Page 4 of Hate the One You're With
My stomach twists into a knot, and I feel the blood drainfrom my face. “Two weeks? And what am I supposed to do if I can’t find Caleb?”
That’s a great excuse, right? I have no idea wherethe Misteris . . . or whether the divorce has gone through. No, that’s impossible. He was supposed to send the signed papers back to me so I could file them. Maybe I can intercept them. Finally, some logic kicks in. Why didn’t this idea hit me earlier?
Probably because I’ve been letting my heart lead the way instead of using my brain. Now, I’m back in CEO mode—cool head, clear focus, as Grandpa used to say. Alright, time to lay out everything that’s wrong with this ridiculous proposal.
Percy, or should I say Perky Percy—because he’s far too chipper about this—is crazy if he thinks I’m going to bend to my grandmother’s ridiculous wishes. “Plus, we no longer own the apartment in Brooklyn. The last time I checked it was all debris and they won’t start building until next year.”
“Ah yes, there’s that detail. I suppose we’ll have to figure out your new accommodations and?—”
“You can’t just decide where we’re going to live. She definitely didn’t think this through. For all I know, Caleb might not even be single or . . . well, alive. He was a SEAL, if you recall.”
Okay, now I’m lying, but can anyone blame me? I’m desperate—completely, utterly, hopelessly desperate.
“You two are legally married, so that’s not a problem. Though, if you must know, he’s currently unattached, alive and well,” Percy responds, as if it’s the most natural thing in the world to know the whereabouts of my estranged husband. “I happen to have his contact information. He’s currently residing in San Diego. He owns a security company with threecolleagues. They operate primarily in San Diego and Boston, but they serve clients all over the world.”
Percy knows where he’s at? “You’re serious?”
“Quite. He’s done well for himself—healthy income and financial stability. You should’ve been a little more concerned about your spouse throughout the years,” he replies, and I can practically hear the smug smile curling his lips. “I’ll forward you his contact details so you can reach out and . . . move forward, as you put it.”
I let him believe my disbelief was about Caleb’s success. Truthfully, it was more like, ‘Are you serious? You stalked him and knew not only his whereabouts but his financial bottom line?’ I barely managed to track down his current address, and I thought it was in Boston.
Next time I should pay for premium information or hire a PI. Not that there’ll be a next time. It was pretty awkward to try to find my estranged husband’s address. Yet, I’m genuinely surprised to find out he lives in San Diego.
But that’s really the least of my worries. I need to get out of this mess, so I press on, “And there’s really no other way?”
“None,” Percy says, his tone as final as a gavel slamming down. “I suggest you start making plans. If you catch me in a good mood, I might approve your choice of living quarters—assuming both parties agree on the location. And, of course, there’s only one bed.”
“What if we can’t come to an agreement? You just said he lives in San Diego and I . . .” I trail my voice, knowing that I can do my job from anywhere but would rather not leave the city and the comfort of my own home—or live with my ex.
“If you can’t compromise, I can always choose for you,” he offers, his voice dripping with faux generosity.
“This is . . . Somehow, I’m pretty sure this is illegal—or at the very least, it’s got to be a violation of the Geneva Convention. I mean, forcing two people to share one bed? Isn’t there a clause against cruel and unusual sleeping arrangements?” I can feel my frustration bubbling up.
“Not even the United Nations can help you with this, Emmersyn. Chop, chop.” He claps, the sound patronizing, like I’m a child. “Time is of the essence.”
I nod, even though he can’t see me. “Right. Thanks, Percy . . .”for nothing.
“As always, I’m here to serve. Good luck, Ms. Langley,” he says, and I don’t miss the hint of amusement in his tone before the call ends.
I drop the phone onto my desk and let out a long breath, trying to steady myself. Two weeks to figure out how to execute my grandmother’s wishes and keep the company from being sold off piece by piece. And to do that, I have to track down my estranged husband.
As I think that, an email from Percy and a text pop in with Caleb’s phone number. And then his address. And the email has an attachment with all his information. My head spins with the sheer absurdity of it all.
“Great. Just great,” I mutter to myself, staring at my phone. “What am I supposed to do? Call and say, ‘Hi, Caleb. Long time no see. I know I sent you some divorce papers, but can you just ignore that? Oh, and while we’re at it . . . want to move in together for six months, so I don’t lose everything I’ve worked for?’”
I pick up a pen from my desk, twirling it between my fingers as if the motion could somehow ease the frustration bubbling inside me. The urge to scream into the nearest pillow is almost overwhelming. This is ridiculous. Completely, utterly ridiculous. But what choice do I have? I have to reach out to him. I have to make this work.
Two weeks. I have two weeks to pull off the impossible. No pressure, right?
And so I do the most mature and logical thing there is to do, I call his office. That’s good right, calling his office instead of his personal number, which I now have because Perky-Percy has each and every detail about Caleb and his life. That’s a little creepy, isn’t it?
The phone rings, and with each passing second, my heart beats a little faster. I fidget with the pen, my mind racing through a dozen different scenarios, each one more awkward than the last. Finally, the call connects, and I hear a voice on the other end.
“MELCK Securities, how may I help you?” a woman’s voice answers, brisk and professional.
I glance at the information Percy sent me, which says this is supposed to be Caleb’s direct office line. Obviously, he’s wrong. Should I hang up and try again?
“Hello? MELCK Securities. Where should I direct your call?” the woman repeats, her tone still polite but a bit more insistent now.
