Two weeks went by.
It was fun at first. We texted each other. He sent a picture from an airplane seat—another tidbit he let slip. I wasn’t a world traveler, but I’d been inside enough regular airplanes to recognize a private airplane when I saw one.
The texts started off flirty: What was I wearing? How tight was his suit? How lonely were my nights? I reciprocated, asking if he’d found a new “friend” to replace me. I’d thought the text was teasing, but as soon as I hit send, I realized I meant it.
Cole was gorgeous. He could have his pick of women. Why had he picked me?
The question plagued me, and I immediately heard Sia’s screech in my mind. If she’d heard my question, she would’ve corrected me. He didn’t pick me. He got lucky with me. Men weren’t the hunters in her life. They were her prey. I also felt a stab of guilt that I was still keeping my involvement with Cole a secret from her. I wasn’t ready to say anything, though. Plus, it’d been two nights. That didn’t constitute something to talk about, yet. She would’ve had questions. Who was he? What did he do? How serious were we? What was I feeling about the relationship? All solid questions, but no solid answers. I couldn’t reply to any of them, especially the one about how I was feeling about whatever it was between Cole and me.
I had no idea.
I liked him. I got excited about him. He made me feel alive. He put my blood on a constant simmer, where it could flame up and boil at any moment. That was how our two nights had been. I’d felt alive, but I was starting to go through withdrawals. He was like a drug. One hit and I was addicted, or close to it. Maybe a few hits? Who was I trying to kid? I was completely addicted and going through detox, but it was a detox I hadn’t signed up for.
When was he coming back?
That thought ran through my head a few times a day, and every time it did, I felt foolish. I was a mature woman. I wasn’t a young twenty-something. Or a teenager. Two nights together shouldn’t be making me feel this yearning for him, or have me replaying how it felt when he stepped off my elevator and held onto me, or what it was like holding hands with him on the couch.
But it did. And every time I thought those things, my level of missing him went up a notch.
Sia was happy with Jake, and I was thankful. That kept her distracted enough not to worry too much about me or even focus on me when we got together for lunch or drinks a few times each week.
Cole seemed to sense that I hadn’t been entirely kidding with that text, and his messages grew more serious after that: Never. I want to come back as soon as I can. Business is getting in the way. The rest of his texts were similar. He really did seem to want to know how I was, if I slept okay at night. He texted once, Dorian said you were walking the track late last night. You okay?
He’d been asking about me. A warmth spread through me, tingling all the way to my toes. I immediately wanted to shake that off and roll my eyes, but I couldn’t. Instead, I thumbed back, My bed seems empty now. Your fault.
A few more days. I’ll make it up to you. ;)
The few days turned into two more weeks.
The texts grew random and slowed. It was what it was. The detox was in full effect. After no communication in the fifth week he’d been gone, it was time I dealt with some of my feelings. I wasn’t going to date anyone else. I wasn’t even going to date Cole, but I wasn’t going to wait for his texts anymore.
I went to see my realtor one day. We were in her office, and I wasn’t thinking about Cole. Nope.
“Addison.”
I’d been thinking about Cole. Cursing myself, I turned back to Heather’s voice.
She hadn’t come alone into the conference room. Three men followed her.
I stood and managed a half-smile. “Hello.”
The first man looked me over, a smile plastered on his tanned and weathered face. His hair was dark, unnaturally dark. He looked to be in his later fifties, and he was tall, probably close to six feet. A gut stuck out beneath his suit jacket. The other two, both scowling, walked in behind him. They ignored my outstretched hand and claimed their seats, leaving the seat across from me open. They placed their briefcases on the table.
“Ms. Sailer.” The first one finally shook my hand, giving it a firm pump. “I’m Alfred Mahler. I’m from Mahler and Associates. I’m representing your in-laws, Mr. and Mrs. Sailer. It’s a pleasure to have met you.” He glanced around the room. “Heather, I thought Ms. Sailer would have legal representation with her?”
Heather was a petite woman, but she’d been a force when she sold the house to Liam and me. She took the seat at the head of the table. “We weren’t aware that lawyers were going to be needed.” She adopted the same scowl as the other two. “You said Carol and Hank wanted this meeting.”
“Yes.” His smile was still there, but his eyes were dismissive. “They wanted this meeting, and we are representing them.”
“I don’t understand why we’re here. You were vague on the phone.” Heather folded her hands together, resting on the table. “What is it that you’re here to say?”
Mr. Alfred Mahler didn’t answer, not right away. He took his time before signaling his colleagues. The farthest one unclipped his briefcase and pulled out some papers. He handed them to the second lawyer, who handed them to Mr. Alfred Mahler. But no, that wasn’t right. Mr. Mahler cleared his throat and tapped the table. The papers were placed there and then slid over until they were right in front of him.
I glanced away to roll my eyes.
Heather said under her breath, “This is ridiculous.”
“What was that?” Mahler asked.
“Nothing.” Her voice grew clearer. “I’m assuming these papers are for Addison?”
“Yes.” He leaned forward, his finger still resting on the papers. “They’re for Ms. Sailer.”
Heather looked at me. “Do you mind?” She indicated the papers.
I shrugged.
She pulled them out from under the lawyer’s finger and began reading. The more she read, the deeper her frown became. By the third page, I was worried.
She looked over.
“What is it?”
“They’re suing you for the house.” She regarded him, her neck already red and the color spreading to her face. “You have no basis. She was his wife.”
“What?” I…what?!
“Yes, we assumed you would say that, but her name’s not on the title, and my clients feel their money was used to purchase the house.” Mr. Mahler stood up. The other two scrambled to stand with him. “This meeting was more a formality. We wanted to make sure you were served these papers, and next time we meet, bring legal representation.” He turned toward the door. They walked out, one after another.
“Why do I have the urge to throw an eraser at him?” I asked, glowering at Mahler’s retreating form.
“Because he’s a pompous ass.” Heather sighed. “Addison, oh my God. Whose money did you use to buy your home?”
Liam’s, but… I took the papers from her and began reading. The more I read, the more my stomach sank. The money had come from Liam, but it was my house. It had been our house together. Our home. It was my choice what happened to it now.
They couldn’t take the house away.
“I’m his wife, though. I thought that mattered.”
“It does. This is complete bullshit.” Heather lifted her hands in the air. “With lawyers and the courts…” Her hands dropped to the table. “Who knows what they can do. Liam didn’t put you on the title. He said he was going to add you later, but he never did. Do you know why he did that?”
“Fuck.” I had no idea. A headache was forming. I pressed on my temples, but knew it wasn’t going to go away. “He had a new job. He was busy. And I didn’t think about it. I mean, who would ever think about this? Liam had the money. He said he had enough saved up. We bought it outright. There’s no mortgage or anything. I didn’t even know about his money until the funeral, but I mean—” What should I do? “What can I do?”
Heather leaned close, a hard look in her eye. “You get a lawyer. You know any?”
“I…” I did. “My neighbor’s a lawyer.” I’d forgotten for a moment.
“Does he specialize in property law?”
That nice relieved feeling I’d just gotten vanished. I slumped back in my chair. “I have no idea.”