Hoax Husband - Candice M. Wright Page 0,10

view of the black stockings with the seam running up the back of the leg. Completing the sultry look, they all wear torturous six-inch black stilettos.

I’m in complete awe of those women. They manage to glide around the room effortlessly in those things when I would be whimpering in the corner after an hour.

The bar staff, myself included, dress as movie stars, and I’ll admit some of them look uncannily like the person they were impersonating.

My hair and tattoos, as my stepfather has pointed out many times, could be a deterrent when it came to employment. Tony, however, took one look at me and hired me on the spot to play the part of Harley Quinn, and I have to admit, it’s fun.

And about as far away as you can get from secretary to the pompous ass Graham Morgan.

I dry off and slip into an oversized white t-shirt and snuggle down onto the ratty sofa with my big fluffy purple blanket and channel surf for a while, finally settling on a rerun of Friends. I only make it five minutes into the program before my eyes get heavy and I drift off to sleep.

“Tell me what you want,” he orders, thrusting inside me.

“Harder,” I implore.

He doesn’t make me beg, hammering in and out of me at a dizzying speed that leaves me gasping for breath as I arch up into him.

“Come now,” he roars, so I do.

I come so hard, I swear I can hear colors.

“So fucking pretty,” he murmurs, making my eyes open to find him trailing kisses over the ink on my shoulder.

I startle awake, my body flushed with arousal as I struggle to break free from the heat of my dream.

“Stupid freaking traitorous body,” I scold myself as I stumble into the kitchen area and grab a glass of cold water, hoping to cool off my libido.

I hate myself a little more every time I dream of that man.

A man who played with my body like a toy before tossing me aside.

I refuse to let my brain think of him during the daylight hours, but it seems I have no control over my dreams.

Seven

Asher

“Tell me you’re joking,” I say into the phone in shock.

“I wish I could, but I spoke to Steve myself. The guy was a little embarrassed at having been caught out, but he was pretty forthcoming about the whole thing,” I hear Graham answer before he pulls the phone away from his mouth and yells something at his current secretary.

“Peterson’s lawyers finding out that Steve hired an escort to pose as his fiancée is going to make them even more cautious with the remaining applicants. Peterson has seen me around with Soraya. He has even met her a time or two at one function or another. He, along with everyone else, knows what went down with regards to Chloe, and now with Soraya unmistakably pregnant, well, he won't care that we aren’t married yet. After all, I’d marry her tomorrow, but she doesn’t want to waddle down the aisle. Her words.” He chuckles. “My point is, you turn up at these events alone. Thankfully, you don’t have a reputation as a playboy, or this would already have been game over, but he will still see you as being too motivated by money.”

“I am motivated by money, for fuck’s sake,” I gripe. Who isn’t?

“We all are, my friend,” he agrees. “My point is, his lawyers aren’t going to believe you if all of a sudden you produce a fiancée. They’ll be suspicious and check her out. The last thing you want is them reporting back to Peterson that your fiancée is also your ex-stepmother.”

“Shit,” I curse.

“What? That didn’t sound like shit, time to back out. That sounded like shit, I’m about to make a horrible decision,” Graham states warily.

“Probably because I am. Let me get back to you. I need to talk to someone first.” I hang up before he can question me more because if he does, I know I’ll stop what I’m about to do.

I dial another number before I can talk some sense into myself.

“Hey, Baxter, it's Asher. I need a favor.”

“You know, considering you pay me the big bucks, I should be smiling right now, but for some reason, your tone has me somewhat concerned,” he comments dryly.

“I need to get married. Something quick, the courthouse is fine. Can you take care of everything so all I have to do is turn up and sign?”

“Erm…yeah. Wow, of course, that's not a