“Perfect. Book that flight in her name.”
“Class?”
“Economy. And book her a hotel room…somewhere. Make sure the airline knows that the fee will be paid upon her collection of the tickets.”
I can almost hear her smiling down the phone. “Very well, sir. And the hotel room?”
“You don’t need me to answer that, do you, Dottie?”
“I’ll get right on it.” She hangs up on me for a second time.
I turn my head and find my father staring at me, a bemused look on his face. “What?”
“Economy class? God, son. She’ll have a fit.”
I shrug a shoulder, dialing my ex’s number. “I have to get my kicks somewhere, Dad. Besides, it’ll improve Mom’s mood somewhat.”
I redial four times before Naomi finally answers with a snap. “Do you know what time it is?”
“I do,” I respond. “And you should look at it, because you have a flight to catch in four hours.”
“Excuse me?” I hear movement down the line.
“A flight. To New York.”
“You’ll find that I don’t, Aaron.”
“You’ll find that you do, Naomi. Dottie will be emailing you your flight details any time.”
“You can’t just book me a flight and expect me to jump on it.”
“Absolutely, I can. Because if you aren’t on this flight today and you aren’t in my office at ten tomorrow morning to sign the papers sitting in front of me, you won’t be signing them at all and we’ll be settling this in court. This is your final chance, Naomi.”
“You’re a f**king ass**le, Aaron Stone.”
“You don’t know the half of it.” I set the phone back in the holder, effectively ending the call, and straighten. Both Mr. Carlisle and my father are watching me with matching looks that tell of their hidden laughter. “If you’ll excuse me, Dad, Mr. Carlisle, I’m going home to bed. That flight last night was a bastard.”
“What about your mother?” Dad calls after me.
I open the front door and wave a hand over my shoulder. “Tell her about the economy flight and I’m sure she’ll forgive me.”
The One Where He Gets Divorced
I woke six times during my jet-lag nap, each time stretching my hand out across the bed to reach for a woman who wasn’t there. Even now, I pull two coffee mugs from the cupboard, and it takes me until after I’ve filled them both to remember why I don’t need the second.
It’s a dull throb, knowing she’s not here. It’s not a crippling, intense pain that comes in waves, peaking every now and then. It’s a constant ache, not enough to stop me from going about my business, but enough that I’m always aware of it. Enough to be a sucker-punch in the gut here and there.
It hits the most when I think about her. Then, the ache intensifies into a full-body sweep of longing. Through the longing is the guilt. That is, for me, perhaps the worst part of this situation. Knowing there’s the chance that it could have been avoided, that I could have done something about it if only I’d been brave enough at the start.
It’s the guilt that I not only caused this and hurt myself but hurt her in the process. That’s the biggest portion of it. Seeing that teary sheen to her eyes as they filled with wetness and the subtle quiver of her bottom lip as she held in her emotions haunts me every time I close my eyes. The sound of her voice as she spoke to me accusingly, speaking the way I deserved to be spoken to, echoes in my ears whenever I’m surrounded by silence.
The last thing I ever wanted to do was hurt her, and I did it while trying to do the opposite. That fact doesn’t escape me.
I finish the last of my coffee, tightly closing my eyes as the hot liquid burns my throat, and shrug my jacket on. My car is waiting for me downstairs, and I climb in, flipping through my calendar on my phone.
I meant to see my schedule to see what I have coming up in an attempt to rid my mind from the woman currently possessing it, but instead I’m seeing how soon I can leave New York. How quickly I can return to Seattle to set this whole thing straight.
Two days, realistically. That’s two days too long. I can possibly leave tomorrow, but that’s pushing it. Still, though…
Leaving Dayton in a city on the other side of the country for much longer, without me, is unfathomable. Regardless of how hard I may have to fight to win her back, I can’t fight if I’m not there.
Tomorrow it is.
I stroll into the office and up the elevator without a word to anyone. My pending divorce aside, I’ve been preparing for today for as long as I can remember. Four years of studying for a business degree, interning here, summer jobs filing—they were all for today, the moment my father signs the business over to me.
It’s insane, and slightly overwhelming, to think that this empire he’s built will belong to me when I walk out of this building.
I rap twice on his office door and step inside. He’s already waiting with my mother, the lawyer, and my cousin, Tyler. Tyler slaps me on the back of my shoulder, but my focus is on the desk and the files sitting in front of Mr. Carlisle.
The phone rings and my father presses the button on the set. “Yes?”
“Ms. Lane is here to see you, sir.”
“Send her in.” He ends the connection and stands, motioning for me to take a seat behind the desk.
My eyebrow quirks at him, but all he does is reinforce the motion. I do as he silently requests and lower myself into the plush leather chair he’s offering.
Naomi enters the room with her usual self-righteousness. She winks at Tyler, and he responds with a disgusted look. She’s not exactly popular, even with my womanizing cousin.
“Ms. Lane.” Mr. Carlisle greets her and holds out one of the seats opposite the desk. “I trust you’re aware of the purpose of today’s meeting?”
Naomi turns steely eyes on me. “Perfectly aware. Thank you.”
“Then let’s get on with it.” I slide the file forward. “Nothing in it has changed, just the amount, but feel free to read through it so you’re satisfied.”
She takes the file without looking at me and flips through it, sighing when she reaches the page with the amount. She doesn’t contest, just like I knew she wouldn’t, and hands the file back to me after several minutes.
“You win, Aaron. Sign it and pass it back.”
I flip to the marked pages and scrawl my signature on each dictated line, a sense of freedom washing over me as I do. Naomi does the same when I hand it back to her, finality settling over her features.