oh, I’m sure all those nuns are sitting in their convent, feeling very chastised.”

  He frowns. “I don’t think the teachers at your school live in a convent.”

  “I was being sarcastic.”

  “Right.” We step into a large formal living area. More people are packed into this space. A caterer walks past holding a tray of champagne glasses. I snag one before my father can stop me and take a nice, long sip.

  He gives me a look. “I know you’re old enough now but it’s still weird,” he admits.

  “You’ll just have to deal with that, Dad.” I take another sip. “If I have to be at this weird business thing, I’m drinking.”

  “Juist don’t drink too much,” he says, already scanning the room. He smiles at someone and starts to walk toward him. I have to hurry to keep up, not used to walking in heels, and definitely not used to this kind of party.

  It’s subdued, almost quiet. I can’t say I went to a bunch of ragers at Harvard, but we had our fair share of fun. This is less of a party and more of a formal gathering, with little groups of people talking quietly as the caterers move around the space with food and alcohol.

  We skirt around a couch and a few chairs as Dad shakes the hand of a portly guy with a big bushy mustache. “Chuck, this is my daughter, Maggie.”

  “Oh, nice to meet you,” Chuck says. “Your dad talks about you all the time. Proud of you, you know.”

  “Obviously,” I say. “I’m amazing.”

  Chuck laughs and sips his drink. “Listen, mind if I talk your father’s ear off for a second?”

  “Go right ahead,” I say. “I assume that’s why we’re here.”

  “Just a sec, honey,” Dad says.

  I wander off a bit. The room’s crowded and I don’t recognize a single person anywhere around me. I feel lost and out of place, but I’m going to at least make the best of it, as I find my way toward the bar. It’s pressed back against the far wall, probably where a television used to be, based on the layout of the room.

  I’m not sure why my dad wanted me here. He said it was important that he made a good first impression on these people, and he thought having his daughter with him would help. I didn’t really question it, since I don’t have much going on right now. After I graduated from Harvard with an English degree, I realized there weren’t too many opportunities for a liberal arts major. I mean, I can be super impressive when it comes to quoting Romantic poetry, but that’s not about to land me some amazing job.

  So I’m stuck at home while I figure out what the heck I’m going to do next.

  I slip through the crowd and approach the bar. The bartender is a young guy with a nice smile. “White wine, please,” I ask him.

  He hesitates. “We have a few options,” he says. “Some really nice bottles.”

  “Just whatever’s good.” Some old guy glances at me and frowns. “Add a couple ice cubes in there too.”

  The bartender grins at me and nods. He pours a glass, drops in the ice and makes a big show of it, and I drop a five into his tip jar.

  “Did you know that he just added ice into a six hundred dollar per bottle glass of wine?”

  I tilt my head toward the voice that just spoke as I turn away from the bar. I expect it to be that old guy, ready to scold me for having no taste and no class, which is a little bit true, but that’s nobody’s business but my own.

  Instead, cold blue eyes stare back at me. I don’t speak as I take the man in.

  He’s tall, over six feet, with a close-trimmed beard and full red lips. He’s handsome, incredibly handsome, and has to be in his thirties at most. He’s wearing a slim-cut suit that hugs his muscular frame and makes my heart beat faster. He almost stands out since he’s not wearing a tuxedo, but he manages to still fit in without any effort.

  “I didn’t realize,” I say.

  “It looks good though.” He moves past me, catches the bartender’s attention, and asks for what I’m having. The bartender laughs and pours a second, adding the ice at the end.

  The man joins me and holds up his glass with a grin. “Cheers,” he says.

  “Cheers.”

  “I’m Josh.”

  “Maggie.”

  We shake hands and I note that his fingers are callused and his hand is huge.

  “You just started a trend,” he says. “Either that or we’re about to get thrown out of here.”
r />   “I think we’re probably about to get thrown out,” I say. “Quick, talk about the stock market.”

  “Right, yes. Stocks and bonds.”

  “Perfect. We’re fitting in already.”

  He grins at me. “Listen, this is going to come off as really rude, but I gotta ask. What are you doing here?”

  “That is incredibly rude,” I say, frowning at him. “My dad dragged me along.”

  “Ah,” he says. “Trying to make himself seem like a family man, I guess?”

  “I guess.” I shrug and sip my iced wine. “I have no clue what he’s trying to do. I don’t even know what this is.”

  “Really?” He laughs softly. “This is one of the most high-powered gatherings in the region. Half these guys are CEOs of Fortune 500 companies.”

  “Really?” I look around. “It’s just a bunch of old white guys.”

  “Like I said.”

  I laugh and shrug. “Well, whatever. I guess that makes more sense then.”

  “Who’s your dad?”

  “That guy over there,” I say, gesturing toward him. “He’s the one with the ill-fitting suit.”

  “Ah,” Josh says, nodding. “Sure. I know him.”

  “Really?”

  “Of course. Bushings Telecom.”

  “That’s the one.” I raise an eyebrow. “Now I guess it’s my turn to ask what you’re doing here.”

  “I’m Josh Cork,” he says and pauses, like that’s supposed to mean something. When it doesn’t, he just laughs. “Shit, okay. Cork Electric. That’s my company.”

  “Cork…” I frown at him. “Oh, no. I know who you are.”

  “I bet you do.”

  “You’re my dad’s competitor. Like, direct competitor.”

  He grins at me. “That’s right.”

  “I shouldn’t be talking to you.”

  “Probably not.”

  “Oh, god.” I look around and my dad’s staring over at us with a frown on his face. “I should go.”

  “It was nice talking to you, Maggie Fyall,” he says.

  I frown at him then walk off. I hurry over to my dad, trying to forget about that tall, handsome man.

  My father owns a mid-sized regional telecom company. They provide internet and phone services to consumers and businesses, but the company’s been struggling these past few years. Dad managed to survive the lean years and now that there are only a handful of companies left, his is hanging on by a thread. Of the maybe ten left in the whole country, he’s number six or so.

  And Cork Electric is number five.

  Dad meets me halfway, a little smile on his face. “Were you talking to Josh Cork?” he asks.

  I nod and gesture with my drink. “Sorry,” I say. “I didn’t know who he was. I didn’t know I was talking with the enemy.”

  “Oh, that’s okay,” he says, grinning. “Josh isn’t the enemy. Now his father, that old bastard, was my nemesis, God rest his soul.”

  “So wait, you don’t hate Josh?” I ask. “I thought Cork Electric was your direct competitor.”

  “They are, but…” He hesitates. “Look, honey. I brought you here for a reason. There’s something we need to discuss.”

  “Discuss?” I frown at him. “I thought I was here for moral support.”

  “That’s not entirely true.”

  “Okay.” I tilt my head. “What’s up, Dad?”

  “Listen.” He looks a little sheepish. I’ve known my dad my whole life, which is how that sort of thing tends to go, and he’s never once seemed uncertain of anything. It’s a little off-putting. “You were just talking to your future husband.”

  I stare at him and my jaw drops. I mean literally, it drops. It’s like a huge cliché, but I can’t help it. I manage to close my mouth by pouring half a glass worth of expensive iced wine down my throat.

  “My what?” I manage.

  “Come on,” he says, catching someone’s eye over my shoulder. I turn and spot Josh grinning at us. He gestures and walks off. Dad goes to follow, but I grab his arm.

  “Dad,” I hiss. “What the hell are you talking about?”

  He puts his hand on top of mine. “Honey, don’t make a scene. Come on, we’ll explain.”

  I stand there for a moment, stranded in the middle of the ocean, or at least that’s how I feel. People move around me in their expensive clothing, laughing politely, talking softly. My father starts to move away and I feel like I can’t move.

  My future husband?

  That’s not the sort of joke my father makes. It’s just… it’s out of character. I have no clue what to think and my head’s almost spinning with it.

  But I manage to put one foot in front of the other.

  I catch up with Dad as we move down a side hallway. The party is sparser as we come to a staircase. Dad heads up.

  “Are we supposed to be here?” I ask him as we pass several family photos. The family in the pictures looks nice, two daughters and an older couple.

  “It’s fine,” Dad says, not really answering.

  At the top of the step, we move into the first room on the right. It’s a study, with a large desk against the far wall, a reading chair, and a fireplace. There are bookshelves with leather-bound books and the room smells like cigar smoke and whiskey. It’s the most masculine room I’ve ever seen in my life.

  And Josh is standing at the far side, swirling his iced wine thoughtfully. Dad shuts the door behind us with a soft click and I’m left stranded with these two men, not sure what the heck is happening.

  “Hello again,” Josh says.

  “I take it you two met.” Dad walks over and shakes his hand.

  “We sure did. I take it you didn’t prep her for this conversation at all.”

  Dad shrugs. “It’s not really something you can prepare for.”

  “Fair enough.” Josh looks at me past my father. The two men stand there for a long moment, staring at me.

  “Okay, you’re freaking me out,” I say. “What’s going on, Dad?”

  “Honey, maybe you should sit.” He gestures at a chair.

  “No,” I say. “I’m about to take my heels off and throw them at you. Tell me what you two are doing.”

  Dad glances at Josh. “Think you can handle this?”

  “Absolutely not,” he says. “She’s your daughter. And I don’t feel like getting hit in the face with a shoe.”

  Dad sighs, rubs his face, and nods once. “Okay. So, you have to understand something,” he says and walks over to a small side table. There are cut crystal glasses and several large decanters filled with liquids in various shades of brown. He pours a small measure from one, sips it, makes a face, drinks the rest. “The telecom landscape is bleak. Bushings won’t last another few years, and Cork is in the same spot.”

  “He’s right,” Josh says. “Bushings might last four more years. Cork could go on for another five or six. But in the end, we’re both working on borrowed time.”

  “Just the way things are,” Dad says. “The big companies are buying everything up and pushing us out. There’s no real competition anymore, no real room for companies like ours.”

  “What does any of this have to do with me?” I ask. I’m tempted to turn around, kick open that door, and get the heck out of here. I have my phone in my clutch, I can easily get an Uber home.

  Dad glances at Josh. “Well, we came up with this plan.”

  “It’s insane,” Josh says. “I openly admit that.”

  “It’s insane,” Dad agrees. “But it’ll work. The thing is, we need your help.”

  “I’m not involved in any of this,” I say. “How am I supposed to help your business?”

  Dad and Josh look at each other. Dad sighs, throws back his drink, pours another. “Look, honey, I just want you to know that this is totally optional.”

  “Get. To. The. Point.”

  “He wants us to get married,” Josh says.

  I stare at him then look at my dad. “Are you joking?”

 
“It’s just political,” he says quickly, holding out his hands.

  “My board hates your dad,” Josh says. “Years of competition took its toll and now they despise you guys. Your father and I want to merge our companies, make them stronger together, but… my board won’t allow it.”

  I shake my head, reeling, unable to process. I walk over and sits down on the big leather armchair. It squeaks as I shift my weight in it and stare at the two men.

  Josh is handsome and calm. My father is sweating and drinking. They make an unlikely pair.

  “How does us getting married help?” I ask Josh.

  He grins and looks at my dad.

  “It’s political,” Dad says again. “If you marry Josh, then his board can’t possibly reject a merger. I mean, our families would be bound together, so it makes sense to brings the companies together, too.”

  “I know it sounds crazy,” Josh says, “but it’s a good idea. I think it’ll actually work.”

  “It does sound crazy.” I stare at them. I can feel a bubble of anger rising up in my chest. “So I’m just some, what, some piece of meat? Some pawn for you two to use?”

  “Honey,” Dad says, but I cut him off.

  “And you ambush me like this,” I say. “You get me alone in this weird room at this weird party and I’m wearing this awful dress and these stupid shoes.” I reach down and rip my heels off. I don’t know why I do it. I feel dizzy and angry and I just want to do something. “You tell me I’m supposed to marry this total stranger for your business? Come on, Dad. That’s insane.”

  Josh sighs. “I agree with her,” he says.

  Dad gives him a horrified look. “What? But you—”

  “She’s right.” Josh says. “We can’t treat her like some tool.” He looks back at me. “Maggie, I am so, so sorry we approached it like this. We never should’ve discussed anything that involved you without you in on the discussion. That was wrong.”