18 Cate #2
“How are you holding up?” Luna asks over the speaker in my car a week later.
“I’m fine.” My heart squeezes. “It’s nothing really. There’s nothing to negotiate, so the meeting should be quick. I’ll go in, sign, and get out. Easy peasy.”
“Cate? Talk to me.” Her voice is somber despite me trying my best to make it sound like today is any other day of my life. It’s not. I had it on my calendar—not just to remind me of the appointment but to prepare me for seeing Shane. Yet nothing could prepare me for walking into his storm again.
“What if he brings her with him?”
“It’s a divorce. I don’t think he’ll be that cruel. Would he? Do you want me to drive over and go in with you?”
“You’d never make it in time, but I appreciate the offer.” I honk, shaking my head at the jerk who just cut across two lanes for an exit he missed. “Asshole! Not you, Luna.”
“I say this with love for my best friend. You have some anger to get out.”
“I went to kickboxing last week. Yoga wasn’t cutting it anymore.”
She laughs softly this time. “It’s always best to face it head-on.”
“I’m assuming that’s why they’re demanding a face-to-face to review the details.”
She hums and then releases a heavy breath. “I’ve dealt with his type all my life. He’s a celebrity, Cate. I wouldn’t be surprised if they try to force an NDA on you. Just remember, you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to. He doesn’t hold all the cards. You both do equally.”
I nod as if she can see me. “Equals.”
“Exactly,” she says, “I’m wrapping up at the studio, and then I’ll see you at Margarita Cantina at five?”
“I’ll be there, hopefully on my second by the time you arrive.”
“That’s my girl. Hold your chin up, friend. And tonight, drinks are on me.”
“I’d prefer them in a glass, but okay. I’m up for anything as long as it has nothing to do with this divorce or my soon-to-be ex-husband.”
Her laughter fills my car, causing me to laugh at my own stupid joke. She says, “See you at the restaurant.”
“See you then.” I disconnect the call from my car as I pull into my attorney’s parking lot. I lock the doors, using the last few seconds of this sham of a married life to take a few deep breaths before heading inside. I can’t say they help, but they sure don’t hurt.
Heat hits as I enter the lobby. Great, now I’ll be sweaty when I see Shane for the first time in ten months.
Plucking my shirt to cool down, I step into the elevator, praying the air isn’t broken in there, or I’m doomed to be a mess.
Just as I punch the button for the ninth floor, a hand stops the doors from closing.
I want to roll my eyes, but I’ve been trying to break the habit.
It’s been a daily struggle living in LA.
“Thanks,” a familiar voice zips inside the hot steel box. The butterflies that had been dormant for so long awaken in a flurry in my belly.
It’s too late to escape, but I go for it, running right into a chest of steel and arms of hard muscle catching me by the elbows.
“Whoa,” Shane says, probably before he realizes who is trapped in his arms. The doors try to close, but he stops it with his shoulder and then backs in.
“I think we’re going to the same place.”
“I left something in my car,” I lie, unable to look into his sea-blue eyes for fear of the loss I’ll drown in all over again.
Without a word, he moves to the side, holding the door for me to exit.
Well, crap. What do I do? Get off and catch the next?
Go rummage through my car and bring some random thing back to corroborate my story?
I step off the elevator, hating to play games and letting lies be the decision-maker because he makes me feel insecure.
Did he do that? Or is that me putting it on him?
I stop and turn around, finally looking at his face that’s aged in all the right ways over the time I’ve not been around to notice.
He’s even more handsome, if possible. Those eyes that I was afraid to dive into don’t hold anything but what they shouldn’t any longer—reverence.
He smiles just enough to throw me off balance. “Want a ride?”
I roll my eyes out of sheer frustration because I can tell he knows I was lying. “Try that line on someone who will fall for it.” I add, “Twice,” since I was fooled into falling the first time.
“Figured since we’re going in the same direction—”
“Sure. Why not?” I step back on and turn my back to him.
The button for the fourth floor is already lit up, so I stare straight ahead until the doors close.
And then my eyes meet his in the reflection.
Like the first time we saw each other after twelve years, my heart beats faster despite the long talk I had with it last night not to be such a traitor.
It didn’t listen. My breath stops hard in my chest. But at least the nerves I’ve carried around all day like a burden I can’t shake have vanished.
Should I be nervous?
It’s fine. I’ll be fine, just like Luna said. But then I look at him and see the man I once did—fun and spontaneous, romantic, and so attractive that it should be illegal and probably is in several states.
My heart doesn’t leap, but it tugs toward him from the connection we once shared. If I were being honest with myself, it’s more a yank into his arms, but that’s not my place anymore, and it would be wise for me to remember that.
We weren’t together long enough to have core memories other than the ones that already existed between us—the bonfire, a few classes together like government and English in twelfth grade, and casual exchanges that didn’t mean anything to him at the time but meant everything to me as the new kid.
Those memories alone have me staring at him now to see how he’s changed.
Shane’s tall, like he always was, the clothes he’s chosen flattering him in ways that should annoy me since it seems he dressed for the occasion of our divorce.
A dark button-down has replaced his usual T-shirt with pants instead of jeans.
A nice pair of leather shoes accents the large silver watch wrapped around his wrist. He looks good, looking every bit the celebrity.
He also looks different. I can’t put my finger on it, but something feels off.
He carries a magnetism without regard for anyone who falls for him.
Therein lies the problem.
I still care.
I’m still drawn to him.
It’s just me, standing in front of Shane Faris again, feeling like I did at that party all those years ago in high school.
But I’m older now, wiser, and can manage the pain.
Time has benefited me in that way, or maybe the kickboxing helps temper my reaction.
Either way, it’s not as bad as I thought it would be in his presence.
Until the elevator jolts to a stop.