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 problem. I’m heading over that way later anyway so I can pick up the forms and drop them over this evening for you to start filling them out, but you’ll have to complete them at the courthouse.”
“That would be great. Can you run a search on her too, make sure no flags pop up?”
“Sure, but Asher, what's going on?”
“I’ll explain when you get here.”
“All right,” He agrees reluctantly. “What’s your fiancée’s name?”
“Dawn Larson,” I tell him, and hang up before he starts firing questions at me.
I debate on calling Dawn and asking her, but I already know what her answer will be, even if her price will go up.
Having her as a fiancée will make them look into her, but having her as a wife should shut that down straight away. After all, who in their right mind would marry someone just to close a business deal?
Well, apart from me, that is.
I won’t call Dawn until Baxter gets back to me. It would be just my luck she’d agree to marry me only to find a collection of designer skeletons hanging in her closet.
The rest of the day drags as I war with myself over my decision. I know it's crazy, there is no other way to describe it, but I want that resort badly enough to do just about anything, which includes a marriage of convenience with one of my father's exes.
When six o'clock rolls around, I look up when a knock on the door shows Rosa with Baxter just behind her.
“Mr. Sloan, Mr. Jones is here. Is there anything else you need from me before I head out?” she asks, ushering Baxter in and pointing at one of the two seats facing my desk.
“No, thank you, Rosa. That will be all.”
She nods and leaves, closing the door to my office behind her.
“Hey, Baxter. Thanks for doing this for me on such short notice.”
He waves me off like it's no big deal when we both know I’m a pain in the ass. “It's fine. I have everything you need here. As I said before, you can fill most of it out at home.”
“Any red flags?” I ask without beating around the bush.
“You mean other than the fact that your soon-to-be wife is the recently divorced wife of your father, no,” he answers sardonically. “Just make sure she takes her divorce papers with her to the courthouse when you complete the forms. That, and your annulment ones. You can’t progress forward without them,” he tells me, and I nod, but then stop.
“Annulment papers?” I question, confused.
“Yes, annulment papers. You can’t get married without proving you aren't already.”
My frown deepens as I wonder when Baxter started drinking.
“Baxter, I’m not married and never have been, and as my attorney, I’m pretty sure you’re aware of that.”
He stares at me as if waiting for the punchline, but when it doesn’t come, it's his turn to frown. He places his briefcase on my desk and opens it, pulling out a stack of papers, the top one a marriage certificate, which I assume for a moment is Dawn’s until I see the signatures.
“Well, according to this, you did indeed get married, and if you don't have annulment papers, you are still very much married.”
My blood runs cold. “What the fuck? How did you find these?” I ask because these have to be fake, an elaborate hoax of some kind.
“When you told me Dawn’s name, I recognized it, but couldn’t place where from so I ran it in conjunction with yours to see where your paths crossed and boom, there it was, dated a little over a year ago, in Las Vegas.
“Vegas? Holy fuck!” I collapse back into my chair, flashes of that night and the woman with the tattoos score across my brain.
I’m married? Then a grin spreads across my face at how perfect this is.
I’m married.
Graham just stares at me in shock before roaring with laughter.
“Fucking hell. Only you, Asher, only you,” he eventually says after he calms down. He is sitting in the seat Baxter occupied last night, clearly finding the whole thing far more amusing than me.
“Laugh it up, asshole.” I grudgingly let him get it out of his system, knowing if the shoe was on the other foot, I’d probably find the whole thing just as amusing.
“Look on the bright side. You don't have to make the wicked bitch of the east your wife anymore, so there is a silver lining in all this.”