by Cate Beauman
He slid on the green polo he’d been forced to purchase in the hotel store when he realized he was out of clean clothes and sat back down to put on his socks and shoes, stopping when his wedding band caught his attention. She had her show last night. He looked at the laptop then at the sock he had yet to put on and pulled the computer closer, clicking out of his document. He typed in the Times, even though he’d promised himself he wouldn’t. There was sure to be something about the fashion show and after-event at McCabe Jewelry. Lily and Abby’s names were too big not to get a mention.
The website popped up, and he clenched his jaw, looking into gorgeous violet eyes on the front page. There she was, with Lily on her left and Abby on her right, standing among the elegant flowers and pristine glass cases of her shop beneath the bold headline Lily Brand Catches Its Next Rising Star.
He read the article about the addition of the new Freedom line and the benefits both Sophie and Abby’s contributions would make on the Stowers House projects. Three new locations would be opening in Miami, Houston, and Seattle over the next six months.
He scrolled down, taking in the last two pictures, one where Sophie walked the runway in a mouthwatering short black dress, hand in hand with Abby, and the next where she stood by herself, grinning triumphantly next to the McCabe Jewelry sign she’d agonized over for days before finally selecting the stylish black font. “Good for you, Soph,” he murmured, staring at her stunning face before closing the lid on his computer.
Looking down at his ring again, he swallowed, missing the hell out of his wife. Sophie had what she’d been working toward. Her dreams were coming true. He wanted to be pissed at her for making him live without her—and maybe deep down he was—but he wanted her to be happy. She deserved all the happiness she could get.
He pulled the divorce papers from his bag, hesitating, then scribbled his signature on the line that would officially end their marriage. She didn’t want what he did. Her life didn’t include him anymore. What the hell right did he have to stand in her way? He folded them back up and shoved them away, ready to get the dreaded experience of going home alone over with.
Chapter Twenty-nine
“Thank you,” Sophie said, handing off one of the silver-frosted shopping bags she’d ordered for the store. They complemented the silver-toned jewelry boxes well. “I hope you’ll come again.”
“Honey, try and keep me away.”
She smiled at the sleek, pampered forty-something…or maybe she was seventy. It was hard to tell in this town. “I’ll look forward to seeing you back.”
“Probably next week if not before.” She winked. “Especially if you had something like that—” she pointed to the gold spiral link and cobalt beaded necklace on display— “in a burnt orange.”
“I could make that happen.”
“By Tuesday?”
She nibbled her lip. It would be tight with her backlog, but she nodded, not wanting to tell a potentially loyal customer no. As of late she craved the extra demands. Keeping her mind busy with catch-up work and new design ideas soothed, distracting her while the lonely late night hours ticked into morning. “Let me get your name and number.”
The woman handed over a business card. Althea Oliver, CEO and Investment Broker at the Oliver Firm. “I want that design exactly but with the burnt orange beads.”
“Okay.” Sophie made notes on a custom-order sheet.
“I’ll see you Tuesday.”
“I’ll look forward to it.” She stapled the business card to the paper, studying her trendy client with a sharp eye. Althea had burned up her credit card on three necklace sets and two bracelets. If she made earrings and a bracelet to complement the new order, she had no doubt the CEO would take them off her hands in a heartbeat, and she could easily charge double while making the woman happy. It was win-win.
“I’ll be telling my friends about this place.” She pushed open the door.
“I appreciate it.” Althea left, and Sophie’s smile vanished, her shoulders sagging as she leaned against the glass case. Pasting on smiles and pretending everything was great for anyone who walked through the door was exhausting. Letting loose a deep breath, she glanced around her pretty shop, then at the credit card slip she held, worth more than a grand. This should have made her happy. She and mom had dreamed of something like this for years. Now she had it. But she didn’t have Stone.
Shaking her head, she twisted her wedding ring round and round, knowing she needed to take it off. She set down the slip of paper and pulled the simple silver band halfway off, remembering Stone sliding it into place as he made promises neither of them intended to keep. Then she remembered his gaze holding hers as he tenderly kissed her knuckles the last time they were together in the shower. That’s not friend sex, Sophie. That’s love sex.
Sighing, she shoved the band back in place. “Tomorrow.” She told herself that yesterday…and the day before. “God.” Enough was enough. Standing up straight, she began to file the receipt when her phone rang. She glanced at the readout, and her stomach automatically tied itself in knots. Jeremiah. With fumbling hands she picked up her cell phone. “Hello?”
“Hi, Sophie, I’m sorry I’m just getting back to you. I’ve been in court all week.”
“Oh, no that’s okay.” She’d been driving herself insane waiting for news. Jeremiah had called her while she stood with Lily and Abby thirty minutes after he’d “gotten the ball rolling” last Thursday night. He’d let her know that David had been arrested with several memory cards filled with pictures of her and even some with Stone. He’d assured her he would start proceedings for a restraining order Friday morning in the LA courts. Then Jeremiah’s secretary called Monday afternoon, letting her know both David and Eric had been served with temporary restraining orders earlier that morning. Three days had passed without any more contact.
“I got the paperwork for the civil suit filed yesterday. I just heard back from the state police. Eric was served again today—about an hour ago—for violating our original agreement. The clerk told me we’re looking at three to six weeks before we get our day in court. Things are pretty backed up right now.”
“Do I—do I have to appear?” She bunched her fist, hardly able to stand the thought of going back to Maine. The possibility of facing Eric again left her nauseous, especially when she would have to do so on her own. Seeing him when she’d had Stone at her side had been hard enough.
“I’m going to try my best to make sure that doesn’t have to happen, but we are the petitioning party.”
“Yes, of course. If you could just let me know as soon as you do.” She would need every second to prepare herself.
“Sure. Definitely.”
“Thanks. Thank you so much for all of your help.”
“I’m glad I was able to. I’ll call you when I know more.”
“Um, I have another question.” She tucked several strands of hair behind her ear, growing more jittery.
“Shoot.”
“Okay.” She swallowed. “I know you’re not handling my divorce, but when would I hear back—about how long does it typically take to get word back that paperwork has officially been filed with the Superior Court?”
“It really depends. I take it you’re still waiting.”
She nibbled her lip. “Yeah.”
“You should give Kevin a call.”
She had, leaving messages yesterday and Monday as well, but he hadn’t returned her calls. She didn’t want to be a bother. He’d helped her so much already. “I’ll do that. Thanks again for everything.”
“I’ll talk to you later.”
“Bye.” She hung up, pressing her phone to her chin, debating what to do. Not having the answers where Stone was concerned was just as agonizing as her problems with Eric. Taking a deep breath, she dialed Kevin’s direct line, bypassing his secretary altogether.
“Kevin McCall.”
“Hi, Kevin. This is Sophie McCabe.”
“Ah, Sophie. Shoot. I have you on
my list of calls to make today.”
“I’m really sorry to bother you.”
“No, you’re not.”
“Okay, good. I was just wondering if you’d had a chance to file the paperwork with the clerk yet.”
“Honestly, I haven’t heard one way or the other. Typically my paralegal handles that. She left on maternity leave right around the time you initially contacted me. Our fill-in is still finding her rhythm a bit.”
“Oh.” She recognized the distraction in his voice as papers crinkled in the background. “Well, I’m sure everything’s all set. I don’t want you worrying about it.” He’d been kind enough to meet with her the night she left Stone and draft up the necessary documents right then. It didn’t make a whole lot of difference if she knew right now or in a day or two; the result was the same. She and Stone were no longer together. She just needed to hear that everything was settled so she could start the process of moving on. “Maybe after you and your new paralegal get into a routine she can give me a call and let me know that we’re all set.”
“I’m making a note right now, but I’m pretty sure Stone sent everything back in, so you should be good.”
Her heart sank. “Thank you.”
“Bye.”
“Bye.” She set down her phone, staring into the glass case as her eyes welled. Kevin was fairly certain they were good to go. She had her confirmation that she and Stone were through. This was a good thing…for Stone. He was free to move on, which had been the point. She breathed in a quaking breath, thankful no one else had come in to browse and that Carolyn had left early to take her son to baseball practice. Her marriage was over, and Eric was probably crazy with rage. The week couldn’t get any better.
She sat on the stool she kept by the cash register, rubbing her forehead. Her relationship with Stone was now behind her, and her problems with Eric just beginning. Two subpoenas in less than four days. It wouldn’t be long before he lashed out, making certain she knew she’d crossed the line. Restraining orders and lawsuits wouldn’t hold him back—like she’d known all along.
Shaking her head, she stared out at the pretty palms and flowers lining the street. Why had she started this? What good could possibly come from it? For days she’d wondered if Eric would come himself or send his message through a stranger. She stood on unsteady legs, tempted to lock her door, but moved to the back room instead, picking up the piece she’d been working on when Althea walked in. Sitting around waiting made her feel powerless. She needed to focus on what little she could control, like her jewelry, while her life fell apart around her.
~~~~
“We’re through here, Eric,” David informed him. “Find someone else to handle your problems. Don’t call me again.”
“Bastard.” Eric slammed down the phone and sat back in his office chair, gritting his teeth as he stared at the latest round of papers the State Police had delivered him. First the temporary restraining order Sophie and her attorney had filed against him, now a civil lawsuit for violating their original agreement. A mere four months in LA and Sophie had forgotten who was in charge. He would have to remedy that and make sure she remembered for a good long time that crossing him was dangerous. “Stupid, stupid Sophie.” She hadn’t gotten any smarter since March.
He crumpled the papers the officer had handed him an hour ago, winging the wad across the room. She was trying to ruin him. Monday he’d just stepped down from the podium, addressing the Bangor Women For The Arts Society, when a cop in full dress walked up, handing off the temporary restraining order in front of Missy Zimmerman, one of the town’s biggest busybodies and members of the Bangor Art Council. By Wednesday, rumors were flying around the community, and he was kissing Missy’s ass, along with Todd Copper’s and the other members of the local board, after Missy dug her nosy butt into the harassment and abuse accusations Sophie was claiming against him. No amount of schmoozing had discouraged them from temporarily suspending him as director until they could look further into “such a serious and troubling matter.”
Missy and Todd weren’t his only problem; Skip Fiscus from the National Art Council was breathing down his neck as well. He’d been in the middle of a video conference with the pain-in-the-ass representative, trying to explain Sophie’s accusations in the restraining order as nothing more than a bitter end to their relationship and her attempt at malicious prosecution. Just as Skip was reassuring him that he would find a way to sway the council to give him more time to get the matter cleared up, Marlene knocked on his office door, letting in another cop to serve him with yet more papers. Skip had quickly ended the conversation, no longer promising anything at all.
He flexed his hands as the veins bulged in his neck, thinking of the injustice. If anyone on either council had been forced to put up with Sophie for two years they would have smacked her around too. They would never understand the type of rage she’d incited on a regular basis. But that was fine. Missy and Todd would have their own “serious and troubling matter” to deal with when he withdrew the funds for the generous scholarship program and Arts in the Park Festival he paid for every year. And Skip was going to be in a bad way when his wife found out about the little bimbo he’d taken to bed in Puerto Rico last summer. Neither Missy, Todd, nor Skip would soon forget whose side they should’ve taken from the beginning—and it definitely wasn’t Sophie’s.
He flipped on his computer screen, staring at her photo in the Times from last week’s debut. She’d changed her appearance with makeup, fancy hairstyles, and inappropriate clothing, and she’d advanced her career with the help of Lily Thomas and Abigail Quinn, but she was still a screw up. David’s final few reports documented her packing her bags and leaving Stone McCabe’s house. From there she’d driven to an attorney’s office on Wilshire Boulevard, then to her shop on Rodeo Drive where she’d resided at least until the time of David’s arrest. The idiot wasn’t capable of doing anything right. She couldn’t even keep a marriage together for more than a month, which voided her trust. The money he’d had a right to was gone, his career in jeopardy, all thanks to her.
He rushed to his feet, fighting the need to chuck the monitor through the wall. Breath heaving, he walked to the window overlooking the main floor of his empty gallery. No one had come in at all today…or all week for that matter.
His phone rang and he went back to the desk to pick it up. “Yes, hello,” he fought to smooth out his voice.
“Eric, this is Chavez.”
“Hi, Chavez. I was just thinking about you,” he lied, taking his seat again. “Marlene’s set to ship my latest piece down to the gallery next week. It’s a beauty if I do say so myself. The Big Apple’s in for a treat.”
“About that, Eric. Deidra and I have decided we’re going to cancel next month’s show.”
He rushed to his feet. “What?”
“Please understand, Eric. I’ve just spoken with Skip about your suspension—”
“I haven’t officially been suspended,” he said through his teeth, starting to pace. “The council got their hands on some bad information. My lawyers are working on getting this cleared up as we speak.” He tugged at his necktie that was suddenly too tight. “It’s a huge misunderstanding.”
“Regardless, this just doesn’t seem like a good time to be showcasing your work. I’m afraid we can’t take this on right now. We’ll arrange shipment to have your pieces returned to you.”
“No, wait—”
“I really must go. Goodbye, Eric.”
“Damn it.” He slammed the phone into the receiver and picked it up, intending to break it into several pieces, but set it gently back in place when he noticed Marlene standing in the doorway. “Yes, Marlene.”
“Is everything okay?”
“Yes.” He cleared his throat, reigning in the tatters of his temper, certain he might slap her ugly face if he didn’t. “Yes, just fine.”
“I thought you might like your afternoon espresso.” She held up the small cup and saucer.
&nbs
p; “That would be nice, thank you.”
She brought the cup in, placed a napkin on the desk, and set down the fine bone china. “I think I might—” She looked over her shoulder as a blond with a dark tan walked down the hall. “Can I help you?”
“Yes. I’m Toni Terrell from the Times. I’d like to speak with Mr. Winthrop,” she said, looking at him as she spoke.
“I’m afraid Mr. Winthrop has a full schedule.” Marlene moved to the door, grabbing the knob, backing Toni up with her steps.
He measured the woman with the sharp, curious eyes, certain Ms. Terrell had the potential to be trouble. “It’s fine, Marlene. I have a few minutes for Ms. Terrell. Please hold my calls.”
“Yes. Of course. Can I bring you something to drink, Ms. Terrell? Mr. Winthrop is having an espresso.”
“No. Thanks.” She took the seat in front of his desk, pulling out paper and a pen from her bag.
“If you’ll excuse me then.” Marlene closed the door.
Eric sat as well, steepling his fingers, used to dealing with the press. “What can I do for you?”
“I’m working on an exposé on Sophie McCabe. My research shows you dated and were once engaged.”
“Yes.”
“I’ve been interviewing people here in Bangor. Many are saying Mrs. McCabe left due to a scandal.”
He relaxed his shoulders some, sitting back. Ms. Terrell was looking for dirt on Sophie, and he was more than happy to oblige. “Yes. I guess she did.”
“It’s been reported that she stole from you.”
“I’m not particularly comfortable getting into specifics, but I guess we could say she helped herself to money that didn’t belong to her.”
“So she did?”
He feigned hesitancy, looking away before meeting her intense stare again. “I’d really rather not say.”
“If you were to say, would you be able to confirm that several thousand dollars were taken and a warrant was issued for Mrs. McCabe’s arrest?”