Page 3 of The Billionaire's Wife

I crossed to the desk and pulled open the file drawer. I scooted all the hanging folders close and scooped them into my arms. I turned.

She was watching me from the doorway.

“There shouldn’t be anything sensitive left. But don’t go snooping.” I brushed past her. There was a lot more static electricity in the air than seemed reasonable for a stormy, wet evening. Of course, I knew it wasn’t static. It was Faith. The chemistry between us—at least on my end—hadn’t changed. “Why don’t you get comfortable? I’ll let you know when the food is here.”

“Okay. I appreciate this.”

I nodded once and took a few steps toward my room. Then I stopped and looked back. “Do you have luggage somewhere?”

“I have a bag in my car. I’m in one of the visitor spots.”

That wasn’t going to work long term. I had a second hanging tag for residents. “Get me your keys. I’ll move you to a better spot and bring in your things.”

“I can—”

“Just get me your keys.” Exasperation leaked into my voice. “I’ll be right back.”

I went into my bedroom and stacked the files neatly in one of the corners. I took a moment to close my eyes and breathe. I could do this. I would hear her out. I would do my best to make the time to help with her legal problems. And then, when it was done, I’d give her the papers that I should have sent her years ago.

I crossed to my dresser and opened the top drawer. I grabbed the spare parking tag from the top pile of random things and then, after a moment, shifted some of the junk stashed in there to the side and pulled out the manila envelope that I’d buried in the drawer when I moved into the condo. I opened the flap and slid the top of the papers out. It was still a kick in the gut to read the words. Divorce. It wasn’t something I wanted.

I never had.

But it was probably long past time to accept reality.

So. This was good. I tucked the papers back in the envelope and returned them to their place. This would be closure. And then I could move on and stop being the only one of our group of friends who wasn’t in a relationship.

I snickered a little at that. I was married, sure. But a relationship? Faith and I definitely didn’t have that. Not anymore.

I went back into the hallway. Faith didn’t look as though she’d moved.

“Keys?”

She reached into her pocket and tossed them to me.

I snagged them out of the air. “Make? Model?”

“It’s a dark blue Camry. Kind of old. Dinged.” She hesitated. “Michigan plates.”

“Okay. I’ll be back. You can get settled.”

“Could I grab a shower?”

“Sure.” I squashed the flitting memory from the days when I’d believed our marriage could be real. “I’ll leave your suitcase outside the bathroom door. There should be towels. Take your time.”

I didn’t wait for her response. I turned and headed toward the door. My thoughts were going close to two hundred miles an hour. Michigan. Last time I poked around to see what she was doing, she’d been in Illinois. It wasn’t a big stretch to make the shift, but I didn’t really understand why she moved around so much.

Maybe that would be part of her explanation.

I drummed my fingers on my leg as I waited for the elevator. When it finally arrived, I got in and selected the ground floor. Thankfully, none of the kids from the building had managed to get back in and push all the buttons again, so the trip down was short. I hurried through the lobby and out to the parking area.

Visitor spots were mostly grouped together near the main building entrance. I scanned the cars there for a Camry, then pushed the lock button on Faith’s key fob. Lights blinked and a chirp came from the second row. I pushed the button again as I crossed toward the car.

I laughed.

“Dinged-up” was an understatement. How did this thing even drive? There were more dents and crumples in the body of the car than I’d seen outside of an accident report. And was that duct tape? I ran my finger over the long strip. It was indeed.

I sighed and unlocked the door, then lowered myself into the driver seat, pausing to scoot the seat back so there was a chance of my legs fitting. Faith had always liked to sit close to the steering wheel. She said it was better on her neck and back.

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