Her cheeks stain pink, like they do when she’s embarrassed. “Mmhmm…yeah, sorry about that.” She twists her hands in front of her.
“Don’t be.”
“I just needed to get up here, so I could talk to you,” she explains, gesturing with her hands. “And your Pit Bull Barbie receptionist wouldn’t let me through.”
“Pit Bull Barbie?” I laugh. “Guess that is a pretty accurate description of Serena. But you could have called if you wanted to talk. It would have saved you the trouble of coming here.” I don’t mean that. Her coming here, even if because she’s angry with me, means something. I just don’t know what that something is.
“I wanted to talk face-to-face about this.”
“And what is this?” I uncross my legs and stretch them out in front of me.
A frown appears on her face. “The divorce settlement, Adam. Have you lost your damn mind?”
“Quite possibly.”
She folds her arms, which pushes her tits up, and of course, my eyes go straight to them.
That’s when I see what she’s actually wearing. I registered that she had on a T-shirt, but I didn’t focus on the T-shirt itself.
It’s mine—or it was mine. She claimed it in the early days of our relationship. I loved seeing her in that shirt. I always felt like it somehow branded her with me, so no other man could ever touch her.
Seeing her wearing my old T-shirt causes something primitive to tear open inside of me, and all I can think about is ripping that shirt off her body and fucking her senseless.
“Nice T-shirt,” I say, lifting my eyes back to her face.
She glances down at the T-shirt. Her fingers curling around the hem. “I always liked wearing it,” she says softly.
Hearing her say that elicits a thousand memories. I feel the pleasure and pain of each one in every part of my body.
“I remember.” My voice is rough. I remember how many times I pulled it off your body right before I made love to you. “I also remember it was mine.”
Her eyes meet mine. “It was.”
“And so were you.”
Some unnamed emotion flickers through her eyes. She turns her face away. When she looks back at me, her eyes are devoid of emotion. “We need to talk about the settlement. I don’t want the money, Adam.”
The way she said my name was like a punishment, so I return the reprimand.
“Those are the terms, Evie.” I fold my arms over my chest. “You take the money, or I won’t sign the divorce papers.”
Frustration and anger gather up on her face. Being the sick bastard that I am, I get even more turned on by it.
“Why are you doing this?” She lays her palms out, almost like she’s pleading with me.
“Because I can.”
“Is this—is this some weird sort of test, or is it your way of punishing me because I left you?”
I let out a dry laugh.
She’s right though. Part of me is doing it to punish her. She knows me too well.
Unfurling my arms, I stand up straight. “Only you would think five hundred million is a punishment.”
“Because I don’t care about your money! I never did. It was never what I wanted from you.”
That blows a fuse in my brain. “Then, what the fuck did you want from me? If it wasn’t the money, what the hell was it?” I yell.
“You!” she shouts back. “All I ever wanted was you!”
“Then, why the fuck did you leave me?”
We’re standing here, yelling at each other, and I know Mark can hear us, but I don’t care.
I care about what she’s about to say next.
A flash of something I can’t discern passes over her face.
Then, her anger is gone as quickly as it came, and she’s retreating, backing up. “I can’t…this wasn’t a good idea. I shouldn’t have come.”
She turns to leave and I let out a harsh laugh.
“Running for the door again, Evie? What a fucking surprise. It’s become your specialty, babe. Tell me, does it get easier each time you leave, or was it already easy in the first place?”
Then, she does something that surprises me.
She stops. Her hand on the handle, she presses her forehead to the door.
For a second, I’m not sure what’s happening.
Then, I see her body tremble, and I hear a sniffle.
She’s crying.
Fuck.
I’m moving toward her without a thought. Stopping, I’m only inches from her.
Seeing her like this, crying…it’s like a vise is around my chest, squeezing.
I want to touch her so badly. But I don’t.
Instead, I ball my hands into fists at my sides. “Evie?”
“It was never easy.” Her voice is a whisper.