Page 40 of Just My Ex

But no. He points to the sofa as he walks towards it. It’s Sebastian’s totally nice, plush sofa that feels like a cloud.

I sink down into it and he’s next to me. There’s enough space between us that we’re not touching, but I feel his presence near me keenly. I drink in his musky warmth.

I reach a hand out to touch his knee, out of instinct, but the moment there’s contact, I pull it away. “Sorry,” I whisper. My hand still feels the bones of his leg—muscle memory.

“I know this is hard to talk about, but we need to discuss the possibility that Marley’s here for reasons other than what she claims.”

I lick my lips. “It’s Marley. She’s a free spirit. I truly didn’t think she cared so much about the money.” I swallow hard. At least I didn’t until fifteen minutes ago when her Jekyll was presenting with some big Hyde vibes.

“She does now.” Henry’s cobalt-blue eyes are tight at the corners. “Could Raymond and Nancy have convinced her to come here and talk to you about it? To talk you into giving it up?”

I shake my head. Nothing seems completely out of the realm of possibility now.

“I don’t know. Do I need to actually fly to Memphis?”

“No. Let’s hope she goes home tomorrow.” He whispers a curse word. “It was not okay for her to come at you like that.”

Now he’s almost shouting.

“Right.” I force my voice to remain low. “But if we can just hold on for a few more weeks, the judge will sign it over to me, we’ll get the protective order, and things will be okay.”

He sighs, heavily. “I hope so. I need you to fill out the profile on her. And I might ask Victor to check on her when she gets back to California.” He awakens the screen on his iPad and a California real estate website is pulled up from before.

A California real estate website?

What does that mean?

He quickly navigates away from it, typing in the Tate International website.

“You and that iPad sure are tight.”

He doesn’t look up. “Sebastian’s allowed me to stream the security footage from the resort.”

“Catching any bad guys that way?”

He sighs and sets the iPad down on the side table. “You teasing me now?”

“Not teasing per se, just interested in the process.”

“It’s a nervous habit, I guess,” he says, pointing to the tablet. “Helps me feel like I’m doing something proactive.”

I squeeze my eyes shut and massage my temples. “Well, once the judge signs, that’s it. We just have to hold on for long enough.”

His gaze inspects my face. “Headache? Can I massage it out?”

No. Because we can’t touch. But I will live and die on the sword that says Henry’s head rubs are better than a trained massage therapist any day of the week.

“I’m okay,” I say with some effort because, hello Henry’s head rubs!

His face is lined, and his gaze takes me in. “Hold on.”

He stands, rummages in the kitchen, and before I know it, he’s got a bottle of Motrin and mineral water in one hand and an electric heat pack in the other. He plugs it in near me, twists open the water, shakes out a couple of Motrin and lifts my chin with two fingers, a questioning look on his face.

I open my mouth and he places the tablets on my tongue and then hands me the bottle of water. I swallow the pills and then he takes the water bottle from me. He bunches up one of Sebastian’s irresponsibly fluffy throw pillows into a ball, then eases my head down onto it. He places the heat pack across my forehead, gently.

“Is it too hot?” he asks.

My eyes are closed, but I shake my head.

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