I know he wouldn't be here if it wasn’t important. I guess the conversation between Skittle and me can wait until tonight. I've finished my eggs by the time he gets up here. Without knocking, he opens the door and lets himself in like usual. I frown when I think about Linda being naked underneath my shirt. I’ll have to make sure the fucker knocks next time, just in case.
“Oh bacon, I’m starving. Got any more?” he asks as I shove the last piece of bacon in my mouth, shaking my head.
“Damn,” he grunts, heading to the coffee pot and pouring himself a drink.
“Well, if you had called first, that wouldn't be an issue now, would it?” I reprimand him.
“Yeah, well, I got a call and decided not to waste any time. Where's the wife?” he questions, looking in the direction of the bedroom.
“In the shower. What's the issue?” I ask impatiently.
“It seems that Peterson might have a favorite horse in this race, and it isn't us,” he tells me, making my stomach drop.
“Are you fucking serious?”
“That’s what I heard, but...the front runner, well, let's just say the image they portray is not necessarily the image that matches the one behind closed doors.” He smirks.
I shake my head at that. “Isn't that true of everyone, though?”
“Maybe, but not quite in the same way as Morris. See, Morris has been married for fifteen years, but his wife has a boyfriend on the side, and so does Morris,” Graham answers with a savage smile.
“How the fuck do you even know this?”
“I make it my business to know everything about my competitors. Now, if the news were to break before Peterson made his announcement, he would be forced to rethink his stance as it wouldn't do well to have a media scandal surrounding the sale of the resort.”
“He's gay, Graham, not a terrorist,” I point out.
“I know that, and honestly, Peterson likely does too. It's not him being gay that’s the issue. It's living a lie the public will have a problem with. Peterson made such a spectacle of the family requirement portion of the contract that he has no choice but to enforce it. Peterson wanted the buyer to be a family unit, a rock-solid marriage with the potential of kids. He can't very well go through with the deal with Morris, or he will look like an ass, especially when other candidates do fit the criteria he set. Candidates who offered more money.” He reminds me we are, after all, the ones offering the most.
“I'm still not convinced. In this day and age, nobody cares about someone's sexual orientation. I don't think this will make Peterson rethink his choice, not if he has his heart set on Morris.”
“Yes, that might have been true, but the pictures I managed to get my hands on are pretty damning.”
“Jesus Christ, Graham, do I even want to know how you got your hands on these pictures?”
“No, probably not. I'm not talking about outing the guy to the media, before you get all bent out of shape.” He rolls his eyes at me, yet we both know if push comes to shove he would do that if it secured him the resort.
“I'm talking about showing them to Peterson and telling him they have been sent to us anonymously and that I am merely showing him as a heads up in case a copy ends up in the media.”
“He’ll know it's you behind it,” I point out the flaw in his plan.
“Don’t be stupid, Asher, the guy knows I’m the shit.”
I laugh at that. I can’t help it. Everyone knows Graham is a dick, but he really can schmooze with the best of them.
“Okay, fine. What do you need from me?” I ask, knowing he wouldn’t have come here if he didn’t already have a plan in motion.
“I need you to be seen out and about acting lovey-dovey with your wife. Isn’t that the reason you called the press yesterday, after all?” he says, shutting up when Skittle emerges from the bedroom in a long-sleeved cropped white t-shirt with a peacock feather printed on the front. The cropped material shows off her sexy toned stomach. Sitting low on her hips is a long black gypsy-style skirt that swishes around her ankles when she walks, and her favorite pair of black flip-flops are on her feet.
“And here is the lovely Laura now,” Graham calls, like the dickhead he is.
Linda just rolls her eyes, walking over to me and kissing my cheek, before greeting him.
“Asshat, the pleasure’s all yours as per usual,” she replies before winking at me to show me she’s all good.
“Think you can don some glad rags tonight?” Graham asks her, making her frown.
“Well, I was planning on washing my hair, but I could be persuaded.”
“There is a gala tonight that we need to attend. I’m asking if you'll be joining your husband.”
She looks up at me for confirmation, so I nod.
“What's the gala for?” she asks me, making me look over at Graham as it's the first I’m hearing of it too.
“Something to do with the arts, raising awareness about domestic violence or something.” He waves the question off like it's irrelevant, but I can see Linda’s eyes light up at that.
“It's important because the deal we are trying to push through hangs in the balance, and the man who holds all the power to decide who gets the winning bid will be there tonight,” Graham informs her, letting on how vital the gala is for us.
“Sure, sounds fun. Okay, maybe fun is pushing it, but if it's important to Asher, of course I’ll go,” she says, looking up at me. “Plus, I have just the dress.” She winks at me before moving around the counter, collecting the dirty dishes and scraping the food scraps into the trash.
“Perfect. Soraya and I will meet you both there at six, don’t be late. Now I have other business stuff to discuss. There is a venture that would be perfect and—”
Linda cuts him off. “And that’s my cue to leave.” She laughs, grabbing her bag and denim jacket from the hook beside the door. She pulls the door open and looks at me with a smile, “I love you, but I have zero interest in listening to you two talk shop.”
I freeze, making her look at me with a confused frown. I watch her replay her words over in her head and see the exact moment she realizes what she said as she freezes too for a moment before yelling, “Okay, bye,” and pulling the door closed quickly behind her.
I turn to face Graham, who looks as surprised as me.
“You are so fucked. Please tell me you've at least talked to her,” he implores.
“I was about to when you turned up. Nice timing, by the way. I’m going to talk to her. I just need to find the time—”
He cuts me off before I can finish. “My advice, Asher, find the fucking time.”
Twenty-Seven
Linda
Standing in front of the mirror, I suck in a deep breath and try to fortify myself against what Asher's reaction might be to my slip up.
I didn't mean to blurt out that I love him, but it doesn't make it any less true. As much as I ran so I wouldn't have to witness his reaction, I'm not willing to lie to him either and pretend I didn't mean it when I do.
I knew I was in love with my husband the night I said, “I do.” I know that's crazy, so much so I managed to convince myself it was nothing more than lust. But the truth is, the moment his lips touched mine for the first time, I was irrevocably changed.