Rebound: Chapter 25

I sit back in my seat and punch the air. She wants to see me early, and her most recent message had more kisses than the last. So what if I’m acting like a goddamn teenager—I’m fucking thrilled at her response. I’m so happy that I push my chair back from my desk, lift up my feet, and whirl around in a circle. The only reason I resist the urge to shout “Yippee!” is because the walls to my office aren’t soundproofed. The CEO of Jamestech is expected to conduct himself with a modicum of dignity.

I can hear my secretary talking to someone on the other side of my door, so I’m glad I reined it in. Beverley’s playful tone tells me it’s someone she’s familiar with, but I grab my desk to stop my spinning and pick up a pen, hoping I look like a serious man doing serious work. I damn sure don’t feel like one.

When I reached out to Amber last night, I genuinely wasn’t sure which way she would leap. It was entirely possible that she would retreat further away from me. When she agreed to meet, I knew there was a chance—and a chance is all I need. Our follow-up messages so far today have done nothing to discourage me. Kisses—text message kisses. I don’t think Amber has sent me kisses in a message for over a decade, and now it’s twice in one day. Fuck. I can’t believe how good I feel right now. And I can’t believe I have to hide it from the world, at least until Amber and I have had the chance to talk properly.

We have a lot to discuss, but I feel confident we can make it work. For the first time in forever, I can see a future for us. One where we chat over dinner and go for walks and have amazing sex and support each other with love and kindness. A future where we are allies in life. It’s the path we were on when we got married, and we took it for granted. Never again.

I send a quick email to Luisa canceling the strategy meeting we had planned for later and vaguely wonder who Beverley is talking to. She laughs and says, “Oh my. He’s absolutely gorgeous.”

Seconds later, there’s a quick knock on my door and Nathan strides in.

“Were you showing her pics of Luke or Jason Momoa?” I ask, grinning at him.

“Well, I deleted all my shots of Jason when Mel started getting jealous,” he jokes as he walks toward me. Despite the banter, it’s clear he has something on his mind.

He sinks down into the guest chair opposite me and runs his hands through his dark hair—a sure sign of distress. I subtly glance at my watch and hope that whatever this is, it leaves me enough time to reach Amber by five. Turning up late because I was dealing with Nathan’s drama would not go over well. Those are the exact kinds of choices that helped us into this mess in the first place. It’s never easy though, being tugged in two opposite directions.

He grinds his teeth and clenches his fists. He’s not just upset, he’s raging inside.

“Bro, what’s wrong?” I ask, and he slams one of those fists down on the desk so hard it shakes. “Nathan, what the hell is going on? Is everything all right with Mel?”

“What?” Confusion flickers in his eyes. “Yeah, of course.” He shakes his head. “Look, Elijah, there’s no easy way to say this. She’s screwing you over.”

“What? Who is?”

“Who the fuck do you think I mean? Amber! I knew she was a bitch, but I never thought she’d sink this low.”

“Nathan, I have told you before—stop bad-mouthing her.” I stand up, my own temper flaring now. I’m sick of this constant tug-of-war. I’m sick of my own family refusing to see any good in the woman I love.

He jumps up too and leans over the desk toward me. “It’s not bad-mouthing if it’s the truth, and you really need to stop defending her. She’s not what you think she is, Elijah—she’s got you fooled. You should have made her sign a prenup.”

Making a visible effort to calm himself down, he sucks in a breath, plops back into his chair, and rubs the bridge of his nose between his fingers. “Sit down, will you? We need to talk.”

Something is very wrong here. I haven’t seen him this upset in years. He does a good job of presenting a cool, calm front to the world, but inside, Nathan is a deeply passionate man. He loves his family, and he would do anything to protect us. The conflicted expression on his face tells me that he is about to say something he knows will hurt me.

I sit, forcing myself to match his calm. “Go on, then. Spit it out. But make it quick, because I have somewhere I need to be at five.”

With my wife. With the woman he hates. I have no idea how I will ever resolve the two halves of my life, but I have to find a way. And that means putting Amber first—every single fucking time.

“You both agreed to use Drake for the divorce, correct?” he asks.

“Yeah.”

“So, you’re both using the same lawyer. There is no prenup. Nobody is looking out for just you. Do you have any idea how dangerous that is? Not only for you, but for Jamestech?”

Where the hell is he going with this? “So you think I’m a dumbass. You’ve made that abundantly clear already. Is there a fucking point to any of this, or did you just want to come by and make me feel like shit? All of this is hard enough without you weighing in and pointing out my flaws.”

He bites his tongue, his nostrils flaring. He is working damn hard at controlling himself. “I did not come by to make you feel like shit—I came by to tell you she’s not playing by the same rule book as you. She doesn’t have a scrap of the honesty and integrity that you have, and I don’t want to see you get fucked in the ass.”

“Charming image—but where is this coming from?”

His eyes meet mine, and his voice is a low growl. “She’s not being repped by Drake alone. She’s gone to Freddie Kemp.”

The words are like a slap across my face, and I sag back into my chair. There’s got to be some mistake. Freddie Kemp is … Well, he’s an asshole, but he’s also damn good at his job. Probably the most vicious and ruthless divorce attorney in the States. He has represented movie stars, crime lords, billionaire bankers—and their spouses. In every single case, the end result was the same. Freddie’s client came out on top. Not just on top, but completely dominant. Their other halves were either wiped out or severely financially depleted. No, Nathan can’t be right. She wouldn’t do that to me.

“What makes you say that?” I ask, needing to hear facts.

“Man, I just saw her. I was in their building for a meeting, and she was tucked away with Freddie in his office. And when she saw me, when I confronted her, she knew she was caught—she was all pale and shaky, not like herself at all. Because she knew I’d tell you, obviously. She’s been playing you all along, Elijah.”

Can he be right? Can this be the truth? I run things over in my mind. Drake advised her to find her own attorney to check over the settlement, and she gave the impression that she wasn’t going to do that. But were we both wrong? Has she played us? Why else would she be in Freddie Kemp’s office? She doesn’t like the man. Always said he creeped her out.

“Maybe she was meeting Martha there?” I say as much to myself as to him. “They’re friendly.”

He shakes his head sadly. “Martha wasn’t there. I saw Amber arrive alone, and Freddie’s assistant met her and showed her into his office. I wasn’t totally sure at that point. I know I haven’t not been her biggest fan, but if I’m honest, I never thought she’d stoop that low. So I hung around and waited. She dealt with Freddie and nobody else. It wasn’t a social call. You need to wake up and take action. Without a prenup, and with that scumbag in her corner, she could take you for everything. All this time you’ve been playing nice, she’s probably been gathering information. Information Freddie Kemp will use against you.”

Last night at dinner, she did show a lot of interest in the Seoul deal. Was that more sinister than it seemed?

“When was this?” I ask, trying to get the timing straight.

“It was maybe twenty minutes ago. I came straight here.”

Her message arrived right after Nathan talked to her. Fuck, does this mean he’s right? She was trying to get in front of it, altering our arrangement so she could get to me before he did. Maybe come up with some bullshit story to cover her ass. Her perfect heart-shaped ass.

There really is no other reason for her to be alone with Freddie Kemp in his office. Or to be talking to his assistant. If this was a Martha thing, they’d be sipping cocktails in that place they like off Fifth Avenue, not holding business meetings.

Still, I ask, “You’re positive?”

He nods, staring at me intensely. “Yeah. I can’t think of any other explanation. I wish I could, for your sake. I know you wanted this to end differently and that you still have feelings for her.”

“Feelings?” I echo. The word is wholly inadequate. “Feelings? I have loved that woman for over twenty years, Nathan. You do know what love is, don’t you?”

Hurt and angry, I can’t help lashing out, and I don’t give a damn.

“Yeah, dickhead, I know what love is,” he snaps back.

“Maybe you do now, Nathan, but you didn’t back then. When I brought Amber home, you made zero effort with her. And then after Mom died, you really drank Dad’s Kool-Aid—that whole ‘never fall in love’ bullshit he fed us. You saw love as a sign of weakness. Do you ever wonder if that’s part of why it took you so long to find someone?”

“So what if it is? It doesn’t make me wrong about this. No, I don’t like Amber, but that doesn’t mean I’m wrong. Like I said, I wish I were wrong. I really do. I’m sorry, Elijah. I am so goddamn sorry. But she’s planning to destroy you.”

It’s the genuine sympathy that undoes me. It’s in his eyes and his voice, clear as day. This has been hard for him, and he didn’t do it out of spite or because he doesn’t understand what love is. He did it because he loves me.

“Okay,” I say quietly. “I hear you. I … Damn it, I believe you. I just don’t want to.” I sound as broken as I feel.

He comes around to my side of the desk. “Get up, you asshole. How am I going to hug you if you’re all the way down there?”

I do as he says. He wraps me up in a bear hug, and we slap each other on the backs once it’s done. I don’t feel awkward—I am one of life’s huggers—but I am eager for him to leave. I need to be alone with this for a while.

“Get home to Mel and Luke,” I say firmly. “And thank you.”

“What are you gonna do?” he asks. If he had his way, there’d probably be flaming torches and pitchforks involved.

“I don’t know yet.”

He opens his mouth to speak, but I hold up my hand to silence him. “Nope. Don’t. Leave it with me for now.”

Something in my voice or my expression must convince him I mean it, because he gives me a nod and a final pat on the shoulder and leaves.

I sit back down, my legs weak and my heart heavy. First of all, I pick up the phone and call the firm of Kemp, Michaelson, and Chambers. I do not doubt that my brother saw what he says he saw. He might despise Amber, but he wouldn’t lie about something like this. He has too much integrity, and he knows the damage it would cause. But before I do anything else, I need to be absolutely sure.

Once I explain who is calling, I’m put through to Freddie straight away. “Elijah James.” There’s an edge to his voice, but he doesn’t seem at all shocked to hear from me. It’s almost like he was expecting my call. “I thought I might hear from you. I can explain.”

“Explain what?” I keep my tone even and polite. There is nothing to be gained at this point by antagonizing him. He doesn’t really need to explain why he’s taken on my wife’s case, although I guess it might be awkward socially as we run in some of the same circles. I’m surprised that bothers him, but Freddie always was on the unpredictable side.

It takes him a while to reply, and there is a hesitant note in his voice when he does. “Anything you like. What can I do for you, big man?”

“Well, for a start, you can tell me if you’re representing my wife in our divorce proceedings.”

There’s a pause, and then he lets out a delighted cackle. “Well, Elijah, you know I couldn’t possibly tell you if I was—I’d be bound by client confidentiality, would I not? But between you and me, because we’re friends, your lovely wife did pay me a visit earlier today. We talked over a few things in my office. That’s really all I can say on the matter. I’ll leave the rest to your imagination.”

He sounds unbearably smug, and I’d dearly love to punch his lights out. Instead, I take a deep breath. “Thank you Freddie. I appreciate that.”

After hanging up, I scrub my face with my hands. They come away damp. I am a forty-two-year-old man sitting in his goddamn office, crying because his wife lied to him.

No, she didn’t just lie to me—she has, like Nathan said, played me for a fool. I should have known. I’ve always said the woman could win an Oscar. She pretended to want a nice, civilized divorce. She even pretended there was hope for us, presumably to keep me distracted and softened up. Fuck, and it worked all too well. All I’ve thought about for the last day is how I can win her back. Apparently, all she’s thought about is how much Freddie Kemp can take from me.

My hands tremble as I pour myself a Scotch. Could it all have been a lie? The sex, our connection? The love? I bite my lip and taste blood.

It must have been a lie. Freddie Kemp confirmed it. It was a sweet, sultry lie—one I fell for hook, line, and sinker. She told me what I wanted to hear. She baited me and reeled me in. I am a fucking idiot. A fucking idiot with a broken heart.

I take the burner phone from my pocket and put it on the floor. Channeling all my anger and heartbreak, I power it through my body and slam my foot down, smashing the sole of my shoe onto the screen and grinding it to pieces with my heel.

Mr. and Mrs. Smith are over.