Her Reluctant Husband by Erica Marselas (summer beach reads txt) 📗

my waist, and even though I tried to fold her image under and ban her away from my favorite photo, she’s still there. Haunting me.

Hanging on to me.

Putting the frame back, I turn to my bed and my suitcase to find something more comfortable to wear. The downfall of this house; no air conditioning. I'm fucking dying in this suit.

Once I’ve changed into a pair of basketball shorts and a white undershirt and no longer feeling like I’m going to die of heatstroke, I dial my PA, Whitney Fieldman to let her know about my change of plans this coming week.

“Shay and West, Alexander Wilks office, this is Whitney speaking. How may I help you?”

“Whitney, it's Alex.”

"Oh, hey, stud. How did everything go?" Whitney purrs into the phone.

I went to high school with Whitney, and when I was able to level up at my job at Shay and West and get my own personal assistant, Whitney came highly recommended by my boss. I wasn’t sure at first about hiring her, considering my feelings about her in the past, but I was shocked by her efficiency and eagerness to work.

She was also very eager to give some after-hours stress relief.

"It could have been better," I mumble as I fall onto my old bed.

"Why? Did she not leave you the house?"

"She did."

"Oh, then what's wrong?"

"She left me a wife too." I instantly regret telling her as she screeches in my ear.

"What?" her voice still pierces through the speaker, and I move the phone away from my ear. She can be so damn annoying. "What the fuck does that mean Alex?"

"What I said, Whitney! I'm going to be out of the office for the rest of the week. Can you forward my schedule to me and postpone all my meetings?"

"Yeah, but Alex..." she whines.

"What Whitney?"

"What about us?"

"There is no us," I say firmly, trying to make my point clear, again. I've said to her a hundred times that we will never be more. She's a great fuck, but she's not someone I'd ever want to settle down with. Or have a relationship with past fucking.

Just like back in school, she's a spoiled brat, and she can irritate the fuck out of me despite her work ethic. It’s why I find it easier to have her moaning than flapping her lips.

"I mean," she sighs heavily, "will your new wife mind if I ride your dick in the office?" she purrs.

"Probably not…" I roll my eyes as I hear Whitney's little yes.

"Who is this girl anyway? Is she a total cow?"

"No…" I start to say and close my mouth. It kills me to admit to myself the time away has been good to June. She's toned, her hair, though now red, shines just as bright as it used to when she was a strawberry blonde. Those pouty lips are just as perfect as the last time I kissed them, and I can still envision them calling my name when she comes.

Yes, this would be a hell of a lot easier if the girl I hated wasn't as attractive as the time when I used to be in love with her.

"It's June."

"June? As in June Madison? That June," she sneers. "You hate her. She killed—"

"I know, Whitney." I cut her off. I don't need the reminder. I already have a consistent one being with her inside these four walls again. "Listen, I don't have time to get into it, but it’s something I have to do."

"Get out of it," she yelps, and I distantly hear the sound of something getting thrown. The spoiled brat is coming out to play.

"If I could, I would. It’s what my aunt wants, and I’m going to do it,” I tell her firmly. I can hear Whitney’s breathing getting heavier. “Listen, it'll be fine, but I didn’t call you to talk about this. I called because I need you to do what I told you, and now I need you to connect me over to Greg? Tell him it’s urgent and I need to talk to him.”

"Can we talk about all this next time I see you?"

"Yeah, sure,” I say resigned.

“Or if you want, I can stop by and drop off any work you’ll need. Give you your own little bachelor party. Maybe have you re-think—”

“Whitney! I don’t need you to bring me work and get me Greg. Now, please.”

She scoffs. “Your loss.” She finally does as she is told and connects me over to Greg. At least when she has to, she does her job.

I'm in the middle of talking to Greg about his social media marketing plans for a client we’re working with when there's a knock on my door. I roll off my bed and yank it open. When the smell of jasmine creeps in, I fight off the nostalgic feeling it gives me. My little bride to be stands before me in a tight hot pink crop top which shows off her midriff and a pair of blue shorts. Her hair is braided and thrown over her shoulder. She looks as if she’s made herself right at home and the thought makes me sick.

"What do you want?" I hiss, covering the speaker on my phone.

“Maggie is here. She said she brought your favorite: lasagna and double chocolate chip cookies."

"Is that all?”

She rolls her eyes, as she plays with her braid. “Just thought you’d want to come down to say hi and eat something. Heaven forbid I be nice.”

"I'll be down in a second. You sure look like you made yourself at home." I point my finger at her attire, and she shrugs.

"I am home, Alex. Get used to it," she says tersely and turns around to move down the hall for the stairs.