Hoax Husband - Candice M. Wright Page 0,41

own art showing at one of those quaint little art galleries. I’ll finally have the time and no excuses not to,” I admit.

His eyes move from my hair over my body, analytically, before nodding. “Yeah, that suits you so much better than being a bartender. Make sure I get an invitation to the grand opening. Now get out of here. Some of us mere mortals have jobs to do,” he teases me, making me flip him off.

He laughs so loud that I can still hear him even when I close his office door behind me and begin my trek back down the rickety staircase.

Spotting Davis waiting for me at the curb, I smile and climb inside the car, grateful for the air conditioning now that the temperatures have begun to soar once more.

“Hey, Davis, thanks for waiting for me.”

“It's what I do, miss,” he reminds me with a smile as I buckle myself in. “Did everything go okay?”

“Yeah,” I answer as he pulls away from the curb and into the bustling traffic. “It might not seem like much, but for the most part, I was happy here. My co-workers are also my friends, you know?” A pang of sadness filters through me that I’m leaving.

“Well, if that's true, then you’ll have nothing to worry about. Your friendships won't end because you don't all work at the same place anymore, and if they do, then they were never true friendships to begin with.”

“You're right. I’m just nervous, I guess. A lot has changed in the last week and—” I stop myself, remembering I hardly know this poor guy and already I’m dumping all my shit on him.

“Lord, I’m sorry, ignore me. The pity party is now over,” I promise.

He laughs lightly at me. “So, where are we heading now, miss?” he questions, looking at me in the rearview mirror as I grimace.

“Somewhere even worse than the police station, DMV, and bank combined,” I warn him, making his eyes widen a fraction.

“We aren't going to visit someone in prison, are we?” he asks warily, making me giggle.

“No, worse. I need you to take me shopping.”

Twenty-Two

Asher

I'm just finishing up looking over an advertising firm’s proposal that appears as if it was constructed by a five-year-old, when my cell rings. I almost ignore it, but when I see Davis’s name on the screen, I answer immediately.

“What’s wrong?” I ask, forgoing a greeting.

“I took Linda shopping as she requested, but we ran into a slight issue,” he says quietly.

I sit forward, wondering what the hell kind of issue they could have possibly run into shopping. “Explain,” I order, knowing he wouldn’t have called me if it wasn’t important.

“Well, knowing the kind of events Linda would likely be attending as your wife, I drove her to the strip of boutiques that you send your...ah…women friends,” he hedges carefully, and I pray to fuck he hasn't used that term with Linda, even if it was before her time.

“And?” I impatiently ask, waiting for him to hurry the fuck up and get to the point.

“And, well, to put it bluntly, sir, they were all a bunch of snobby bitches. So much so that I could see after a few hours of hunting it was starting to wear on her. She became very quiet and withdrawn, which is not like Miss Linda at all.”

“They were mean to her?” I repeat incredulously, anger clearly evident in my voice.

“They were cold toward her. In some places, she was followed around as if she would steal something. Other places just flat out refused to serve her. In the end, she lost interest and asked to leave, saying she could find something online. I tried to step in a couple of times, but she always stopped me, and, well, I didn’t want to overstep my mark by going against her wishes,” he admits, and I can hear how frustrated he is.

I stand up and shove the proposals into my desk draw before snagging my jacket off the back of my chair.

“Where are you now?” I question, pulling open my office door, making Rosa jump when it bangs loudly against the wall. “Rosa, I'm heading out for a while. Transfer all important calls to my cell and take messages from the others.”

I head toward the bank of elevators as she nods, ignoring everyone else around me as I wait for Davis’s reply.

“We are at the little cafe on Fifth. Miss Linda looked like she could use a coffee and something sweet,” he replies, making