Hoax Husband - Candice M. Wright Page 0,64

him.

“Only you could come out of this deal twenty grand richer. Not to mention you didn’t even have the expense of a wedding. You always were a lucky bastard,” Graham mutters in mock disgust.

“But I’ll admit this company is as good as ours. You said it yourself. We are offering Peterson the best deal, and with Morris out of the running, he would be a fool not to take it. Plus, with the way Gregory has been watching Linda all night, I have no doubt he will go running back to Peterson and tell him all about your bride and how loved up you are. He wanted us to be engaged or married, and we both gave him that. In fact, we did everything he asked of us. Trust me, that resort is ours,” Graham continues, unaware of the damage his words are inflicting.

“Don’t jinx it. We still have six weeks until the deal goes through. Peterson could change his mind,” Asher warns him, his words making bile rush up my throat.

“Or your wife could wake up and leave your ass before then.” Graham laughs as I turn and flee.

I can’t listen anymore. I don’t need to, I’ve heard enough. I slip off my heels and run, ignoring the startled shouts from the people I bump into. When I spill out onto the street, it's just in time to see a cab pulling up. I don't hesitate before sliding into the worn backseat and telling the driver to take me home. No, not home. To Asher’s place.

I ask him to wait when we arrive, telling him I’ll pay him double, which he happily agrees to. I dash through the parking entrance, ignoring everyone as I head straight up to the penthouse for what will be the last time. It takes me three tries to get the door open with my shaking hands. When I do, I tear through the apartment, not even bothering to close the door behind me.

I struggle with the zipper on the dress, wanting to rip it from my body with my bare hands. The gown I felt like a princess in just hours before is now too tight, making my chest constrict as I heave, trying to suck in lungfuls of air, but it's not enough.

I pull at the material as it finally gives, peeling it from my body until I’m left standing in the pretty lilac underwear I planned on surprising Asher with later. Tears run in rivers down my cheeks, soaking my skin, but I swipe at them angrily as I make a beeline for the bedroom.

I yank on the first pair of jeans I lay my hands on. Same with the tank and sweatshirt. I shove my feet into some pumps, not caring how I look. I just need to be gone before Asher gets back. Sliding the rings from my finger where Asher had placed them just hours before, I drop them on the bed with the necklace and move to the closet.

Lifting the tote bag from the shelf I placed it on when I moved in, I shove some clothes to tide me over before grabbing the toiletries I’ll need. Once everything is zipped up inside, I swing the bag over my shoulder and glance around the room that holds so many memories.

Memories that are now a lie. I can’t handle it—the visions of Asher and me rolling around on the bed laughing, of his lips on my skin, of the look of rapture on his face as he moves inside me.

It's too much. I slam the door behind me and head to the room I had been using as a studio, knowing I don't have time to collect everything now. I grab my sketchbook and pencils and shove them in my bag before turning to leave, freezing when my eyes land on the easel and the piece I’m currently working on.

It’s a picture of a man bathed in color, almost as if looking at him through a stained-glass window. A smile teases the edge of his lips as he looks over his shoulder, his indigo eyes vibrant and shining with love.

I pick it up, swallowing hard around a lump in my throat, letting the rage overtake me as I slam the canvas down over my knee repeatedly until it splits and breaks. I pull and tug until it's broken into two jagged pieces. The symbolism of it matches my broken heart, a fact that isn't lost on me.

Tossing the canvas