Chapter 6
Lynley
Ididn’t waste time finding a lawyer to take my case. I used my last name to secure someone discreet—a man willing to work on the promise that his fees would be paid once the divorce was finalized.
It would be the last thing the Delcourt name ever did for me.
Ian Rutherford was confident, after I explained the situation and he looked over the prenuptial agreement, that the case would be open and shut—but we would need to prove Christopher’s infidelity in a way that would leave absolutely no doubts.
He helped me to get in touch with a private investigator, Lewis, but after only a week, my patience was already wearing thin.
It was maddening, sharing a bed with Christopher every night, acting like nothing was wrong.
He didn’t seem to suspect a thing, but it was obvious that he was getting tired of me rejecting his advances.
Too bad for him, because I’d rather sleep with a corpse riddled with maggots than touch that asshole.
Every time I feel myself buckling under the strain, I think of my kids and the way their entire world is about to come undone. The least I can do is make sure we have a safe place to land in the wreckage of it all, and that money isn’t something Mase and Ginny will ever have to worry about.
Rutherford was emphatic that Christopher could not know what I was planning, guessing that, if he did, my husband would use all his wealth and connections to make sure the divorce failed—or left me with nothing.
I no longer knew Christopher, which meant I had no idea of the lengths he would go to make sure he won. And with the children involved, I would not risk losing them or the ability to provide them a future.
I will not risk him winning custody and pawning the children off to his mother.
I don’t trust any of the Delcourts, their scruples nonexistent, and I don’t imagine for a second that they would think twice of using the children to force me to dance to their tune.
After dropping the kids off at school, I seek refuge at the local park, planting myself on a park bench looking out over the small pond.
On the other side, a mother approaches the edge of the water, her toddler clutching a handful of oats or nuts in a chubby fist. She pulls her arm back, throwing it all toward the ducks gathered on the surface, a giggle echoing on the breeze as the birds dive for the food.
The brave face I’ve been wearing all week falters as I watch them, my insides feeling like they’re withering away into nothing.
Ten years of marriage, of building a life with someone, believing you’re on the same path. A decade of memories and two children.
I’m not sure he was ever on the same page as me.
Hell, I don’t think he was even reading the same book.
My phone chimes in my bag, and I grab it out, hope sizzling in my chest as the PI’s name flashes across my screen. It takes only a second for the hope to die a vicious death, my stomach dropping as I read his message.
Lewis
Lunch @ hotel, walking in alone. Hotel won’t give information. Need to get closer to him.
Damn. I’m not sure why, but I expected this to be easy, especially with how careless he seems to have become. I stare down at my phone, the words blurring as an idea brews in my mind.
I’ve been sitting passively this past week, letting everyone else handle my personal business for me, but the role no longer suits me. I don’t want to sit on my hands and wait for someone else to fight this battle.
Lynley
I might have an idea.
I stare up at the building in front of me, the courage from only hours ago dissipating in the shadow it casts.
I’m not scared, but I still can’t unglue my feet from the pavement. People have to skirt around where I’m imitating a block of stone. My heart is in my throat, knowing that if I walk in there, I might be faced with something I can never unsee.
Or worse—not seeing something horrifying. There’s a good chance that I walk in, and Christopher is doing just as he should be, and thinks I’m here to spend time with him.
A shudder of revulsion rolls through me, remnants of last night running through my head. He was especially determined, as if he could sense that I was pulling away and thought touching me with his disease-ridden dick was the way to get me back on board with our mockery of a life.
I desperately pretended to be asleep, but he actually had the nerve to shake me awake.
Luckily, Ginny called out right at that moment, wailing in frustration at the itching happening under her cast. I ended up sleeping in her room.
Not because she needed me to, but just to keep a healthy amount of space between Christopher and me.
If he kept touching me, I was likely to puke all over him, and wouldn’t that have been fun to explain?
“Are you alright?” a voice rumbles from behind me, startling me out of my thoughts. I turn and look up.
And up and up and up.
My mouth drops open, eyes widening as I take in the man standing next to me—all of him. He must be part giant, because he’s towering over me, wearing a custom-tailored suit, the material obviously expensive, and the fit doing nothing to hide a tapered waist and brawny shoulders.
I do a slow blink, mouth shutting with a click as visions run through my head of him dressed in flannel and striding through the woods, a heavy axe thrown over his shoulder.
Something flutters low in my gut, and suddenly, the axe is replaced with me because I know he’d have no problem carting me around and putting me right where he wants me.
My breathing speeds up just as my eyes creep to his face, catching the wicked smile that curves his mouth, his bottom lip slightly fuller than the top, and a square jaw covered in several days’ of scruff.
Intense blue eyes are locked on mine, reminding me of summer days and glaciers—heat and ice at once.
His head is covered in thick, dark hair, peppered with a hint of gray and pushed back from his forehead. It does nothing to detract from the sheer masculinity dripping from his pores.
Everything about him has me buzzing in awareness, even as I attempt to paste an unaffected look on my face. His smile grows, those blue eyes darkening, and my cheeks flush, because I’m fairly certain he knows exactly what I’m thinking.
Not a shock considering I was just ogling the man, but he doesn’t call me out. Instead, he returns the favor, tracing his eyes over my body in a way that feels like a physical touch. He doesn’t miss an inch, his stare full of appreciation… Until his attention lands on my left hand and lingers.
“Are you okay?” he asks again, and embarrassment curdles through my veins, realizing I’ve been standing here gaping at him for far longer than is polite, all while he’s been waiting for me to answer his question.
“Um—” My voice squeaks, and my cheeks feel like they’re on fire. I clear my throat, trying again. “Yes, I’m fine. I’m just here to see—”
My husband gets stuck in my throat because he’s not my husband. He’s a body-sized bag of trash that needed to be thrown out years ago.
One dark eyebrow rises. “Christopher?”
I take two wary steps back, narrowing my eyes. “How do you know that?”
His expression doesn’t change, but he tucks his hands into his pockets, clearly trying to show that he isn’t a threat.
It doesn’t quite work as well as he intended because all it seems to do is stretch the fabric of his dress pants across his groin, showing me that he’s big everywhere.
I squeak again, flinging my eyes back up to his face just in time to catch his raspy chuckle.
“Sorry,” he murmurs, and a shiver races down my spine. I’m not sure if he’s apologizing for scaring me or something else, but I will die before asking. “My name is Grafton Reynolds.”
Recognition has my eyes falling shut with a low groan. “Oh my god,” I gasp. “You’re his… Oh…”
“Don’t worry about it,” he tells me, tone amused.
“Lynley, right?” I nod, opening my eyes just as he lifts his shoulder, his jacket straining.
“I saw you at the Christmas party last year, not long after I took over here.” He tilts his head to the side, his expression curious.
“I didn’t introduce myself, but I should have. ”
I moisten my lips, wondering if I’m imagining the suggestion in his tone, and his eyes drop, his mouth parting slightly.
A moment passes, and he visibly swallows, his voice rough when he tells me, “No, I think we might be meeting at just the right time.” Before I have a chance to answer that, he holds his arm out to me. “Can I escort you inside?”
I throw a look of trepidation at the building, my earlier courage having fled completely. “Oh…”
“Not to see him.”
I throw a wide-eyed glance at him, because I’m sure he just growled. “Are you okay?”
He clears his throat. “I’m fine.” He pins another look on me—one filled with steel. “Have lunch with me.”
“I don’t know…”
“Please, Lynley.”
I’m not sure if it’s the please or the way my name seems to roll off his tongue, but I sway toward him, a breathy, “Okay,” escaping before I even realize it’s going to.
Grafton doesn’t hesitate, linking my arm with his and drawing me inside the building, leading me straight over to the bank of elevators. We almost make it, but then someone calls out his name, heels clacking rapidly on the floor behind us.
He stops, turning us to face an incoming hurricane of a woman, his smile growing tight at the edges. “Angelica. Your lunch break finished over an hour ago.”
She’s beautiful and young, her skirt hem a little too high to be professional, and voluminous dark hair floating around her head like a cloud.
Her eyes bounce between the two of us before pausing on where our arms are linked.
Before I can even think of pulling away, Grafton lays a hand on mine, stopping me.
I look up at him, meeting eyes that have my insides melting like an ice cream left in the sun.
“This is my niece, Angelica. I’m doing her father a favor by letting her intern here, but she likes to push boundaries. Like not following her set lunch hours.”
She flushes under the censure in his expression when he looks at her. “It wasn’t my fault,” she says defensively, before muttering under her breath, “This time.”
Grafton doesn’t answer, and I take his cue. It didn’t pass me that he chose not to introduce me, but I can’t help but sense that this man does everything for a reason, with meaningful intention—even something as small as an introduction.
It all becomes clear when she opens her mouth again. “Christopher requested my help on a project this afternoon. Can you clear it with my supervisor? I think I’ll be able to learn a lot from him.”
There’s a pause as she stares at him expectantly, stopping just short from fluttering her lashes like a little girl manipulating her father to get what she wants.
I watch her, realizing again just how young she is.
But with my husband’s name on her lips, it takes on a more sinister edge that makes me feel ill.
“I’ll clear it,” Grafton rumbles. And then we’re moving into an open elevator. He smoothly takes a key card from his pocket and swipes it across a scanner, the doors shutting before Angelica even realizes we left.
As the elevator crawls upward, I murmur, “I think you’ve got some explaining to do.”
I pull away, but his hand is immediately back on mine, holding me tightly. I look up just in time to catch the slow smirk curling the edges of his mouth.
“Sure do, darling,” he murmurs, a slight twang to the endearment that has electricity shooting down my spine.
I’m in trouble.