Victor lowered his voice. “I’m sorry you didn’t feel you could talk to me.”
She leaned forward, her voice tight. “You don’t know me. I was told you addressed our families with a nice speech about me getting cold feet and then you mingled. How could you mingle?”
“I thanked our guests for coming and encouraged them to enjoy their stay regardless of what happened.”
“Then what did you do? Catch the next flight home to go back to work?”
He was not going to have this pissing match with her. Not in public. What was the point, anyway?
Closure, he told himself, he was searching for closure. For him, for her . . .
Victor’s silence had her sitting up as if he’d answered her question with a yes.
“While you were mingling, I was out getting laid.”
She was trying to hurt him.
He couldn’t muster a jealous ounce of adrenaline.
Her nose flared. “He was fabulous.”
And there it was . . . the age gap in Technicolor.
Scooting his chair back, he picked up the keys to his car and paused. “I have a box of your things at my place. Should I send it to your parents?”
“Burn it.” Her foot tapped against the air.
He wouldn’t, but he stood and finished their conversation. “Goodbye, Corrie. I hope you find someone who deserves you.”
Outside of the coffee shop, he took a deep breath.
That didn’t go well.
“I need advice.” Shannon looked out over her secluded backyard under the shade of her patio, her phone to her ear.
She could count on one hand how many times she’d been in her pool, and twice had been after her return from Tulum. Both of those times she’d ditched her swimsuit and hoped none of the neighbors was flying drones in the area.
“Is this about getting pregnant?” Lori was on the other end of the line. It was just after three in the afternoon. Shannon wanted to catch her friend before the end of the business day in hopes of luring her over for an hour after work.
“No. Nothing to do with that at all, actually. Is there any chance you can swing by after work today?”
“Oh? It’s something important?”
Shannon rubbed the back of her head with her free hand. She’d been up late, huddled over her computer, and woke with a crick in her neck.
“To me, but nothing you have to drop everything for. If you’re busy—”
“You never ask for me to drop by after work. I’ll be there. Should I bring wine?”
“I have plenty, just bring yourself.”
“Since there seems to be a lift in your voice, I’m going to assume I can leave my lawyer hat at work.”
Shannon laughed. “I haven’t done anything illegal in at least a week, you’re good.”
“If Avery said that, I’d worry.”
“Liam is taming our willful friend.”
They shared a laugh and hung up with the promise of seeing each other later in the day.
She set her cell phone in her lap, leaned her head back, and closed her eyes.
Slowly her body melted into the chaise lounge. Normally she’d feel a little guilty about having nothing to do during the middle of the day and move to try to change that. But since Tulum, she didn’t feel the drive.
Not for the first time that day, her thoughts shifted to Victor. What was he doing? At work, of course . . . but what did that look like?
She brought up the thread of texting he’d managed to sneak in since they parted in Mexico. Basically it was a series of numbers followed by something snarky from her.
The day after he’d called her, he sent a text. 74 Days
She replied with a rolling-eye emoji.
73
Are you going to ping me every day? she’d texted back.
Maybe.
And he did, until day sixty-seven. Much as Shannon hated herself for looking forward to his attention, she couldn’t deny the fact that she looked at her phone several times . . . waiting.
He caught up on day sixty-five by texting 65.5 and then a few hours later, 65.
Now they were on day sixty-two. It had been nearly a month since she’d seen him, a month since she and Avery were in Tulum. It dawned on her at that moment that she was once again entering her fertile time of the month. Maybe that was why she was finding herself looking for more attention from the only man on her radar.
She hadn’t initiated contact once with him. She only responded.
Shannon tapped her finger on the side of her phone . . . what would it hurt?
Victor sat across from Ray, his personal finance manager, and Manny, his accountant. Victor’s quarterly estimates were fanned out in front of them.
“I think it’s time you start diversifying, Victor,” Ray said.
“Projections for expansion aren’t looking favorable this year.” Besides, he already had three operating plants on the West Coast, two on the East Coast, and a hub in Texas and another in Michigan.
“He isn’t suggesting expansion. More like new ventures. Men with your wealth do things like buy newspapers or become partners in football teams.”
Victor laughed. “I wouldn’t know the first thing about owning anything like that.”
“You understand business. You don’t have to run a newspaper to own one. Racehorses on the track are never ridden by their owners.”
“You want me to buy racehorses?”
Ray sat forward. “I want you to consider something, anything, that makes money. Yes, I can continue to roll your money in the market like I’ve been doing for years. You own several pieces of property, all tied into the business. Let me play the devil’s advocate here. What happens if the scrap metal business starts to tank?”
“That isn’t going to happen. There will always be recycling of scrap.”
“You said yourself that exports are down. Projections are steady, but they aren’t rising like they have in the recent past, right?” Manny asked.
“I’m not closing any doors,” Victor told them.
“What if China stopped needing our resources, or war broke out and halted trade? Those are things that aren’t in your control and would affect Victor Brooks’s bottom line. I wouldn’t be doing my job if I didn’t suggest diversifying now, when you have the money and energy to take on new things. Would it hurt to consider other avenues without giving up this one?” Ray asked.
Victor leaned back in his chair and picked up the summary statement of his market investments. “Where would I start?”
Manny started packing away the papers he came into the office with. “Start with something that interests you. You have a team here for acquisitions and mergers, right?”
“Yes, of course.”
“Hand them a new task.”
Victor had stood to let the men out when his cell phone buzzed on his desk, catching his attention. He looked briefly at the text that flashed on the home screen.
62
He stared at his phone. What is . . .
Shannon.
His heart did a rapid thud in his chest, his lips spread into a grin. The woman had finally texted him.
“We’ll see you in three months.” Manny’s words snapped Victor out of his thoughts and back into his office.
He reached out, shook their hands, and walked them to the door. “Thank you, gentlemen.”
Victor snatched his phone and dialed Shannon’s number the second he was alone.
She picked up on the second ring.
“Hello, Victor.”
He liked hearing his name from her lips.
“Good afternoon.”
“You didn’t have to call me.”
“Yes, I did.” He crossed to the window of his office and looked out over the skyline. “We don’t really have to wait sixty-two days.”
“Three months. That was the agreement.”
Victor scratched his head. The image of her with her head tilted back and the moonlight on her freshly kissed
face reappeared from his memory. “I think of you. All the time.”
“That sounds distracting,” she said, a lift in her voice as if pleased to hear his confession.
“Terribly. My assistant keeps shooting me strange looks.”
“They probably think you’re reflecting on your relationship with Corrie.”
Hearing Shannon say Corrie’s name so effortlessly made him pause. “Even Mr. Clueless knows that talking about an ex with someone new in your life is frowned upon.”
There was silence for a breath. “When did I slip and call you Mr. Clueless to your face?”
He smiled. “I don’t know, but I didn’t pull that title out of the air.”
She sighed. “Well, in this case, Mr. Clueless, I think talking about your ex is important. It’s only been a month since everything blew up. Waiting three months is all about your reflection on Corrie and working through whatever emotions you’re dealing with.”
He knew she was right. Even if he didn’t feel any pressing emotions. “Do you really want to hear my thoughts and dealings with her?”
Silence again.
“I’ll take that as a no.”
“No, wait. I was there when it happened, the breakup, anyway. I’d rather we have conversations about her now, when it’s expected that she’d be on your mind, than two months from now.”
“That means we would have to have conversations that were more than a number texted on the phone,” he told her. He liked the idea of hearing her voice instead of having to pull it from memory.
“I don’t know—”
“I want to be transparent. You asked that I don’t play you, which means you’ve been played before. I’ve thought about that statement a lot in the past month.”
When she spoke again, her voice had changed. “No one likes to feel used.”
“Was it your ex-husband?” he asked.
His question was met with silence.
“Okay, you don’t have to tell me.”
“No, wait . . . if you can talk about Corrie this early, I will discuss Paul.”
He waited.
“He didn’t care for me the way I did him.”
“But you were married.”
He heard her sigh.
“When was the last time a single man was elected to the governor’s seat?”
He scratched his head. “I don’t know, but I’m sure it’s happened at some point.”
“Three times in the state of California. That’s it.”
“Are you saying—”
“I knew Paul wasn’t emotionally connected when our marriage started, Victor. But once we were there, and we spent more time together, he made me feel as if nothing would break us apart.”
“What did?” As soon as he asked the question he wanted to pull it back.
“Nothing catastrophic. He was busy being the governor; I was busy pretending to be the perfect wife in our cookie-cutter life. He asked for a divorce and I gave it to him.”
Victor couldn’t see anyone letting Shannon go that easily.
“This happened after he was elected.”
“Obviously.”
Paul used her to get elected. Dumped her once he was.
“I won’t use you, Shannon. I want to shed the title of clueless, but I might need some help learning how. I took your advice with my staff, and everyone is more relaxed around here. Before you, I would have ignored what everyone was thinking until it went away.”
“I’m glad it all worked out. But don’t give me credit. Your experience with Corrie had to help you realize what happens when you push problems aside.”
He started to argue her point and stopped. Victor hadn’t considered what he took from Corrie running away the way she did, but maybe Shannon was right. He’d been shocked that she’d taken off and oblivious as to why . . . until Shannon pointed out his faults.
“What makes you so wise?” he asked.
“I’m observant. Part of my profession as a photographer. I watch while others do.”
The phone on his desk rang. “My phone is—”
“I hear it. Go.”
It rang again.
He wanted to say something to make her understand what he felt just talking to her. “I’m going to call you again.”
She giggled. “Goodbye, Victor.”
“Until next time.”
Chapter Twenty
Shannon hugged Lori when she walked into her house later that day. “Thank you for coming.”
Lori handed her a bottle of wine. “I can’t do it empty-handed.”
Shannon graciously took the bottle and closed the door behind her. “I’m not sure if that’s good upbringing or a guilty curse,” she said.
“Both.”
She led Lori through the foyer and out the back door to the patio. “It’s such a beautiful day. I hope you don’t mind if we sit out here.”
Lori dropped her purse on the kitchen counter before following her. “I’ve been in this house five times since you moved in, and each time you entertain outside.”
“I like it out here. It’s the place I feel most comfortable.”
“Is there a reason for that? You mentioned something about selling last year.”
Shannon looked around at her midcentury modern home, made a little warmer by the darker wood tones than were normally seen in the style. “I picked this home two months after Paul executed the contract for divorce. Somewhere I thought maybe he’d realize he didn’t want to split, and he and I would spend time here together. This home is more his style than mine.”
“I should have guessed.”
Shannon crossed to her outdoor kitchen and found a corkscrew. She’d already set up glasses and a cheese plate for them to soak up the wine.
“When I think of all the pining I have done over that man. What a waste.”
“Some breakups are harder than others.”
The cork lost its hold on the bottle with a pop.
Shannon filled their glasses and lifted hers for a toast. “To positive change.”
Lori eyed her with speculation. “Since we’re drinking wine, I have to assume that means you’re not talking about pregnancy changes.”
Shannon sipped the cabernet and took a seat. Lori followed. “No. Nothing like that. I’m closing my business.”
Lori stopped midsip. “What? Where did this come from?”
“I don’t know. A combination of things, I think.”
“I thought you loved photography.”
“I do. Just not what I’m doing. It’s like this house . . . wedding photography is a compromise. I didn’t realize how much of my life has been a sellout until I watched Corrie run away on her wedding day.”
“Avery told me all about that.”
“It was quite the show. You hear about those things happening, but to see it go down . . . crazy. I noticed how upset everyone became when they realized she’d ditched the dress and ran off, and I thought . . . that is exactly why I never confronted anyone in my personal life. I was too concerned for everyone else’s feelings and needs. But you know what I witnessed after Corrie left?”
“Other than the groom getting hammered?”
Shannon smiled at the memory. “Other than Victor singing in the bar, yeah. I realized that everyone who had come to the wedding had a moment of shock, and then they went on with their lives. I’m sure Corrie’s parents are giving the girl hell, but they have to go back to living their lives eventually. Like with my sister completely shedding the things she was told she needed and gallivanting around other countries, living on pennies . . . my parents were upset about it, still complain on occasion, but it doesn’t rule them.”
“You’ve given this some thought.”
“I have. I’ve reflected more in the past month than I have in years. My only rebellion was marrying Paul. And when that ended, I faded away. Literally. I fell into commercial photography because it was a respectable job. It didn’t hurt that my name and status as Paul’s ex-wife landed me
contracts that paid top dollar. I guess I knew on some level I was using his name, but I didn’t care.”
“But you care now?”
“Not about using the name. Not really. But I don’t want to just be Paul Wentworth’s ex-wife. I can hide in my studio and book a wedding a month to keep myself from being bored, but where is that leading me?”
“What about having a child?”
Shannon closed her eyes, still saw what she thought her baby would look like. “I still want that. But if I have a baby to fill a void, what happens when that child grows up and has a life of its own? I’ll be right back here, or worse, I’ll put my needs on my kid and make them hate me for it.”
“I think you’re too observant to allow that to happen.”
Shannon sipped her wine. “Maybe. Maybe not. I need to find something external, something other than a relationship or a child to help find meaning in this life.” She placed her free hand on Lori’s. “I know I have you and the others, but what I really need is to rely on me.”
Lori sat back, crossed her legs. “You called to ask my advice, but it sounds like you’ve already made up your mind.”
Shannon set her wine down and unfolded from her chair. “About closing the business, yeah. I didn’t call you about that.” She stepped through the open door leading inside and brought out a stack of photographs she’d taken over the past week. “I wanted your opinion on these.”
She handed them to Lori.
Slowly, Lori looked over each individual picture without saying a word. At one point she put her glass of wine down and peered closer.
Her silence had Shannon wondering if maybe she was premature in closing her business. Maybe her dream was born from a childish desire and not talent.
After what felt like an hour, Lori finally flipped through the last image and lifted her gaze to Shannon. “Let me start by saying I don’t know a thing about photography.”
She felt her heart sink.
“Stop that!” Lori scolded her. “I don’t have a professional foot in this platform, but I know what I like. Holy shit, Shannon. Why are you sitting on this talent?” She thumbed through the pictures and isolated one. It was of a homeless woman, but not as you would expect to see her, full of despair and pain . . . no, Shannon had captured this woman as she sat beside her dog. The love in her eyes and happiness she had for the animal were palpable.
Faking Forever (First Wives Book 4) Page 17