This was ridiculous. I was a puppet and Camilla held the strings, and never in my life did I want her holding onto anything of mine, ever again.

When my plane landed, I was surprised there weren’t cameras flashing, a host of paparazzo shouting at me asking me about Rebecca or Camilla.

It seemed like the kind of publicity Camilla would manufacture.

Instead, I was whisked into the back of a waiting Town Car where Max was already sitting and we headed off to Paul’s office. Once there, we sat for hours, Paul calling Camilla’s lawyer repeatedly, trying to get a damn answer on why they were running so late.

I was so damn irritated the entire day I didn’t even want to pick up the phone to call Rebecca. When I talked to her, I wanted to be able to tell her what I was thinking, what I’d mentioned that morning. I didn’t want Camilla’s bullshit clouding anything between us.

I wanted Camilla gone. Then I wanted Rebecca. Even a text was out of the question. The first thing Rebecca would ask would be, “How are you? Everything okay?” and there was no way in hell I was lying to her. Not ever.

Eventually, her lawyer, Stefan Gotkowski, called Paul. “She wants dinner at the Five-Seven Club. She’ll meet Cooper alone there.”

“No way in hell,” Max said through the speaker. He didn’t even give Paul a chance to talk. “I got him here and we agreed. Hell Stefan, this was her idea.”

“Her idea has changed. She meets him there or she doesn’t sign anything.”

I dug my hands into my hair, desperately needing a haircut and a bucket of valium. This freaking woman. How had I missed her psychotic side?

And that team of decent men I had on my side, honorable men who had my back and knew how I wanted to do business? Stefan wasn’t the kind of man to be on that team. I heard more shit about him not only coercing female clients to sleep with him in order to take them on as clients, but he wasn’t all that particular with genders. He was the worst of the worst, and he made millions living that way.

I found him deplorable. And I was also pretty sure I now knew how Camilla snagged him as her lawyer, and why she always refused to leave him. The man not only screwed his potential clients—literally—he was also rumored to videotape them. If she left and that got out, Camilla would be ruined.

I planned on ruining her my own way.

Jesus. How was I blind for so long? I wanted the white picket fence and a wife and two kids and instead, I saddled myself with a Joan Crawford clone from Mommy Dearest.

“I’ll do it,” I said, leaning forward so Stefan could hear me clearly. “I’m on my way in five.” A quick check of my watch told me traffic would be brutal. Not that it wasn’t always, but at this time of the evening I-5 would move slower than snails. “It’ll take a while. Tell her I’ll get us a table for seven-thirty.”

I’d get the best one. If Camilla wanted an audience for our dinner, I’d give her a show to remember for the rest of her life.

“Cooper—” Max’s voice held a warning.

I didn’t listen. “Tell her Stefan. And after tonight this is done.”

“Sure Cooper, whatever you say.”

He doubted me. Camilla could play her games for the rest of her life and never grow weary. Fortunately for me, she didn’t realize I held the game winning hand.

Max pressed the disconnect button and ended the call, turning to me. His black brows speckled with gray that matched the hair at his temples and in his trimmed beard, furrowed. “This isn’t smart. This is a PR stunt of disastrous proportions.”

“It’ll be fine. And when I’m done, or tomorrow, you and I have to talk.”

“Yeah? About what?”

“I’ll tell you then.” I needed the night to finalize what I wanted. “I’ll call you. And thanks, Max, for everything.”

I shoved off the chair. My overnight duffle was on the floor and I was still wearing the jeans and T-Shirt I put on this morning. For a moment, I debated changing. The Five-Seven Club wasn’t exactly shirt and tie required, but it was a hot spot, the place to see and be seen. Who gave a shit about all of that.

A month away and I realized I didn’t anymore. The thrill of the hunt was fading to the serenity of pastures and goats and cow manure.

Words I never thought I’d think.

“Take care. I’ll call you.” I grabbed the manila folder filled with documents Camilla would be signing by the end of the dinner and shook Max’s hand.

Slinging the strap of my duffel over my shoulder, I sauntered to the door. If I hurried, and the driver I knew Max would have waiting for me drove like a bat out of hell, I’d make it there before Camilla flaunted her entrance. At least then I’d be seated inside while paparazzo fawned over her outside.

Such a necessary pain in my ass.

“Hey Cooper?” Max called as I reached the door. “How’s Rebecca doing?”

Fan-freaking-tastic. I was smart enough not to say it. Still, who knew what my expression gave away when I turned to him. “She’s good, Max. Real good.”

“Yeah. She’s a good girl. Take care of her when you get back there, yeah?”

His smile was knowing, his statement odd. Still, he knew I was going back because I’d told him as soon as I slid into the car next to him. “Will do.”

“Good. We’ll talk soon.”

We would, definitely. I had shit he needed to get working on.

But as the Town Car stalled on the I-5 and his words were still replaying in my mind, I found myself smiling out the window.

“That fucker. He totally planned this.”

---

Fortunately it was a Sunday night and the crowd at Five-Seven was less than crammed making it possible for me to easily get a table where everyone could see us. I wasn’t taking this to a private table where Camilla could instigate some romantic moment between us to get caught on film.

I was done with her games, and I was done with her.

She must have called the paparazzi, or Stefan had, so I’d pushed past blinding, flashing lights on my way inside. I didn’t bother keeping my head down, instead I held it high, not hiding the folders in my hand. Questions were shouted at me, some about the contents of the folders, most about where I’d been and how life in Kansas was treating me.

It was that question that forced my jaw to clench. The last thing I wanted, or Rebecca needed, were people digging into her life, or her place in Kansas.

The world was full of creepers and I’d just planted a bullseye on Rebecca’s back.

I was at the table considering all of that, if the risk to her was worth the trouble I could bring to her door, when flashing lights went haywire outside.

From my spot, Camilla’s entrance flared as high as her ego. She waltzed past the photographers, smiling and waving, like she held the victory cup to a sporting event and had battled for hours without a hair out of place.

I rolled my eyes at her dramatics and stayed where I was as she swept into the restaurant, her eyes immediately finding mine.

She smiled, that cat got the cream smile of hers. Only I knew it was as calculated as her pretending it was sincere.

“Hello, husband,” she all but purred as she reached the table.

“Camilla.” I nodded, hands clasped together on the folders on the table and didn’t stand to greet her. If she noticed, she didn’t falter in her performance.

She swung to my side of the table, bent low and pressed her lips to my cheek. “So wonderful to see you, Cooper.”

My gaze stayed fixed straight ahead and I fought the urge to flinch at her unwelcome touch and the sweetness in her voice. Years ago, I fell for this woman but now it was all tarnished. No wonder why my parents never truly liked her. Mom probably saw this moment happening from a mile away.

Which added a few more phone calls to my list later. If they saw the photo of Rebecca and me, they’d be in a tizzy wondering what the hell I was doing now. I’d called them before I left L.A., told them I was taking off for awhile to clear my head, and while they’d shown concern at the end of my marriage and the fiasco that followed, they hadn’t asked too many questions.

Knowing my parents and sister now, they’d be full of them.

---

But a smile formed on my lips as I thought about them, ignoring Camilla as she took a seat across from me and ordered a glass of champagne when the waiter appeared. My parents would love Rebecca and her down-home, Midwestern goodness.

“Pleased to see me, I see?” Camilla asked and my grin faded.

“Pleased only because it means once we get this dinner out of the way I’ll never have to again.”

“Now Cooper, you don’t mean that, honey. Haven’t you heard how much I miss you? How sorry I am?”

Her blue eyes, eyes I used to get lost in, now made my scalp prickle. I slide the first envelope her way. “I heard you loud and clear. I also vividly remember hearing you moaning and crying out for more when it was the dog walker’s dick inside you, and everything you said afterward.”

“It was a mistake—”

“Your champagne, Mrs. Hawke,” the waiter says, sliding her sparkling glass to the table. Waiters in establishments like this were primed to know their guests. Hearing Camilla called Mrs. Hawke made me cringe.

“Rinaldi,” I said. “Miss Rinaldi.”

“Yes sir.” The waiter nodded at me. “Have you had time to peruse the menu? May I recommend the salmon—”

“We won’t be eating dinner,” I said, as Camilla reached for her menu.

“Cooper—”

“Her champagne is all, thank you. We won’t be eating,” I repeated, more sternly for Camilla’s benefit as her gaze turned calculating.

“Anything else for you to drink, sir?”

“Just the water.” I handed him my menu and waited until Camilla followed suit. She moved slowly, eyes never leaving mine. Her perfectly manicured, blood red fingernails finally handed the menu to the waiter. “Thank you.”

“I understand you’re upset, Cooper,” Camilla said as soon as the waiter walked away. Outside, the sidewalks were still crammed with photographers. Some smoked, others spoke, a handful of others lurked in the windows, their faces glued to us. I had no doubt all of them paying attention were taking mental notes, if not written ones, of everything they could see. “But you agreed to dinner.”

“I agreed to meet you here.” I leaned forward, my elbows on the table. “But I will not be played and I will not allow you to orchestrate anything that could possibly appear as a romantic reunion between us. Cut the crap, tell me what your game is and what you want, and then, sign the papers.”

For the first time in months, the old Camilla reappeared. It disappeared in a flash, so quick I wondered if I imagined it. “In a hurry to get back to your farm girl?”

“Don’t,” I hissed. It had taken her longer than I thought it would for her to bring Rebecca into this. But no one, no one would ever disrespect her. And definitely not this woman. “Don’t you dare bring her into this. You wanted your game, Camilla, but that’s not a card you get to play.”

“Please.” She rolled her eyes, and sipped her champagne. “She’s already in it. Tell me what it is about her you like so much.”

“That she’s everything you’re not.”

Pain slashed her eyes and vanished. God, how did I stay married to this woman? Much less love her so damn much? She was sitting across from me and I felt nothing but the itch beneath my skin to get out of there as soon as possible.

“What? She’s poor?”

“No. She’s kind.”

She licked her lips, and if it could be done elegantly like her tears on the talk show a few weeks ago, she managed to do it. “Lovely. How cute.”

Sexy and cute. Beautiful and smart. Motivated and sad. Honest and pure. Rebecca was everything Camilla could only pretend to be. I was done wasting my time.

I picked up the other envelope, my winning hand and set it on top of the divorce settlement she hadn’t bothered to open. “Before I left town, I hired a private investigator.”

“You…what?”

“Yup.” I pushed down the satisfaction as Camilla’s expression paled. “And not only do I have first-hand evidence of one of your affairs, he uncovered twelve other men you’ve been with during our marriage.”

“Cooper—”

I ignored her plea-filled tone. Like I’d listen to her beg me now. I smirked victoriously. “He also found photographic proof you’ve been with men even while you’ve been begging me to come home. Go ahead” —I flicked my hand toward the envelope— “take a look.”

She lifted her champagne to her lips. Red fingernails tapped the crystal. “I don’t need to.”

“I have more than enough proof to take this to the courts. Our prenup states in the case of infidelity, we walk away with what we brought into the marriage. If you walk out of here tonight without signing our divorce settlement, one I had drafted today in light of this new evidence, I will take that folder, plus copies I have in my car, and hand them to every single photographer waiting for us outside.”

“You wouldn’t. You wouldn’t take a hit like that to your pride again.”

“God, please, Camilla. I no longer give a shit. You orchestrated this and you’ve lost. Give me a slice of honesty and I might reconsider, but you’ve had your chance and you could have walked away with millions from me. Instead, you’re proving yourself to be one of the vilest women I’ve ever met. End this so I can go home.”

“Home? To Kansas?”

I hadn’t even realized I’d said it. But damn she didn’t miss a beat. Yet a heat suffused my chest at the thought. A peace I couldn’t ever remember feeling. It was insane. Not the time for reality to hit me like a slap to the face.

I was falling in love with a woman who would want nothing to do with my life or my career. I was falling in love with a woman who would never leave her land.

And I didn’t give one, tiny, shit.

“My home is no longer any of your concern. Sign the papers.”

She set down her champagne and opened the first folder. At least she had the grace to seem embarrassed by the photos my PI had taken. She was in a few positions I’d never seen before and she and I had always been adventurous. When I saw them, I felt nothing. They were like looking at poorly made porn photos taken of strangers. That was all Camilla was to me.

She closed the folder and opened the next one, scanning the papers. “The house? You think I’m going to agree to only getting the house?”

“I told you I’d reconsider if you could be a decent person, but don’t play me for a fool and expect me to be kind to you.”

“You always were too nice, too trusting.”

I took it as a compliment.

She chewed on her bottom lip, fingertip tapping the table. She did it when she was thinking, and for the longest time I thought it was cute. Always tapping her fingers. The gentle click grated my nerves.

“What do you really want, Camilla? Why play this game? Is it to salvage your pride?”

“No one will hire me,” she said, and her honesty stunned me. “My agent is on the verge of dropping me. I’m getting too old for spreads, replaced by models barely into their twenties. And now, everyone thinks I’m some evil woman.”

“Quit acting like one,” I said, in a rare moment of not bothering to filter my words.

“I’m broke, Cooper.” She peered up at me through lashes so thick and long it was obvious they weren’t real. She was always so made up, I’d long gotten used to it, but some mornings, I wanted to touch my wife, not the plastic version of her. Although who knows? Maybe she was always fake. “I thought if you and I could at least pretend to work on our marriage, I could get some work. Then we could split amicably.”

“We could have done that in the beginning if you hadn’t played your games. It’s too late for that. Now, if you’re broke, you can sell the house. That’s ten million at least you can live off but that’s all you get.”

“You don’t mean that.”

“You’re wrong.” And I was done. I took my first drink of my water and grabbed my wallet from my pocket. “Sign the papers, Cami,” I said, using a name I’d called her early when we began dating that she despised. “Now, or I leave with the photos.”

“You’re going to destroy me.”

“And like I said, had you been honest with me, I would have worked with you.” I stood and dropped a fifty-dollar bill onto the table. Quite the tip for a single glass of champagne, but I wasn’t waiting for change. “I don’t enjoy being a dick to you. I have a lot of wonderful memories of us, but the problem is that now, I don’t know when I started being played or if any of it was real. I would have had your back, but not like this. You don’t get to treat me like shit and expect me to lay down and beg for more.”

“Please, I can be different.”

“No. You can’t.” I stood to my full height and glanced outside. A few of the photographers had left. A handful of groups in the restaurant were glancing in our direction. I gestured toward the files still in front of her. “What’s your decision?”

She opened her purse and pulled out a pen. “I hope you can sleep at night knowing you’ve just ruined me.”

God, it was amazing how narcissistic she was. She couldn’t even see how this was all her doing. Nothing I’d said had left any impact on her. If I’d had second thoughts about dissolving my marriage to her and giving her nothing other than the house, her attitude now confirmed I’d done the right thing.

She scribbled her name on the signature page and handed me the files.

“I’ll have Paul get a copy of these to Stefan as soon as possible. Take care, Camilla.”

I left the restaurant without looking back and when lights flashed in my eyes, questions shouted at me so loudly they rang in my ears, for the first time ever, I stopped for the paparazzo. “Thank you everyone for coming tonight. You can take this as my official statement that my marriage to Camilla Rinaldi has been dissolved amicably. Please respect our privacy.”

I ducked my head from the lights and stepped toward the Town Car I’d had waiting for me, pulling to a sudden stop as soon as a question was shouted that chilled me to my bones.

“Cooper! I hear the woman you were photographed with is your new girlfriend, Rebecca. Are you heading back to be with her? What is your relationship with the widow?”

Shit. I froze while that question pummeled against me, chilling me to my core. They’d already been looking into her. Which meant soon, they’d find out everything about her down to her favorite color of underwear.

I slid into the Town Car and shut the door behind me, faces of photographers crammed against the windows for a shot of me. I’d spent a decade masking my expression, but I wasn’t hiding anything then.

It’d taken Rebecca what felt like forever to want to take a chance on me, and even now I didn’t know where I stood with her.

No doubt hearing the news of her husband’s death splashed across gossip magazines would send her running before I could get on a plane back to her.