Faking Forever (First Wives Book 4)

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Faking Forever (First Wives Book 4) Page 26

by Catherine Bybee


  This was not okay. Not again. Not with Shannon. Was he so easy to leave, to forget?

  He finished dialing her number.

  “You’ve reached Shannon, please leave a message and I’ll get back to you.”

  Hearing her voice made his heart shatter.

  He didn’t bother with a message.

  He wished now he’d put her on Friend Finder so he knew exactly where she was. Only the thought hadn’t occurred to him.

  It was Sunday morning . . . afternoon. He’d forgotten to set his watch to the current time. The last time they spoke she was excited about the loft, so that’s where he headed.

  Victor tried to calm down, talk the caveman off the ledge. He was still half-dead from flying and cautioned himself against jumping to conclusions. But damn if he was going to ignore the pictures he’d found. Maybe Justin was right. Maybe he was jumping too fast with Shannon. What if she wasn’t over her ex?

  His stomach wanted to erupt.

  Worse, his heart started to break.

  If she was walking away, she’d have to do so face-to-face. No running away! Not this time.

  He violated several speeding laws in his haste to drive to her loft and even parked in a red zone when he couldn’t get into the tenant garage.

  He heard music from inside before he knocked on the door.

  When she didn’t answer, he let himself in.

  Shannon was on her hands and knees, her arms reaching out in front of her as she worked a worn spot of the floor with a sponge. The simplicity of what she was doing was lost with the feeling that his world was changing with every breath.

  “Hello,” he said from behind.

  She jumped, turned his way, and dropped her head. “God, you scared the hell out of me.”

  She was beautiful, even with dirt smudged on her forehead. “Sorry. You didn’t answer the door.”

  It took her a second to get to her feet. She turned to him, took one step, and then froze. “What’s wrong?”

  What’s wrong? She couldn’t be that clueless. “You don’t know?”

  She blew out a breath. “Hold on.” She moved to the blaring radio and turned it off.

  The room plunged into silence.

  Shannon looked at him again. Paused. Anything that looked like a smile fell from her face. “You read the papers.”

  He nodded. “Yeah. All of them.”

  She started to smile and stopped. “You believe ’em.” She wasn’t asking a question.

  “Tell me they’re wrong.”

  “Of course they’re wrong. How could you think for a minute they weren’t?”

  He pulled the picture that was the most convincing out from the inside pocket of his jacket. “Explain this.”

  She took the picture from his fingers, handed it back. “Explain what, Victor? That a photographer took a picture, out of context, wrote a bunch of lies, and splattered it everywhere? Is that what you need to hear?”

  He ticked off the facts that couldn’t be denied. “You went to a political fundraiser.”

  “Lori asked me to go. Reed hates those things.”

  “Where Paul was going.”

  “I didn’t know he was on the guest list.” She placed both hands on her hips. “As if I need to explain this to you.”

  He looked at the photo again, winced at how intimate it appeared. “He’s touching your face, Shannon. Is that photoshopped?”

  She turned her back to him, her chest rising and falling rapidly. “I was telling him goodbye, Victor.”

  He ran his hands through his hair. “I thought you did that years ago.”

  “Divorce doesn’t always mean you stop caring for someone. He needed to hear it again.”

  Victor stood back. “You still love the man.”

  “Loved . . . past tense. But if you need me to spell that out for you, maybe I was wrong about us.”

  “All this posturing about me taking time to get over Corrie, and it was you needing time to get over Paul.”

  Shannon turned in a circle, put space between them. “This is a ridiculous argument.”

  “I went to your house.”

  “So?” She was pissed. How was she the one upset when it was him getting screwed?

  “You threw away my flowers.”

  Her jaw dropped. “I thought they were from him.”

  It was Victor’s turn to pace the room. “He’s sending you flowers?”

  Her hands flew in the air. “You went through my trash?”

  “They were on top of your trash.”

  She walked past him and to the front door. “Enough. Get out. You either trust me or you don’t. And obviously, you don’t.”

  Some of his fire started to turn to smoke. “Shannon . . .”

  She shook her head vehemently. “No. Go. I can’t.” She opened the door wide and pushed him through.

  When he had to back up to keep the door from slamming in his face, he realized his mistake.

  He knocked, heard the click of a lock sliding into place followed by her music being turned on and the volume placed on high.

  Shit!

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Shannon paced the loft, clearly heard Victor trying to talk to her through the door. How could he believe anything the papers said?

  When it was obvious that he’d left, she slid down the wall and stared at the bucket and sponge that had occupied her morning.

  She’d seriously miscalculated the man, and all for what? She’d promised herself years ago to never let a man make her cry again, and here she was, sitting in the middle of her brand-new loft with tears running down her cheeks.

  Runaway emotions were the worst.

  Her phone rang.

  She glanced at the screen, expecting to see Victor’s image pop up. She’d taken a few snapshots during their time in Tulum and had attached one to his number . . . only it wasn’t him.

  She picked up the call. “What do you want, Paul?”

  “Hello, beautiful.”

  She scrambled to her feet, turned off the music. “Stop. You have no right to call me that anymore.”

  “I want to take you to dinner . . . so we can talk.”

  “No. Paul, stop. Okay. Just stop.”

  “You saw the papers.”

  “Of course I saw the papers. Everyone saw the papers. Which is what you wanted, isn’t it?”

  The fact he didn’t immediately deny her accusation told her what she wanted to know.

  “I want you back.”

  The teeth in the back of her mouth started to strain under the pressure of her clenched jaw. “You need me back. It isn’t the same as want, so be honest with yourself. Your campaign manager is probably waiting for your call to tell him I’m on the hook.”

  “You weren’t like this when we were married, Shannon. Victor Brooks isn’t good for you.”

  Hearing Victor’s name roll off Paul’s tongue was like ice on a bad tooth. “You know nothing about Victor.”

  “He’s a garbage man, Shannon. Takes trash from others and sells it abroad. You deserve better.”

  “How dare you.”

  “I’m sorry. That was out of line. You belong in cocktail parties and diamonds, the life we had together.”

  “Had, Paul. And it was all a facade.”

  “You wanted it to last,” he pointed out.

  “At one time, yes. But we’ve been over this. I’m finally over you. And if you think selling pictures to the tabloids was the way to win me back, you’d be wrong. All it did was point out the kind of man you are. You used me to get what you wanted the first time. I won’t fall for it a second time.”

  “You signed the Alliance contract just like me. Who is the one pretending now?”

  “I said goodbye last night. I meant it.”

  She heard him take a breath. “Fine.” His voice changed. “What will it take?”

  She pinched her brows together. “What do you mean?”

  “Six million was your price the last time. How much do you
want now? Double?”

  The knot in her throat stuck.

  “Fifteen?” he asked. “Name your price.”

  “You make me sick.”

  “Will twenty million make you less ill?”

  “Fuck you, Paul.” Any feelings she’d had for the man disappeared with his proposition.

  She hung up.

  Her phone immediately rang again. This time it was her mother.

  “Good Lord, now what?”

  Drying her eyes with the back of her hand, she faced her mother’s call because ignoring it would bring twice the pain. “Hello.”

  “Shannon, honey, how are you?”

  Shannon, honey, was always a bad sign. “I’m fine, Mom. What’s up?”

  “I’m calling to make sure we’re still on for your birthday dinner.”

  Birthday dinner? Good God, she’d been so busy and preoccupied with the loft, Victor . . . the stitches that still pained her with every step, she’d forgotten about her birthday the next day.

  “I don’t know, can we postpone that?”

  “I’m not sure how one can postpone their birthdays. If I knew how, I would have years ago.”

  Shannon tried to keep the tears from falling. “I’m having a bad week.”

  “I can help make it better. Paul called and asked if he could join us.”

  Shannon bounced back. “He what? When?”

  “He called a couple of hours ago. I saw the paper, honey. I can’t tell you how hopeful your father and I are about a possible reunion. Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “Mom . . . there is no reunion.”

  “Paul made it sound as if there was.”

  “Paul is full of shit.”

  “Shannon!” her mother scolded her.

  “No, Mom. Cancel the dinner. I won’t be there. If Paul calls, tell him to revisit our last conversation.”

  “Honey, please.”

  “Mom . . . listen to me carefully. I love you. I love Dad. Thank you for wanting to celebrate my birthday with me, but not this year. I have other plans.” Like slipping away to sulk in peace.

  “I’m so disappointed.”

  “I am, too.” And she hung up.

  Pent up energy had her scrubbing the floor harder. Calls came through, but she didn’t answer any of them. Victor, Lori, Avery . . . even Trina.

  She got the feeling that if she didn’t leave the loft soon, they would all descend upon her like locusts. In the bathroom, she washed her face and swept her hair back into a ponytail. Dark glasses, in case some camera-toting asshole was outside trying to capture more pictures.

  In her car, her phone rang again.

  Unknown caller.

  “Hello!” Her greeting was an accusation. When no one started talking, Shannon’s anger spiked again. Paul would say something. “Hello?”

  Nothing.

  There was only one person she knew young enough to be the heavy breather on the phone. “I know who this is. You aren’t fooling anyone, Corrie. Why don’t you try growing up?” Shannon disconnected the call.

  It rang again.

  She punched the answer button, felt her heart slamming against her chest. “Grow the fuck up!”

  “Whoa . . . whoa . . . Shannon?”

  Familiar voice . . . not Corrie. “Who is this?”

  “It’s Angie.”

  Shannon rested her head against the steering wheel and blew out a breath. “Oh, Angie, I’m sorry.”

  “Phew . . . hello, big sister. This is Shannon, right?”

  “It is. I’m sorry. I’m having a really crappy day.”

  “Apparently. I don’t think I’ve ever heard an f-bomb fly out of your mouth.”

  They didn’t come often. “Today is that kind of day.”

  “That sucks, and on your birthday.”

  “That’s tomorrow . . . apparently.” She really had forgotten.

  “Oh, yeah. I guess I should have figured that out. I got your message last month and started feeling guilty for ignoring it.”

  That was nice to hear. “Why did you?”

  “Selfish reasons. But I don’t want to add to your bad day. I wanted to call and wish you a happy birthday and tell you I love you.”

  Okay . . . tears were starting to fall again.

  This was getting ridiculous. “I love you, sis. I miss the hell out of you.”

  “You should come visit me sometime. With all those millions, it isn’t like you can’t afford a ticket.”

  Which was true. “I have to know where you are before I book a plane ticket.”

  “I’m in Barcelona. I thought you knew.”

  “Barcelona? I thought you were teaching English for the Peace Corps somewhere remote.”

  Angie laughed. “That was, like, five years ago.”

  “Mom said . . .”

  “Mom says a lot of things. I’ve been in Barcelona for three years. Still teaching English, but not to indigenous people. I could only volunteer for so long before I realized I needed to make my own income.”

  “We have so much to catch up on.” She thought of Victor, Paul . . . her new friends and new direction in life.

  Victor.

  “Are you serious about me visiting?” Shannon asked as she switched the engine over in her car.

  “Of course.”

  “How does tomorrow sound?”

  “Are you serious?”

  “Great, what’s your address?”

  “You’re for real?”

  “I told you I was having a bad day. You just made it better. Give me your address, Angie. If you can’t clear your schedule, that’s fine. I just need to get away, and seeing you sounds exactly like what I need right now.”

  Three hours later, Shannon was boarding a plane with clothes she’d shoved in a bag to avoid lingering at her house and being cornered by anyone.

  She sent a group text to her friends.

  I’m not pulling an Avery . . . or a Trina . . . Okay, maybe I am. I’m going to visit my sister. I will text the location later. Wouldn’t want the freaking media hacking my messages and following me. And Lori, tell Paul to back off. Remind him of what he signed way back when. I need to clear my head. Love you all, Shannon.

  And she turned her phone off. Which was how it would stay until she wanted to pop back up on the radar. Between Friend Finder apps and her supersleuthy friends, Shannon was bound to find someone on the other end of the plane ride aside from her sister.

  Lori found Shannon’s text the second she was out of the courtroom and walking to her car. Before she could read it all, Avery was calling. “What the hell?”

  “Did you talk to her?”

  “No. Did you?”

  “No.” She picked up her pace, opened her car door, and tossed her briefcase into the passenger seat.

  “Isn’t her sister in Africa or something?”

  “Or something. Has Trina heard from her?”

  “No, Trina called me,” Avery said.

  Lori turned the car over, looked out her rearview mirror. “I’m calling Paul, you try Victor. Something must have gone down.”

  “I’m on it.”

  Avery hung up.

  Before Lori called Paul, she contacted her husband.

  “Hey, honey, how was court?” Reed asked before she had a chance to say hi.

  “I need you to find Shannon’s sister.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Angie . . . Redding, I think. I don’t believe she ever married. She was in the Peace Corps last time I heard anything about her.”

  Reed cleared his throat. “Do you want to tell me what this is all about?”

  “Yes, later.”

  “Can’t you just ask Shannon?”

  Lori rolled her eyes, pulled out of the parking space. “If only it was that easy.”

  She hung up before Reed asked more questions and then dialed the number she had for Paul. For five minutes she was given the runaround before he finally got on the line.

  “Hello, Lori.”

&nbs
p; “What did you do?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Don’t play coy with me, Paul. You said or did something to Shannon. Fess up.”

  He was silent.

  Lori waited and gripped the steering wheel to keep her mouth from opening and screaming at the man.

  “I asked her to come back.”

  “And when she told you no?” Please, please, Shannon, tell me you said no.

  “I offered her another contract.”

  It was a very good thing Lori was at a stoplight. “I’m going to play lawyer here for a minute . . . Are you listening, Paul?”

  He was silent.

  “Your contract specifically stated that any continuation or changes or anything in regard to Alliance has got to go through us first. You’re in direct violation just bringing the subject up without consulting us first. Do you understand that? Or have you forgotten everything you learned in law school?”

  “Yes, Counselor.”

  Good! The man could understand basic English.

  “Now that we have that out of the way . . . Are you that big of a moron?”

  The light turned green, and she shifted her car around a slow driver and hit the gas. “I understood you were a player when you signed on to Alliance, the risks were spelled out to Shannon, but you changed the rules when you filled her with hope that you were both more than temporary—”

  Paul started to interrupt.

  Lori didn’t let him. “You didn’t love her, fine. But you knew damn well she loved you, and you worked that for all it was worth. Now that Shannon is finally over you, you try and drag her back? That makes you a special kind of douchebag, Paul.”

  “I’m glad you’re being diplomatic about this, Lori.”

  “Oh, I’m not being diplomatic. I’m being a friend who is pissed off.”

  “Fine. Now that your tantrum is out of the way—”

  “My tantrum hasn’t even started.”

  “I want to hire Alliance again.”

  She laughed. “Not in this lifetime.”

  “One good reason why . . . and don’t say Shannon.”

  Lori sucked in a breath. “Alliance as you knew it no longer exists. In fact, it was someone searching for the truth behind your marriage to Shannon that helped shape our new business model. If you remember right, you and I had a conversation about this two years ago.” The fact that Lori’s now husband, Reed, was the private investigator searching for dirt on Paul’s hands was left unsaid. “Having you as a client a second time would be entirely too risky.”

 

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