Page 59 of Fractured (Not Quite a Billionaire)
“Who she’d have been sleeping with as soon as I left for the States.” More of the red cloud at that, more rage to breathe through.
He’d been a mate. And the minute I’d been gone…I’d never let myself think about it, but suddenly, I was sure it was true. “She could have gone for him again now, for that matter,” I realized. “To get him to sign that. He’d do it, too.” Fifteen years or not. People didn’t change. “Put a detective on her. Him as well. And then you’re going to go over there and do your own questioning. I want him on tape. He was always a weak bugger. Put him under the pump, and he’ll admit it. We have our own affidavits, and we’ll have whatever that detective finds. There’ll be something. Count on it.”
Violet had come through with an affidavit, of course, and she’d rounded up a couple more of our fellow students who’d spent time in my flat. That was three on our side as well. Pity my onetime roommate, Rog Harris, was proving elusive. He’d had a drink problem—another reason I’d wanted to move, because I hadn’t needed to live with that again. And another reason I hadn’t kept in touch.
“I’ll be there in an advisory capacity only,” Walter said. “I’m not licensed to practice law in New Zealand.”
“Don’t need you to practice law, do I,” I said. “I need you to intimidate them.”
Walter cleared his throat. “I’d be remiss if I didn’t advise you again that this could get very messy, and I’m sure I don’t have to tell you that ‘messy’ means ‘costly.’ Are you sure you wouldn’t rather I fly over there and negotiate a settlement instead? We slap a deadline on it, use it or lose it, all this could all be over in a week or two, and you could be planning your wedding. The further into it your wife gets with her attorney, the more she’ll feel she has a chance, and the more she’ll have invested in all senses of the word.”
“Or the more out of control she’ll feel,” I said. The problem with that was—the sort of thing that would scare a normal woman, that would tie her stomach in knots, would thrill Anika. The risk. The power struggle. The stakes in the game, and the consequences if she lost.
I could play games too, though, and I had a high tolerance for risk myself, so I’d said, “Keep pushing back. Whatever you have to do,” then had hung up and put it out of my mind. I’d focused instead, last night, this morning, and on through the long day, on the fallout from spending three weeks away from the office. I’d had one meeting after the other until six, and endless decisions to make in the final precious hours of quiet, during which I’d wanted to go home to Hope and had known it was impossible.
When I walked through the front door of the apartment at last, the first thing I saw was a pair of sandals kicked off in the foyer. I opened the closet, put them inside, straightened the untidy row of shoes while I was at it, and tried not to mind. It was a change, that was all. And it was Karen.
I went on into the living room, wondering why Hope hadn’t heard me come in, and realized why. Because she wasn’t there. Instead, Karen looked up from the couch, where she was sitting cross-legged, tapping on her phone. The coffee table held an open magazine, two books, three remotes, and a mug of something, Karen had a dish of ice cream in her lap, and some sort of fantasy show, all elaborate costumes, dark music, and grimness, was playing on the wide-screen TV.
The panel hiding the screen was almost never slid aside, normally. I preferred to work, work out, or, occasionally, read in the evening. I preferred quiet, always. It wasn’t happening tonight.
“Hi,” Karen said. When she turned, the dish of ice cream threatened to tip out of her lap, and I grabbed for it and set it on the coffee table. “Wait a sec,” she said, looking back at the screen even as her phone chirped with a text. “This is a good part.”
“Pause it,” I suggested.
“Oh.” She blinked at me. “Huh.”
I picked up the appropriate remote and did it. “This one. Good day?”
“Awesome. You should see what Inez and I made for dinner. Chicken mole. You have to toast the spices and stir the sauce for ages. I found out why Hope never made good food. It takes forever. It’s in the fridge.”
“Where’s Hope?” I asked.
“Went to bed,” Karen said, her eyes straying back to her show. “She was tired from her first day and everything, even though she came home way early.”
I was hungry, but I didn’t go into the kitchen. I went down the hall instead and opened the double doors to the bedroom.
The bedside light was on, and Hope was sitting up against the pillows, her e-reader in her lap. Fast asleep.
I went over to the bed, pulled the reader out from under her hand, and she jerked awake. “Oh,” she said, starting to sit up, then apparently realizing she already was. “Hemi.” She blinked those enormous eyes at me. “Sorry. What time is it?”
“Never mind.” I gave in to temptation, sat down beside her, and kissed her forehead. “Go back to sleep. I’ll get some dinner, eh.”
“Just…tired.” She shifted, an expression I couldn’t quite identify crossing her face.
“What?” I asked. “Still sore?”
“Yeah,” she said with a sigh. “Plus my period started, and I feel achy. Welcome to your romantic new life.”
I had to smile at that, and I had to run a hand over her hair again, too. “Nah.” I kissed her mouth this time. Softly, because she looked so fragile. “I like my new life. Go to sleep.”
When I slid carefully into bed beside her a couple hours later, though, she woke again, turned toward me, sighed, and murmured, “Good.”
I tucked her against me, and she rested her head on her favorite spot on my chest, accepted my hand stroking over her back, tracing the edges of her cotton camisole, and said sleepily, “It’s easier when you’re here.”
“Yeh,” I said.
And then she asked me, there in the dark, “Could you kiss me a little, do you think? I missed you. I’m too used to having you with me, I guess. How did that happen?”
