Her face drops, and I instantly feel like shit.
“I’m just worried about you, that’s all,” she says quietly, sounding wounded, making me feel even shitter.
“Case, I’m okay,” I tell her softly, placing my hand on her arm.
I know why she worries. Since Mom died and since her illness, she has this innate fear of losing Dad or me. It can make her thoughts irrational at times, especially when she gets something in her head. She probably thinks that Adam being back in my life is hurting me. And she will have, unintentionally distorted it her head, to it being a way that she could lose me.
“There is nothing to worry about, honey. Adam has nothing to do with anything.” Except that he has something to do with everything. “He’s just someone I used to know.”
I have to stop myself from breaking out in song.
“Just promise me, you’ll talk to me if you need to?”
I brush her hair back off her face. “I promise.”
She stares at me for a long moment.
Then, she picks up her bag and stands. “Okay, well, I’ll see you later.” She bends down and kisses my cheek. “Try not to eat yourself into a coma, okay?”
“Okay.” I press Play on the remote as I hear the front door close.
Wouldn’t you believe it? My cell starts ringing—well, vibrating against my butt.
Mothereffer!
Lifting up, I retrieve my cell. I check the screen. It’s Stan, my divorce lawyer.
I connect the call and put the phone to my ear. “Hey, Stan. Everything okay?”
“Hi. Well, I guess it depends on how you define okay.”
“Usually, right along with something awesome.”
“Well then, I have something awesome for you—or should I say, I have awesome news.”
My bat signal turns on. “What’s the awesome news?”
“I just heard from Adam’s lawyer. He’s agreed to the divorce, which means it’ll go through nice and quickly.”
“Okay.” Even though I knew Adam would agree, I still feel a sinking loss in my stomach.
“But that’s not the awesome. The awesome is that he’s agreed to the divorce on his terms, and they are in your favor.”
“My favor?”
“Yes. Massively in your favor. He is giving you a lot of money, Evie.”
“I’m sorry. What?”
“Money. He’s giving you a large amount of money as part of the divorce settlement.”
“But I don’t want a settlement. I never asked for that. Why would he do that?”
“I don’t know, and I wouldn’t questions it. Adam is offering to give you pretty much his net worth. He’s keeping Gunner Entertainment and his house, and that’s all he wants. The rest is yours.”
“His net worth? I’m sorry. I don’t understand.” My tongue feels like rubber in my mouth.
“His net worth is his total assets, minus outside liabilities, negating the studio. And as he personally owns only one house, Adam’s asset is cash and lots of it.”
“I know what net worth is. I just…” I can’t get my brain and mouth into the same gear.
It doesn’t matter though because Stan is on a roll. “We’re talking millions here, Evie. Nine figures. This divorce is about to make you a very rich woman.”
Millions? Nine figures?
I sit up so quickly that the remote goes flying off my lap and into the coffee table with a loud thud.
“He’s giving me all his money?” I gasp. “But why? It doesn’t make sense.”
“Sense or not, it’s about to be yours.”
“But I don’t want his money!”
“Well, whether or not you want it, he’s determined to give it to you.”
I press my shaking hand to my muddled head. “Can I contest his terms?”
Stan coughs out a laugh. “You can, but I can’t see why you would.” He sounds confused. He’s not the only one.
And he probably thinks I’m mental, but I don’t care. The only mental one here is Adam. He’s clearly lost his freaking mind.
I don’t want his money. I never did.
I have no clue as to why he’s doing this.
“I want to contest. You send those papers back and tell him no way am I divorcing him on those terms.”
There’s silence, and then Stan roars out a laugh. “I have to say, this is the strangest divorce case I’ve ever dealt with. Normally, the husband is holding back on funds, and the wife is fighting for them. Never have I had a husband offering everything and the wife wanting nothing.”
“Yeah, well, nothing about my and Adam’s marriage was ever conventional.” I sigh, dragging my hand down my face. “I just don’t understand why he’s doing this. Is he being forced to?”
“Forced? By whom?”
“I don’t know. The law? I mean, in Cali, is there a law that says he has to give me money?”
“Technically, the law states, if there’s no prenuptial agreement, then assets will be split fifty-fifty. But because of your unique circumstances—the fact that you filed on abandonment, putting yourself at fault, along with the length of time you’ve been separated, and you leaving him ten years ago—then no. There isn’t a judge that would award in your favor.”
“And his lawyer would have told him all this?”
“I would imagine so.”
“I just…” I rub at my head. “None of this makes sense.”
“Don’t make sense of it. Just be happy, and start thinking about how you’re going to spend your money. Look, I have to go. I have to be in court in fifteen minutes. We’ll talk soon.”
Then, he hangs up before I get a chance to reiterate that I want him to tell Adam no freaking way to his terms.
I’m staring down at the cell in my hand like it’s an alien.
What the hell is Adam doing? Why would he try to give me all of his money? It makes no sense.
Well, if my lawyer won’t tell him no, then I will.
Getting up, cell still in hand, I head for the front door. I shove my feet in my flip-flops and grab my car keys off the key hook, and then I’m out the door.
As I make my way down the stairs, I Google the address for Gunner Entertainment on my phone.
Wilshire Boulevard. It shouldn’t take me too long to get there.
I push out the door of my building and quickly cross the lot to my car. I get in and take off.
As I drive, I just get more confused, and then, quiet frankly, I get pissed off.
I mean, what the hell does he think he’s doing? He knows I couldn’t give a shit about his money. Is he doing this on purpose to mess with me? If he is, then it’s working.
Traffic’s pretty clear, so I’m there in no time.
I pull up outside the building. I’m out of my car and heading for the entrance.
I practically blow up into his building. I’m so angry that I feel like I could punch someone—preferably him.
I march over to the reception desk.
The, of course, gorgeous, mega thin blonde-haired receptionist lifts a finger, halting me, as she says into the mouthpiece, “Connecting you now.”
Then, she presses a button on the phone and flicks stony eyes to me.
I watch as she looks me up and down, a sneer appearing on her perfectly made-up face.
It’s then I remember that I’m still wearing Adam’s old Rolling Stones T-shirt and my ratty old jean shorts that I might have had since I was seventeen. I haven’t shaved my legs today, and my three-day dirty hair is in a messy knot on top of my head. I quite possibly still have ice cream on my face as I didn’t look in a mirror after cleaning it off.
Oh God.
I’ve just marched into Adam’s building, looking like a homeless person. Great. Just effing great.
“Can I…help you?” she says with as much distaste as is shown in her expression.
Maybe I should just back up and leave the building. I still have time.
No, I’m here now, and I need to know w
hat the hell he’s playing at.
Anger wins out over vanity this time.
Just pretend you belong here and don’t currently look like a hobo.
“I’m here to see Adam,” I say with as much confidence as I can.
“Adam?” She frowns.
“Yes. Adam Gunner, the guy whose name is on that sign hanging above your head.” I point my finger in the direction of the sign.
“I’m well aware of who Mr. Gunner is and what his first name is,” she says icily. “Now, what I want to know from you is, do you have an appointment?”
“No, I don’t have an appointment—”
“Then, you can’t see him,” she says smugly, cutting me off. “No one sees Mr. Gunner without an appointment.”
She pulls her headset off, swings her chair around, and gets up, walking over to the desk behind her.
Okay, now, she has seriously pissed me off. She’s like a fucking guard dog that I can’t get past.
“Hey, Pit Bull Barbie.” I slam my hands down on my hips.
She turns slowly to face me. The look on her face is pretty pissed off.
Like I care right now.
“Are you talking to me?” Her eyes narrow, her lips twisting.
“Apparently so.” My hands leave my hips to bang down on the fancy glass top, praying to God I don’t crack it. I lean forward. “Now, be a good little receptionist and call upstairs to tell Mr. Gunner that his wife is here, and she wants to see him now.”
Pit Bull Barbie’s eyes widen at the term wife. She actually stumbles back a little, grabbing hold of the desk behind her. “W-wife?” she stutters.
She seems pretty affected by this news.
A stabbing thought suddenly enters my head.
Maybe she knows Adam like I know Adam. Maybe she’s his girlfriend—or at the very least fucking him.
Oh God.
I know nothing of Adam’s life now. He could have a girlfriend, and she could be it.
And that stabbing sensation enters my chest and centers on my heart, piercing straight through and slashing from side to side.
I have to curl my hands around the edge of the desk to stop from falling over.
“Yes. His wife.” I hear the tremor in my voice.
Come on, Evie. This shouldn’t matter to you.
But it does. It really fucking does.
She lets out a sarcastic laugh. “Yeah, and I’m the next Queen of England. Mr. Gunner is not married. I would know if he were.”
Yep, they’re fucking. And I think I’m going to hurl.
Jesus, this hurts like a motherfucker.
I let my pain morph into anger. The images of her and Adam together are aiding that.
“Well, you might want to check your facts because I am, without a doubt, his wife. Now, do your job, and call upstairs. Tell my husband that I’m here to see him, and be quick about it.” I flick my fingers at her in a derogatory manner as I take a step back.
Okay, maybe that was overkill with the my-husband bit. And I honestly don’t ever treat people like I’ve just treated Pit Bull Barbie here. Being in the service industry, I’m treated like this regularly, so I always make sure to be respectful to people. But she’s really pissing me off, and if she and Adam are—well, whatever. I just don’t like her.
She strides back to the desk in front of me, sits her ass in the chair, and picks up her earpiece before putting it in. Then, she presses a button on her phone. “Mark, I have a woman here claiming to be…well, she says she’s Mr. Gunner’s…wife.” She flicks a look at me. “To be honest, she…” She spins her chair away from me, like she thinks doing that will mean I can’t hear her. “Well, she looks like a homeless person. Maybe she’s a mental patient who’s escaped from a facility. Should I call security?”
There’s a long silence while I stare at the back of Pit Bull Barbie’s head.
“Well, yes, she is small, I suppose. And she does have blonde hair, but it’s kind of disgusting—fine, okay.” She shoots me a glance over her shoulder. “What’s your name?”
I fold my arms over my chest, letting out a sigh. “Evie.”
She relays my name down the phone, and we go back to silence again.
Maybe I should just get my cell out and call Adam myself. Now that I think of it, I probably should have done that in the beginning.
“Are you sure?” she says. “Because—I’m sorry, what?” she gasps, her back going rigid. Then, more silence. “Fine,” she snaps. “Tell Mr. Gunner I hear his message loud and clear.”
She spins her chair back to me. Looking like she’s just been slapped on the face, her cheeks bright red, she bites out the words to me, “Take the elevator to the eighth floor. Mark Evans, Mr. Gunner’s assistant, will meet you there.”
“Thank you,” I say primly, giving her a smug look even though I really want to give her the middle finger.
I swivel on my heel and march over to the elevator. I press the call button. The doors immediately open. I step inside and press the button for the eighth floor, which also happens to be the top floor.
The door closes, and I crumble against the elevator wall.
Holy shit!
I can’t believe I just did that.
I just announced to Adam’s receptionist—and quite possibly a woman he’s fucking—that I’m married to him.
Me and my big mouth.
I really shouldn’t have done that. I can’t imagine that she’s going to keep that piece of news to herself.
And Adam, though not celebrity famous, is a notable person. He’s the head of Gunner Entertainment, for God’s sake. It’s newsworthy.
If this gets out…I’m screwed.
And as the elevator ascends, taking me closer to Adam, my stomach drops right back down to the ground.
It’s Christmas—well, almost. It’s Christmas Eve. Adam and I are at the supermarket, shopping for a turkey and all the trimmings.
We’ve left our food shopping pretty late, but between school and working every available shift I can at Grady’s in the run up to Christmas, I haven’t had a chance to get to the store. And Dad hasn’t had time to get out as Casey’s been sick with a touch of the flu, but she’s on the mend now.
Max has gone home for the holidays. I got the impression that he didn’t want to, but he had no choice.
Adam isn’t going home, so he is spending Christmas with us. As far as I know, he hasn’t spoken to his mother since she came in October. Adam hasn’t told me what went down with his mother after I had left, but I get the feeling that it wasn’t good. If he wants to talk about it, then I’ll listen, but I’m not going to push him.
He hasn’t mentioned his dad, but I know they’re not close. Adam’s dad is not the kind of father who calls up for no other reason than to have a chat with his son.
I’m just happy that he’s spending the holidays with me.
Dad is even letting him spend the night at our apartment tonight, so we can all wake up together tomorrow morning to open presents.
Adam will be sleeping on the couch.
We still haven’t gotten to the actually-having-sex stage in our relationship, not that Dad would let Adam sleep with me if we had gotten there. Not a chance in hell.
And I want Adam. I really do. I’m crazy about him. I love him. But I’m just not there with the sex thing yet. The thought kind of terrifies me. I’ve seen the size of his cock, and I honestly can’t wrap my head around how the hell it’s supposed to fit inside me, not that I’ve said that to Adam.
He’s just so patient with me. It’s amazing. He’s amazing.
“I’ve never done this before,” Adam says, pushing the cart alongside me.
I continue to deposit food into it from off the shelves. “Done what?”
“Shop for Christmas food.”
“No?” I give him a surprised look.
“Nope. The house staff always got the food and prepared it. Believe it or not, I didn’t actually have to shop for food until I moved here with Max.�
�
“That’s tragic.” I laugh.
“Yeah,” he agrees, laughing.
“So, what did you do for Christmas?” I imagine, with the money his family has, they probably spent it in Aspen or somewhere equally as nice.
His eyes lower. “Christmases were usually pretty shitty in the Gunner household. If Ava and Eric weren’t fighting over one thing or another, then Eric was getting drunk and waiting for the moment he could leave. We weren’t really the open-the-presents-around-the-tree kind of family. I usually spent most of each Christmas up in my room.
“When I was around thirteen, I started spending Christmas alone. Ava and Eric decided I was old enough to fend for myself, so they would go off—separately—to do whatever with whomever, so I would be home alone. There was the staff, but I would let them go home, so they could spend the day with their families. And I would just eat whatever our housekeeper, Millie, had made for me before she left, which was always something nice.”
“Your parents left you alone on Christmas?” I gasp, my heart hurting for him.
He shrugs like it doesn’t matter. Averting his eyes, he picks up a pack of cookies and starts examining them.
But I know it bothers him, and it makes me ache for him.
“I mean, I only spent two Christmases alone before Max found out, and he never let me spend another Christmas alone again, so it wasn’t all bad. Christmases got better after that. Max would take me to his house. Even though his parents are as close to fucked up as mine, they’re always home for Christmas. And it didn’t matter ’cause I was with Max, and we always had a laugh.”
I hate his parents. I’ve never even met his dad, and I hate him already.
No, I don’t hate them. I loathe them.
I mean, what kind of people leave their kid alone at Christmas?
The fucking evil kind—that’s who.
Stopping in the middle of the aisle, I walk over to where he is and wrap my arms around him from behind, hugging him tight. “Thank God for Max. I’m going to let him know how much I appreciate him when he gets back after the break,” I say into his shirt.
Adam turns in my arms and looks down at me. “I hope you’re not going to show your appreciation in the same way you show me that you appreciate me.”
When I Was Yours Page 14