Married To Her Ex

by Cantrell, Kat

  “Because I knew how you’d react, Alexia.” He sliced a hand through the air. “I didn’t have any idea you were going to change our deal halfway through, and I’d already started the acquisition process. I figured I’d wait and see what happened before I upset you. My mistake. You took it ninety steps further than upset.”

  They’d fought about Outlaw for so long, it didn’t ring true. He’d been talking about expanding his company for a couple of years but had always claimed the timing had never seemed right. What had changed?

  The patent. The sharp, swift spike in her abdomen took her breath. “You were going to use the Thigh Thing as part of the acquisition deal, weren’t you?”

  Oh, now it all made sense. That’s why he’d given her back the patent. He didn’t need it anymore because he’d given up the acquisition.

  “It wasn’t part of the deal, but it didn’t hurt that it would look good for my company to be expanding.” He waved it away.

  Why wouldn’t he have told her about the acquisition then unless she was right, and the patent lay square in the middle of all this? “Is that the only reason you wanted me back? To get control of the Thigh Thing?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. And it hardly matters now. You’ve thoroughly destroyed my business, and the acquisition is dead. Congratulations. You win. You finally figured out a way to get me to stop working and get the upper hand at the same time. I sincerely hope it keeps you warm at night. Get out of my house.”

  His parting barb slashed through her heart, and she sucked in a breath as he stormed to the stairs without giving her a second to gather her wits or ask questions or even defend herself.

  So she wasn’t going to have a choice after all, if she’d had one in the first place.

  With shaking hands, she pulled out her phone and tried three times to bring up her contacts. Finally, the names appeared, and she scrolled to Shannon’s.

  She had to get out of here. Escape from the kaleidoscope of Jesse’s anger, misinformation and lack of trust. Not to mention her own confusion and disappointment.

  Her finger hovered above the call key as one of the names in her contact list registered in her beleaguered brain: Fenton, Mark.

  Her diaphragm pitched, driving all the air out of her lungs. No. Nononono.

  That desperate call to her college friend back in the beginning, when she’d been searching for answers after Jesse kissed her. Her college friend who happened to be an investigative reporter. What in the world could he have taken from her message that would have set him on the path of investigating her husband’s company?

  Nothing. Mark wasn’t that kind of guy. It was ridiculous. She’d called for advice and hadn’t even mentioned Outlaw’s hiring practices. Had she? Grinding a palm into her forehead, she struggled to think of what she had said and couldn’t remember.

  She called Mark to prove once and for all that Jesse had the facts wrong. Except Mark didn’t pick up this time, either. She left another message and threw her phone down.

  Sick waves hurled through her midsection. Abandoning the idea of escape, she curled up on the couch in the same spot where she had waited so long for Jesse to come home. Only once he had, he’d upended her entire world like a saltshaker, tumbling out all its contents in random order.

  What about this acquisition could she possibly be so angry about that Jesse would think she’d used it to destroy Outlaw? She would never do that, and it spoke to how splintered her relationship with Jesse had truly become that he thought she would. Maybe it was for the best that she’d found out neither of them could really trust each other.

  Perversely, she had to know if the Thigh Thing was somehow included in the acquisition.

  She sprang up from the couch and stalked into the study noisily, almost hoping Jesse would appear and demand to know what she was doing in his domain.

  The desk, with its elegant lines and modern design, sat prominently in the center of the study. Hardly the appropriate desk for a larger-than-life man like Jesse. It wasn’t his style and…

  Oh. Like the rest of the house, he’d bought it for her. The reminder fueled the fire. The man hadn’t outfitted the study for himself, but like everything else, his stamp permeated the room simply because he owned it. He liked owning things, especially her. It gave him all the control.

  The paperwork had to be here somewhere. Surely something like an acquisition would require some evidence it existed. She pulled open the top drawer. After a halfhearted glance at its contents of printer ink, pens and envelopes, she slammed the drawer shut. The rest of the drawers were locked. What, she wasn’t allowed to use her own study?

  Frustrated, she looked around. He might not have the papers here. Ben probably had them at the office because of course Jesse’s lawyer would be involved. The nerve of Ben, telling her how much of a mess Jesse had been after they split up, like Alexia held all the fault.

  She heaved herself into the deep leather chair, and the smell of Jesse wrapped around her. That was so not what she needed right now, to be surrounded by the scent of leather, burned metal, and grease. His scent. Tears scalded the corners of her eyes.

  The two of them were truly over now. Here in the dark study, stark truth bore down, weighing heavy on her shoulders and hammering behind her eyes. Engulfing her with misery. He’d told her to get out. Explicitly. He was through. Once he set his mind, a freight train at full throttle would be easier to veer from its course.

  Jesse gave a lot of lip service to making concessions and complaining about how she’d made everything about her needs, but really, she could flip that statement back on him easily. He’d never willingly concede control, and she was a fool for believing he had. For believing he loved her.

  He’d flat-out admitted having the Thigh Thing in Outlaw’s arsenal made it a more attractive company. Had he ever really wanted to fix their marriage, or was that just a nice side benefit for him?

  In her deepest heart of hearts, she’d let a little seed of hope grow that, against the odds, they’d figure it out this time. Now he’d crushed that seed to smithereens. And no matter what he did or said, he’d never get another chance.

  Two could play the full-throttle freight train game.

  A hard kick swiveled the chair in drunken circles. Light from the courtyard spilled through three bay windows on the north wall and highlighted the other end of the study. Next to the reading chair and floor lamp, Jesse had tucked a small filing cabinet disguised as an end table, like the one full of important papers he’d kept in their previous house. She tiptoed over to it, knelt, and swung the false front away from the base. This time she didn’t want to get caught. Not until she found the acquisition documents.

  Files lined the drawer, and she rifled through the papers. Insurance information, incorporation documents, tax returns, mind-numbing reports with column after column of numbers. She dumped all the files in her lap and flipped through them quickly.

  Ah-ha. Sattlewhite Industries jumped out at her, and she knew enough about Jesse’s competitors to recognize the name he’d thrown out during his storm of accusations. Stomach jumping, she read through Outlaw’s copy of the offer. No mention of exercise equipment, the Thigh Thing, or her name in any way, shape, or form.

  She put her head in her hands. Jesse had been telling the truth. The acquisition was nothing more than what it appeared to be—Jesse going after what he wanted. Like always. Like he’d done with her.

  The fact that he hadn’t said anything about this deal spoke volumes. He’d really thought she’d react badly, and why wouldn’t he assume she’d freak out? She’d bad-mouthed his company more times than she could count over the last few months, begging him not to spend so much time at work. And he’d made huge concessions that she’d yet to fully acknowledge.

  After all, he’d told her about the acquisition in the same breath as mentioning he’d given it up. For her. But she’d never asked him to, nor would she have. Neither had he trusted her enough to give her the opportunity to prove it.
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  Too heartsick to cry, she reorganized the files in the drawer and wished for a few tears to wet her burning eyes.

  A rag had fallen out during her frenzied search, and she picked it up to put it back in the filing cabinet when something about it struck her as vaguely familiar. Puzzled, she held it up. A piece of paper floated out and landed on the floor but she ignored it.

  Like a stampede, it hit her. This cloth wasn’t a rag. It was a bodysuit, the kind newborn babies wore, with snaps between the legs. White with a red slogan emblazoned on the front: I get my good looks from my Mom.

  An involuntary sob tore loose, and she clapped a palm over her mouth. He’d bought the baby an outfit. She sank into the plush carpet, heaving gasps rattling through the fiery knot lodged in her chest, and clutched the impossibly small bodysuit in her icy hand.

  Baby. The baby.

  Not “the pregnancy” or a miscarriage or an issue. A baby who had its spark snuffed out too soon.

  The baby Jesse didn’t want. Or so she’d thought. If he hadn’t wanted it, why had he bought a baby outfit?

  Something crackled under her knee. The paper. It had been wrapped up in the bodysuit. Her hand shook so hard, her fingers wouldn’t close around it the first time. She held it up to the light shining from the courtyard. A handwritten note. In Jesse’s firm handwriting, the note simply said, “Good-bye, baby. See you in heaven.”

  Alexia broke.

  She cried until her insides were on fire. Then she cried until her body shook from dehydration. Cried some more and then had nothing left to expel. The light hurt her swollen eyes so she crawled to the window and snapped the blinds shut. Then dragged her limp body under the desk, still leaking tears.

  Everything was so mixed up.

  The most important question wasn’t why he bought the baby an outfit, but why he’d kept it.

  Unblinking, she stared into the dark, letting it close in on her. Letting it creep through her eye sockets and numb her lips. But then it edged away, gone like a puff of smoke. A small thing like a panic attack couldn’t break through this unbearable grief.

  The panic attacks hadn’t quit after he’d apologized for leaving, not because she struggled to trust him again, but because she hadn’t accepted her own part in the drama yet. Jesse had grieved the loss of the baby. Somewhere along the way, he’d grown to accept the baby, maybe even looked forward to it, and of course he hadn’t told her, because she’d been selfishly wrapped up in her, her, her. Demanding he kowtow to her emotional needs instead of holding him through his.

  She’d failed to be there for him. Refused to see what was right in front of her eyes. She had left Jesse before he walked out the door, and yet he still tried to help. But she pushed him away, so sure he was happy the baby was gone.

  No wonder he’d worked all the time and then finally left. She’d been selfish. So selfish. And then he’d cooked up this ridiculous scheme to win her back.

  Jesse wasn’t the villain here. He’d built her a house. Given her a night-light, a bedroom. The patent and his love all at the same time. And she’d stubbornly rejected all of it.

  The dog. Groaning, she buried her face in the carpet. Useless. He’d bought the dog for the baby and then dubbed the gesture useless. He’d been exposing his heart all along, hidden beneath the layers of his brilliantly woven personality, and she’d tossed it through the thresher time and time again. So caught up in who had all the power, she’d missed it.

  She held the evidence of her utter stupidity, balled up small so no trace of it poked out of her fist. Everything was her fault. Of course he believed she had deliberately tried to destroy Outlaw. What had she done to give him any faith in her? To show him how much she loved him?

  What a mess. Had she subconsciously tried to ruin Jesse’s company when she called Mark, as some sort of sick retaliation for all the imagined wrongs he’d committed?

  The investigation was her fault, and now she had to fix it. She lay there in the dark, studying the underside of the desk. What could be done at this hour? Not much. In the morning, she’d worry about the small matter of being exiled from the house. Surely Jesse, even at the height of anger, would not expect her to pack up and leave in the middle of the night.

  She crawled up to Jesse’s chair and curled into a ball, head on her knees. And with his scent surrounding her, she began the excruciating task of planning a way to absolve her sins.

  At 8:05 a.m., still nestled in Jesse’s chair, she punched up Mark’s number again.

  Blessedly, he answered on the first ring. “Alexia?”

  “Hi, Mark. Sorry to call so early.” Her voice came out croaky.

  “Oh, it’s late here,” he answered cheerfully. “I’m in a little town south of Kandahar, in Afghanistan. Beautiful. You should come see it sometime. But not now. There’s this nasty little insurgence—”

  “Mark. I called you a month or so ago. Did you get the message?”

  “You called my cell? I don’t remember seeing a missed call or anything.” He shouted a terse command to someone who was evidently on the other side of the room.

  “Yes, I…” Had she selected his work number by accident? She’d been frantic, desperate. Determined to stop Jesse’s headway after he thoroughly broke down her defenses with one kiss. “I might have called work.”

  “Oh, well, there’s a guy covering my desk. He’s after my job something fierce, too, I don’t mind telling you. When I had the last-minute opportunity to do this story over here, I didn’t have any choice but to give him a couple of my assignments. Little backbiter didn’t pass along the message. What did you call about?” he asked off-handedly as if her entire world hadn’t come crashing down.

  The other reporter hadn’t passed along the message because he instantly recognized an opportunity. Just not the opportunity she’d intended. Sticking to the facts, she explained everything, but left out the part where that earlier phone call had cost her Jesse.

  “Gee, I don’t know what to say. Hang on.” Mark spoke in rapid Spanish to someone on his end, probably the cameraman based on the content. “I have to go. There’s a report of a roadside bombing. I’ll make some calls en route and see if I can at least find out if the backbiter is our guy. I’ll call you back later or send a text. Reception is spotty here.”

  “Great.” She blew out a breath. On one hand, it was a relief to take action. On the other, a whole new round of tension knotted her shoulders now that she knew the truth. “I appreciate it. I owe you.”

  “Hey, anything for you,” he responded, his sunny disposition evident despite being half a world away. “You got me through freshman year, and I’ll never forget those late-night pep talks when all I wanted to do was crawl home. Call me anytime.”

  The line went dead.

  It wouldn’t matter whether he confirmed it or not. She knew what had happened. When she thought she could speak without bile rising up in her throat again, she dialed the second person on her list.

  Jesse’s receptionist answered on the first ring. “Outlaw Manufacturing. How may I direct your call?”

  Alexia cleared her throat. “May I speak with Layla Montoya, please? This is Dawn Wilson with SMU Alumni calling.”

  “Hold please.” A hideous flute version of a Stevie Wonder song played while the call transferred. Obviously Jesse hadn’t selected the hold music.

  Layla answered instead of letting the call go to voice mail, so the ruse had worked. Hopefully it was a sign.

  “Yes?” she said, drawing the word out to about eight syllables.

  “Layla, it’s Alexia. I need your help.” Before the woman could slam the phone down, she rushed on. “Can we set up a time to meet?”

  Don’t hang up, don’t hang up.

  “I don’t believe it’s in my job description to help you,” she countered, primly.

  Quickly, Alexia interjected, “Outlaw is under investigation, as I’m sure you know. I have an idea to save it, and your skill set is critical.”

  This was A
lexia’s version of playing hardball. She needed Layla, and it was a bitter pill. But she swallowed it.

  “What can you possibly do, Ms. Ford?” Layla asked, her tone a little less frosty.

  “Mrs. Hennessy.” The title rolled off her tongue easily. Far too easily, despite never having said it out loud before. “It’s not what I can do, but what we can do together. I can’t do it alone, and I need help. And I’m not afraid to beg. Give me five minutes.”

  She began outlining the plan, and finally Layla agreed it could work. They arranged to meet later that day in what Alexia hoped was the first of many successful negotiations.

  At 8:30 a.m., she called the next person on her list. Then the next and the next, scribbling madly on the yellow legal pad balanced on her lap. Moki hovered in and out of the doorway like a giant specter in a plaid bowling shirt, staring at her through puffy eyes and wringing thick hands.

  Holding up one finger, she ended the call. “What is it, Moki?”

  “Mrs. Jesse, I’m supposed to make sure you leave. Mr. Jesse said so.” He was visibly upset. “But it’s not right.”

  “What’s not right? Jesse forcing you to do his dirty work? I agree.” She eased out of Jesse’s chair, legs protesting the first movement in several hours, but if Moki was about to throw her out, she needed to be able to walk. She massaged the backs of her tingling thighs and met his gaze, unflinching.

  “No, Mrs. Jesse. You should stay. You’re Mr. Jesse’s ohana. His family. He needs you. He’s just stubborn.”

  Moki’s mountainous girth morphed into a Polynesian Fairy Godmother. If he’d help her, she’d get a lot further.

  “I’m going to fix this, Moki, I swear. But I have some things to do first, and I have to find a place to stay temporarily until I can convince Jesse to listen to me. When I get it all together, can I count on you to help?” she asked. The timeline to execute her plan with Layla was still vague, but she was working on it.

  “Yeah, Mrs. Jesse. I’m on it. Why don’t you stay in the cabana at the pool?” he suggested.