Home > Elastic Hearts (Hearts #3)(8)

Elastic Hearts (Hearts #3)(8)
Claire Contreras

I took a deep breath and gave him a nod to continue.

“You put here that you got married in 2010 and you basically knew it was over by late 2013, early 2014. What happened at that point?”

I looked outside again, wishing so badly I was in that ocean and not sitting in this conference room talking about this.

“Being that I filed with the notion irreconcilable differences, can I just say he wasn’t the same person I met and married?”

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?”

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