Elastic Hearts (Hearts #3)

by Claire Contreras

  His eyes searched my face for so long, I was sure he was going to find the answers to all his questions written all over it. I shifted under his scrutiny before he finally cleared his throat and gave me a sharp nod, moving along to the next point I’d written.

  “You want to keep the house?”

  “Not really, but I want to kind of stick it to him and he loves that house.”

  Victor chuckled, the sound so sexy I had to contain the sigh that threatened to escape my lips. “People never cease to amaze me. You want to keep an eight-million-dollar house with six bedrooms to live in all by yourself just to ‘stick it to him’?”

  I shrugged. “What do you suggest I do?”

  “Well, being that the eight-million-dollar house comes with an equally hefty insurance payment, I’d move the hell out of there, ask for more alimony, and buy a smaller house somewhere I’d love to live.”

  For the first time since I’d been there, I felt myself relax a little. I leaned back in my chair and set my elbows on the table.

  “I like that idea. Let’s do that.”

  His smile stayed intact as we went through the rest of the list. He even surprised me by laughing at the point about my dog.

  “You want shared custody of the dog?”

  “Yeah. Harlow Edwards just got a divorce and she has shared custody with her ex.”

  Victor closed his eyes and shook his head. “I should get a bonus for ridiculous requests.”

  “Yeah, well, I’m sure a bonus can be arranged,” I said. Shit. I didn’t mean for my voice to sound the way it did, raspy and needy, but that was the way the words came out.

  His gaze heated and held. I could feel myself unraveling, could feel the pull between us in the suddenly too-hot-for-me office and wished so badly I could stand, hike my dress up, and ride him right there. I groaned at the thought.

  I watched his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed. “We’re going to have to end this meeting and pick up another day.”

  I blinked away from him and swallowed back the lurid and very dirty things I wanted to say. What the hell was wrong with me? I was there to organize my divorce. Never mind that we’d been living in separate quarters of the infamous eight-million-dollar house for a year and a half. Never mind that he’d been screwing half of Hollywood and acting like it was okay, while I stayed at home or enjoyed quiet nights with friends. Me. The one-time wild child staying quietly at home while he, the once good boy from a small town went out and screwed around. Regardless of the eighteen months of disappointment and hurt I had been through, lusting after Victor was still inappropriate.

  He stood first, and I followed his lead, walking beside him to the door. I expected him to open it and get out of Dodge right away, but instead he held the knob in his hand and turned to look at me. I tilted my head to meet his gaze, which was serious, but not any less fiery than it had been before.

  “This thing between us,” he said, making the words slow so I understood each and every one of them, “is over. It never happened. You are my client. I am your attorney. There are laws against things happening between us, and I could lose my license if I break them. Do you understand that?”

  I swallowed thickly and nodded, my eyes not wavering from his, my heart thumping loudly.

  “Say ‘yes, Victor, I understand that.’”

  The man was completely serious. The problem was, being this close to him again, if I moved just a fraction, I could lean in and kiss him. His smell was intoxicating. His lips had always been so soft and fucking kissable. Damn him. I wasn’t going to let him get away with making me feel this way, like I was the only one affected by our exchange. I let out a laugh.

  “I understand, and I’m sorry to break it to you, but I’m not looking to hook up with you. Been there, done that, bought the shirt.”

  He scoffed. “That’s a shirt I’d love to see.”

  “I’ll show it to you sometime. It says, ‘It wasn’t a big deal.’”

  His lips curled into a slow, full grin. “I’m sure the word big is definitely in there, but I highly doubt that’s what the shirt says. Otherwise, why did you come back for seconds, thirds, fourths, and call me drunkenly on nights out with your girlfriends?”

  My eyes widened. I took a step back. “I did not.”

  “Did too, and texted. I have those saved.”

  My mouth dropped. “Why would you . . . even if I did do that, which I’m pretty sure I didn’t . . . why would you save them?”

  “You’re my boss’s daughter. God forbid you decided on one of your rampages that you were going to bury me and say that, I don’t know, I raped you or some crazy shit. I needed to have proof I was the one being pursued.”

  “You pursued me too in the past. Or do you think looking at me like you wanted to eat me for dinner didn’t count?”

  “Unless it’s in print, it doesn’t count.”

  I glared at him. “You are such a dick.”

  “I just want to be clear that nothing can happen here, so don’t make those ‘Victor, please fuck me’ eyes at me anymore when we’re talking about your divorce.”

  “I didn’t do that, but okay. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have someone in the lobby that I may actually be interested in.”

  He opened the door for me and followed me down the hall. I didn’t bother looking for my father. I just wanted to get out of there. I knew I’d see him for dinner the following night anyway, so I kept walking until I reached the lobby where Marcus was waiting for me with his phone in hand. He put it away as soon as he saw me.

  “Let’s go, Marcus, I have a lot of pent-up tension I need to get rid of,” I said. I looked over my shoulder to where Victor was standing. He looked at me, looked at Marcus, back at me, and if I didn’t know him at all I wouldn’t have noticed the way his eyes narrowed, or the way his jaw tightened. But I did know him.

  “We’ll be in touch. There are other things I’ll need to ask you. I’ll let you know when this is filed,” he said, extending his hand for me to shake. I took it. “I look forward to working with you.”

  His grip tightened a little when he said that, making my heart gallop. I had instant flashbacks: arguing over insignificant topics, me walking around his desk and pushing his legs apart so I could stand between them, his fingers tantalizingly slow as they inched up my skirt, his hand gripping my ass as he thrust inside me, his mouth on my throat telling me to shut the fuck up so we wouldn’t get caught.

  God.

  I’d be lying if I said there hadn’t been times after I starting going out with Gabe that I didn’t think about those moments, wondered who Victor was doing that to. I sighed as I walked out of the building and back into the commotion of the paparazzi. I knew Victor’s warning was real. Five years ago, he’d been very clear. I need to focus on my career. Obviously, he’d done that. And done it well. Was I wrong to wonder if he would be tempted to dance along the line of attraction again? He’d turned me away then. He’d probably do the same now. Sadly, my body wasn’t getting the memo. I couldn’t help but wonder how far he would go without breaking the rules.

  ONE OF THE perks of having the beach in your backyard was being able to wake up, roll out of bed and catch waves. Unfortunately, today was not that day. I missed my alarm clock and showed up to breakfast at my parents’ an hour late.

  “You look like shit,” my best friend, Oliver, said from across the table. I flashed him my middle finger. I didn’t have enough energy to comment.

  “What did you do last night?” my sister, Estelle, asked as she served herself orange juice for the third time.

  “Nothing,” I mumbled.

  I’d stayed up until five “researching” Nicole and Gabriel. My associates often asked me if my extensive research was necessary and my answer was always a solid yes. Normally, I had my assistant Corinne do my research, but this thing with Nicole . . . it felt personal. I told myself it was because I’d seen how badly some of my high-profile clients treated their spouses in a divorce, and if what I’d
heard about Gabriel had any truth to it, I was sure she wasn’t doing well personally, but it was more. There was a sadness in her eyes and stance in those photos.

  I hadn’t seen Nicole since before she married, hadn’t thought about her much after I found out she had, but seeing her again . . . it did something to me. I wasn’t going to lie to myself about that. I just knew I had to keep it business. All business. The problem was that while my office was normally a second home to me, now it reminded me of her. I wasn’t sure why after so many years it was happening, but it was. And after reading the abundance of damning gossip in the tabloids, about his affairs and his partying ways, I couldn’t understand why she had married that guy. She said he’d changed. I had to take her word for it. Maybe she’d changed too. Maybe she wasn’t the funny Nicole I used to know. The girl with the wicked smile and enough bite to make me want to settle down . . . just not enough to actually do it. Not then, anyway. Not now, either, for that matter. While all of my friends had married I’d stayed focused on my career. Truth of the matter was, I hadn’t found a girl that sparked my interest enough to want to settle down.

  “Let me get you more pancakes,” my mom said, snapping me out of my thoughts as she reached for my plate. I stopped her before she could take it.

  “Thanks, Ma. I can get it, though.”

  I needed a break from Oliver and my sister’s questioning gazes. Ever since they’d married, they’d started acting like I was a little lost boy when they were around me for too long. I guess at one point they must have gotten sick of learning a new woman’s name every time I brought somebody around, so they made it their mission to try and set me up with somebody they felt would gain my attention. That basically meant they were trying to set me up with every breathing female they came in close quarters with, which was what my mother had been trying to do since I graduated from law school, and having three fucking matchmakers breathing down my neck was something I could only handle in small doses. I was in the kitchen, smearing my pancakes with butter when Oliver walked in with his plate.

  “What’s the deal? I haven’t seen you this tired in a while.”

  “Work. I stayed up late looking into a new client.”

  He frowned. “Doesn’t your assistant do that stuff for you?”

  I put the butter down and picked up the syrup.

  “Your plate looks like a heart attack waiting to happen,” he said. I looked at him as I poured the syrup.

  “Oh, yeah? Did Dr. Oz teach you that?” I asked.

  Much to his annoyance, I always joked and said his obsession with Dr. Oz rivaled my mom’s with Oprah. He made a face of disapproval, but didn’t bother to tell me he didn’t care for Dr. Oz, the way he normally did. Instead he moved on to serve his measly oatmeal.

  “Prisoners eat more food than you,” I said, nodding at his plate.

  He chuckled, pushing all that girly hair off his face before taking a spoonful into his mouth.

  “I’m not even going to start a debate about prison food right now because I know how much you hate to lose. I’m just saying, you’re not twenty-one anymore. You need to watch the shit you eat.”

  I sighed. “I’m tired and I only eat like this on weekends. You know this and you still give me this little speech every fucking week. I already told you, it’s been proven that if you eat shitty food one day a week it speeds up your metabolism.”

  He scoffed. “Keep getting your information from those steroid-injecting wannabe nutritionists on Instagram and see where that gets you.”

  I smiled around a mouthful of pancake. I didn’t even have an Instagram account. He knew this. My life wasn’t exciting enough for me to document in photographs. We were eating in silence for a bit before he spoke up again.

  “Do you want to go to a charity gold tournament next weekend?”

  “Not particularly,” I said. “I’ll donate, though. What’s the cause?”

  “Childhood obesity.”

  “I’ll donate.”

  “You sure you don’t want to come? Lots of single women in those country clubs,” he said in a voice that sounded like something he would use to tease a child.

  Again with the trying to set me up with somebody. I resisted the urge to groan, but shot him an annoyed look nonetheless.

  “Positive. You of all people should know I don’t need help in that category.”

  “That’s the problem. You only meet women who are looking for a good time. These women are looking to settle down.”

  “Which is the same thing I want,” I scoffed. “Those country club women are looking for their next sugar daddy.”

  “No,” he said, drawing out the word. “They’re looking for men who have drive and know what they want. No shame in that.”

  “No,” I said, mimicking him. “They’re looking for money. Money and power.”

  As I’d looked at the pictures of Nicole and Gabriel that was the only thing I could come up with. Apparently that’s what women wanted—money and power. It was unsettling though, because Nicole had both without him. Maybe she just liked that he was famous. Still, the Nicole I knew wouldn’t have married a guy for any of those things. Or maybe the Nicole I thought I knew was a more accurate assessment. The Nicole I thought I knew didn’t even want to get married. I wasn’t sure what had changed, or where it did, but the thought that she had sex with me and accepted a proposal a few weeks later was just . . . mind-boggling.

  “You listening to me?” Oliver asked. I blinked a few times and turned to set my empty plate in the sink.

  “Sorry. I zoned out. What?”

  “I asked if you want to talk about the case you’re doing dirty work for.”

  I tore my gaze away from his and ran a hand through my hair. It wasn’t that Nicole had been my dirty secret or anything, because in a moment of weakness I’d told Oliver and our other friend Jensen about her, but I didn’t like talking about her. She was mine. Mine. That didn’t seem accurate, though, since she wasn’t mine and never had been. It still didn’t help the sensation I got in the pit of my stomach when I thought about her. When I thought about the sex and the phone calls, and the way they’d all stopped after I broke things off. All of it. I was used to women lingering for a while after breaking things off with them. That didn’t happen with Nicole. She didn’t linger. She just moved on.

  She just moved on.

  “Vic?” Oliver said, snapping me out of my thoughts. Again.

  “What?” My eyes snapped to his again. He was frowning, looking almost concerned.

  “You wanna talk about it?”

  “No, Dr. Phil, I don’t.”

  He chuckled. “You’re such a dick when you’re stressed.”

  Stressed. I was used to feeling stressed. This was something else. This was the fear of the unknown—the unchartered—and I hated being faced with things I couldn’t build a game plan for. I wasn’t sure what it was, but I knew I needed to keep my head in the game and thoughts of being between Nicole’s legs out of my head. Can’t say that didn’t cross my mind yesterday when she walked in looking like the queen she deserved to be. Stunning. Sexy. Yet, when I’d seen her sink into her father’s arms, I knew she was hiding behind a well-preserved façade. I had told her she needed to keep her shit together around me, but it went both ways. I would not succumb to her provocative allure. Could not.

  My sister opened the door and walked in with her hands on her hips before I could formulate a response to Oliver, and I was grateful for the interruption. These were people who could see right through me—read me like a book—and I couldn’t deal with that right now. Not when I wasn’t sure what language the words were even written in, and I needed to actually go see the person who had me feeling this way.

  “This isn’t Bean and Vic bonding time. You can do that tomorrow,” Estelle said.

  “You get more annoying with age. You know that, right?” I said, smiling at her when she stuck her tongue out at me.

  “It was pointed out to me recently,” she said, gl
aring at Oliver, who chuckled in response. “Anyway, I wanted to tell you that while you guys are cooped up in your living room all day tomorrow I’ll be at an orphanage.”

  “Doing what?” I asked as we walked to the living room.

  “Painting. I’m donating supplies and stuff.”

  “And her services,” Oliver added with that love-struck smile he always had around my sister. How the hell I didn’t realize they were together, or had been together, before I caught them was beyond my comprehension now I was exposed to their corny shit all the time.

  “That’s cool. And you’re telling me this because?” I asked, plopping down on the loveseat.

  “Because I haven’t had a chance to make the stupid bean dip or anything else, so you’re going to have to make your own or go grocery shopping.”

  “That’s fine,” I said, closing my eyes as I leaned back. I fell asleep to the sound of my sister and Oliver talking about groceries and my mom asking if she should make the dip for us. Despite the noise, I managed to sleep, and dreamed of Nicole Alessi and the sexy way she carried herself.

  It was just sex. It was. Really good sex, but I could have really good sex with a lot of women. I hadn’t planned on exchanging phone numbers with her after it was over, but then she adjusted her dress and laughed at the sight of her torn-up underwear and I wanted a repeat. I couldn’t explain why. I just knew I did. I didn’t expect to call her and end up staying on the phone when she turned down my invitation for the repeat. I didn’t expect her to walk into the office two weeks after I’d gotten a job there, and I sure as hell didn’t expect her last name to be Alessi.

  So many wrong things.

  So many illicit thoughts.

  So many reasons why the repeat wouldn’t happen.

  But then she knocked on my door. Mouth ajar, blue eyes widened in shock.

  “You’re the new guy?” she asked.

  In that moment, I didn’t know whether to accept the shock I felt or call security because she was obviously stalking me. Even the rational part of my brain was on full alert.

  “Yeah,” I said, uncomfortably eyeing the door she closed behind her. “What are you doing here?”