Married To Her Ex (a standalone novel)

by Kat Cantrell

  If she lived somewhere much cheaper than her horrible new apartment and ate nothing but ramen noodles for a few months. And figured out how to organize a business.

  “I’m offering you a place to live for six months and the patent, free and clear, at the end. I’m confused as to why you’re struggling with this.” His brows drew together into a no-nonsense line.

  “I can’t do this with you.” Tears pricked her eyelids, big surprise, but she refused to let them fall. Tears made her look weak, and she couldn’t stand to be weak in front of Jesse. “I’ve finally put myself together again from the last time you flattened me. Why would I give you a chance to do it again?”

  “Because I’m irresistible?” His eyelashes fluttered like a sixteen-year-old girl’s, and she almost laughed in spite of herself. She’d fallen for his charm first, once upon a time. Then the blue in his eyes went flinty. “And because I’m holding all the cards. You want your lifelong dream of marketing your own product? You have to go through me to get it. Otherwise, sell me your share and walk away with a nice chunk of cash. Your choice.”

  Ha. She didn’t have one, and he knew it. Jesse had never met a circumstance he couldn’t figure out how to control. A million years ago, she’d admired his skill with people and angles. Until he started using his black magic on her. “What are you getting out of this deal?”

  “You underestimate yourself.” Something primitive in his expression arced between them and tingled along her skin. “And we are far from over, whether you’ll admit it or not. It didn’t end well. I want to fix it.”

  Yeah, that jived. He liked to put pieces together, even if they didn’t fit.

  “Fixing our relationship is impossible.” Which he already knew, so obviously this was about the patent and nothing else, no matter what he said. Eyes narrowed, she clicked short nails rhythmically against the shiny surface of the table as her mind raced. “So, what are the terms? If I live with you for six months and go on your dates, at the end I get the patent whether we’ve made up or not?”

  “Yep. Don’t forget. You have to be nice on the dates or no deal.”

  And her soul would be the price. Even if she won, she lost. Because she’d be around Jesse constantly. Constantly reminded of how she’d once loved him so much only to have her heart handed back to her, shredded to a bloody pulp.

  He’d backed her into the corner so nicely a sledgehammer couldn’t bust her loose. What a choice—sell her share and find another dream or lie down with the leopard.

  Nausea wormed into her midsection, and she crossed her legs to still the restless urge to stand and run.

  “I’ll do it. But not for six months,” she threw in swiftly as victory lit his features. “Two months. Then I get the patent, and you can never contact me again, which is more than fair. I can’t wait six months to take the Thigh Thing to distributors. It’s got to go out by Christmas, in time for my target customers’ New Year’s weight-loss resolutions.”

  “Four. Final offer.” He pulled the phone out again, and her breath quickened. His tactics were as familiar as the back of her hand, and yet they still worked. Unbelievable.

  “Three. Final offer.” Was she seriously bargaining with the snake-eyed sheriff about the length of her jail time? “And you relinquish all rights to the Thigh Thing, including distribution. I don’t want to be partners any more than I want to be your wife.”

  An odd expression flicked across his features, but he so rarely gave up his thoughts that she had no idea how to interpret it.

  “Then why haven’t you filed the divorce papers yet?”

  Why had she opened that up for his inspection?

  “Been busy,” she mumbled, eyes downcast lest he read more into it than she intended. He’d never had any trouble reading her. “Once I get the patent, I’ll have Shannon redo the settlement so my legal claim to the Thigh Thing is spelled out nice and clear. Then I’ll file, okay?”

  Alexia bit her lip. Of course, at that point, she’d have to tell her sister she’d neglected to include it originally. And she’d have to confess she hadn’t filed for the divorce yet.

  She didn’t really want to open that up for anyone’s questions, especially not Shannon’s, the perfect Ford daughter who never dropped the ball. Plus, her sister loved Jesse. Her constant comments, all casually dropped, burrowed under Alexia’s skin. What a shame you’ve split up. Have you talked to him? Maybe there’s still hope. Take some time away from each other, then see how you feel. When she’d asked Shannon to draw up the papers, that should have put an end to it, but if anything, her sister’s interfering had gotten worse.

  “Three months.” Alexia cleared her throat. “I get the patent, and you drop out of my life forever. Deal?”

  She stuck her hand out and thought better of it far too late. Jesse clasped her palm in his, and she braced to be yanked into his embrace. Braced because she was frightened for a moment that she’d sink into it the instant he had her in his strong, familiar arms. Once, he’d been her friend, her lover—her everything—and it was a living hell to be on opposing sides.

  But instead, he merely held her hand in his rough, scarred one and smiled.

  “Three months,” he agreed. “The rest is all up for negotiation.”

  Chapter 2

  Alexia had taken the deal, and Jesse’s life was that much closer to being back on track.

  The sun beat across his shoulders as he drove with the top down, reveling in the killer June heat. Today wasn’t a day for being closed in—it was for wide-open spaces and singing at the top of his lungs to the dashboard. The roar of the freeway and whipping wind blended with the scream of guitars from the stereo so perfectly he couldn’t wipe the grin from his face.

  Alexia was moving back in with him, and he was on his way to pick her up. He wasn’t deluded enough to think it meant smooth sailing ahead, not for a moment. She didn’t let him push her around, which always got his blood pumping but at the same time drove him crazier than licking lead-based paint.

  Nothing had changed. But at least he’d taken a step toward fixing the mistake he’d made by leaving over the Christmas holidays. He’d just been so numb, so unable to see the way through the emotional quagmire he and Alexia were slogging through every day. Leaving was supposed to bring clarity. Not divorce papers.

  He’d woken up in a cold sweat every night since Christmas, and it only got more severe the longer they were apart. Finally, he’d taken control of the situation, and this deal had to work. Had to break through the big, whopping weight pressing down on them both. Everything else he’d tried had failed.

  She belonged with him, and the faster he proved that to her, the easier he would sleep.

  While he idled at a red light, his phone vibrated against his butt. Finally. Fishing it out of his back pocket, he wedged it between his shoulder and ear. He’d been waiting for this call a long time. “Hennessy.”

  “They’ve looked over the contract,” Ben said without preamble.

  Jesse swung into the next parking lot so he didn’t have to split his concentration between driving and his lawyer. “Yeah. And?”

  His stomach did a weird somersault. Alexia was going to be under his roof again within a couple of hours, and Ben was in negotiations to complete Outlaw’s first major acquisition. Which Jesse wanted to be able to focus on. With Alexia back in his bed and his life settled again, everything would be fixed.

  Ben’s hesitation went on a beat too long. “Sattlewhite’s stalling. He waffled over a couple of clauses. Textbook stuff, so I think sentiment is cramping his signature hand.”

  “So uncramp it. Unless he’s changed his mind about selling?” The phone slipped out of Jesse’s suddenly damp hand, and after a quick swipe across his thigh, he grabbed the phone and stuck it back under his ear. Freaking Texas heat.

  “No, he still reads like a sale. Your price is more than fair. Word is Sattlewhite’s got some hope his son might still step up to run the company.”

  Jesse snorted. Sa
ttlewhite’s son was working his way across Europe—in the opposite direction from home and with as many supermodels as he could collect—and had no interest in the family business. Jesse and Ben had researched the company exhaustively before making an offer. “How long did you give him?”

  “End of the week. I’m sending the revised contract, per his weaseling, as soon as I hang up. The acquisition is going to happen,” Ben said.

  It was a statement and a promise in one. Ben would deliver, period.

  Jesse ended the call and dropped the phone into the passenger seat. His breath expelled in a rush. No one, not even Ben, his oldest friend, knew what this purchase meant to him. To his company. No dad should ever have to go home and tell his little boy he’d lost his job to offshore outsourcing. Outlaw Manufacturing was about to enter the big leagues, and it put him one step closer to his goal of standing shoulder to shoulder with other global manufacturers while keeping American jobs on American soil.

  And if Jesse happened to possess the patent for the Thigh Thing, it only solidified Outlaw’s position as a diverse organization with future expansion strategies on the horizon. The leverage it gave him with both Sattlewhite and Alexia was a sweet bonus.

  The more control he had, the better he liked it. Growing up as the oldest of eight children had taught him early that the only way to get what you wanted was to take it. As an adult, he worked hard to keep what he’d amassed.

  He downshifted around the corner and skidded into Alexia’s apartment complex, a miserable little fake village with shopping and a nail salon. The faster he got her out of here, the better. The sleek Vette ate up the asphalt and rolled to a stop.

  She waited for him at the curb, seamlessly assembled. Whiskey-colored hair flawless, and not one crease in the body-hugging suit. All perfect and ripe for him to come along and mess her up. Take her outfit apart, piece by piece, and examine everything underneath with care. He’d always dug Alexia’s polished classiness and the way she bobbled his pulse with one cool glance down her nose, the one that said she’d get in the car because she honored her commitments, but she wasn’t going to like it.

  He jumped out through the recessed top, careful to keep a respectful distance instead of diving right into the hello kiss he’d prefer. “Punctual. What’s the occasion? I expected to have to drag you over the threshold, kicking and screaming.”

  She stabbed her arms into straitjacket position. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

  “Not especially. I’m looking forward to having you willing.” With her mile-wide independent streak, it would be a long wait, but he’d been practicing patience. Practicing, because he hadn’t gotten much better at it.

  He took her bags and stuffed them into the small trunk. The lid wouldn’t quite catch, but he sat on it until something snapped inside.

  She settled into the low-slung car, being careful not to slosh the fish bowl clutched in both hands. He waited a second to be sure she wasn’t going to bolt and swung into the driver’s seat.

  “When did you get a fish?” he asked with a head jerk toward the Siamese fighting fish.

  Shrugging, she said, “A while ago. I needed a friend.”

  It was a not-so-subtle reminder that she’d been hurting and alone, and it tripled his guilt over how he’d mishandled the last year of their relationship. But then, she’d done her share of messing up, with little apology.

  He merged onto the freeway and clamped his lips closed before he said something he’d regret.

  “Where are we going?” she asked with a frown.

  “North of town.”

  “What, it’s like a big mystery? I’m going to be living there. I do kind of need to know where it is,” she shouted over the thunderous hum of the wind whipping through the open top.

  Not a mystery, but a surprise. One best revealed visually.

  “I’m not going to blindfold you. Enjoy the ride,” he advised.

  They fell silent. The plan only included getting Alexia to agree to the terms, not how to be near her with all the unresolved history glimmering between them like an extra passenger. Not how to be this close and yet so divided.

  He wanted his wife back. All the way back. Back to the way it had been after they decided to get married—fun and spontaneous. Before the weight of emotional turmoil had torn them apart.

  Hot wind whipped her long hair into tangles, but she studiously examined the unending cornfields. Planning his demise, probably; otherwise, she’d be demanding he put the top up. Which he would deny—he couldn’t resist the opportunity to get her all tousled and tasty-looking.

  Thirty-two miles later, he exited the expressway at a crossroads marked by cow pastures and a lone QuikShop. Dust swirled across the road followed by heat shimmers. Alexia gripped the fishbowl tighter with every rotation of the wheels, white knuckles growing so rigid it was a wonder the glass didn’t shatter.

  “I agreed to the deal. I’m not going to back out or run away,” she said. “It wasn’t necessary to completely cut me off from civilization. Why can’t we stay at your place in town?”

  He didn’t take his eyes off the road as he considered what to say. Isolation wasn’t the intent but would be the result. Hopefully, she’d forgive it. “I don’t have the apartment anymore. It was always temporary. I live here now. You’ll like it, trust me.”

  “Hmpf.”

  She clammed up, and he took the hint.

  As the car flew westward, they churned up more dust and scattered some buzzards. Out of the bleak landscape, a limestone wall rose up from the ochre dirt, running parallel to the road and then ending at large wrought-iron gates. Jesse clicked a remote he pulled from the center console, and the gates swung open. He gauged her reaction from the corner of his eye, but her face was expressionless.

  “Tres Lagos?” She read the words chiseled into polished travertine on either side of the gates as if it was the punch line to a joke she didn’t get.

  “Three Lakes,” he translated, his throat tight all of a sudden.

  He’d picked the slab personally, discarding sample after sample until he found one with no flaws. When people drove up, they saw the name first, and it had to make a statement.

  “I know what it says.” Her tone didn’t say spectacular. It said annoyed. She snapped her fingers. “This is the place your buddy Danny Denholm featured on the news several months ago. Special interest report. Some big-shot rich guy built it using local labor and mater—oh.”

  “Yeah, that was me. Guilty.”

  “I’m confused. You always said houses in this price range are a bad investment and are expensive to maintain. Why did you buy something like this?”

  Only Alexia would remember the conversation verbatim. Only Alexia would question the opportunity to live in luxury for three months. But then, she’d never been impressed by dollar signs, which he’d always considered outrageously appealing.

  So why had he ever thought she’d like a million-dollar estate?

  “I changed my mind. I got a good deal on the land, and Danny did the news piece so I could get the permits and inspections faster. Right thing at the right time,” he said, instead of the truth.

  He’d built it for her. He’d started scouting for the right property back before they split up. But suddenly he wanted things to be different between them before he revealed that.

  “How many acres is this?” she asked as they rolled up the main drive.

  “Two hundred and twelve.” The closest neighbor might as well have been in Oklahoma, the way he liked it. He’d never been good at sharing, not after tripping over seven younger brothers and sisters until he moved out at eighteen.

  He pointed to a copse of giant oaks and pecans ringing a dark pool, colorful and fresh against the surrounding dry terrain. “There’s one of the lakes. The smallest.” He tried to be nonchalant, but quiet pride snuck into his tone. “The other two are toward the back of the property.”

  The house they’d bought together had been nothing grand. At the t
ime, Outlaw was growing faster than he’d anticipated, and putting effort into a house had been the least of his concerns. Bricks and mortar held their clothes and gave them a place to sleep, and then they put it on the market when they split up. Neither of them got nostalgic about it.

  Tres Lagos was the start of something new. Different. Everything about it was welcoming and beautiful. Exactly as he’d painstakingly envisioned. He’d supervised the work crews—okay, harassed them—until they grew tired of him looking over their shoulders. The result was worth it.

  The Spanish-hacienda-style house, with an elaborate porte cochere and central courtyard, grew up out of the flat prairie and Texas limestone as if born instead of built. In the courtyard, bougainvillea, palms, and silver sage bushes thrived around a koi pond visible from the half-circle drive where Jesse had parked. Sunlight sparkled against the white stucco exterior, almost blinding in its sharpness.

  Surprise.

  “Wait a minute.” She pinched the bridge of her nose. “Did I miss part of the deal about me cleaning this monstrosity?”

  Did she think he’d painstakingly put together this plan to secure nothing more than a maid? “I have a housekeeper and a guy who handles the grounds. I do, however, expect you to cook.”

  She rolled her eyes. “That was a lame joke.”

  Yeah, it was lame, but her hazel eyes had lit up like the Fourth of July at the mention of a housekeeper, and he’d lost his train of thought. He had zero desire for another burned hockey puck on his plate and Alexia glaring at him with that dare-you-to-comment look she got whenever she thought she’d screwed up.

  “It’s hot. Let’s go inside.” He got out of the car and sped around to open her door before she had the chance. It was a convenient excuse to take her hand and help her out of the low seat. But her glower said she had his number, and it was already in the negatives.

  He backed off, let her scramble out of the Vette solo and totter up the flagstone steps in her slippery stilettos. She didn’t have to know he kept his palm four inches from the small of her back as he followed her up the stairs.