The first thing Shawn had done after talking to Logan was to deposit the check. It hadn’t bounced, the money went into Shawn’s account, and he immediately withdrew it. Just in case.

Good to his word, Logan had brought the papers to the next group meeting.

Shawn hadn’t been surprised that it said nothing about the group’s agenda and Logan’s plans for it. It wasn’t something that should ever go in writing. The agreement only referred to the financial side of things and appointed Shawn as the manager.

The following day, Shawn quit his job at the dealership. There was no point in giving notice, it wasn't like he needed to train a replacement. The other salespeople would snatch up his shifts like a bunch of vultures, happy to be rid of the best closer on the lot. More money for them.

No more sweating in his suit and tie on hot California days. No more smiling at old farts with limp dicks who thought a luxury car would compensate for their impotence. No more sucking up to his manager to get the best hours on the best days of the week. The only thing he would miss were the hot cunts who had often accompanied the limp dicks. Some had been more than happy to ride his stiff, thick cock behind their sugar daddies’ backs.

Whores, all in it for the money.

Now that he had time on his hands, Shawn was going to resume the search for his lying, cheating whore of an ex-wife.

The cunt hadn’t even called her father or her best friend to tell them she was leaving. He knew that for a fact since he’d had their home line and her cell phone bugged. She’d told no one. She’d gone underground and had yet to surface.

Except, there was one place he knew he would eventually find her.

The university.

There was no way she’d given up on that stupid dream of hers. Getting accepted wasn’t easy, and Callie would never throw away the chance she’d been given.

In the back of his mind, Shawn suspected that one of the reasons she’d run out on him was because he’d refused to let her pursue her silly dream. But apparently, it hadn’t been the only one. It had been the last push she needed to run away with her lover. The soon to be dead lover.

That morning, he’d tried calling the university’s administrative offices, but he couldn’t get anyone to talk to him.

There was no way around it. He needed to drive over there, which wasn’t a big deal since he had nothing better to do until Logan supplied him with the agenda for their new business venture.

In person, Shawn had a better chance of getting the information he needed. Bitches responded to his charm, willing to do all kinds of favors for him to get into his pants.

Swaggering into the admissions office, he plastered his best smile on his face. “Good afternoon, pretty lady.” He leaned on the desk belonging to the flustered thirty-something soccer mom type. Those were the easiest to manipulate, their dried-up pussies yearning for a young dick to make them wet. “My sister misplaced her papers and asked me to stop by and get her another copy. Calypso Davidson is the name.”

The woman shook her head. “I’m sorry. She would have to come in person.”

He leaned closer. “Come on. All the way from Alabama? She can’t.”

“Then she could call and provide her social security number to verify it’s really her.”

If that was all the bitchy receptionist needed, then he was good. “I have her social. Please, the girl is going crazy. She is so worried she’ll miss her chance. Studying here is her dream.”

The woman relented, giving him a post-it and a pencil. “Write down her name and social security number.”

He scribbled it down and handed it back.

A few keyboard clicks later, the woman shook her head. “I’m sorry. I don’t have anyone under the name Calypso Davidson or under that social.” She handed him the post-it back. “Maybe she spelled her name differently, or you wrote the wrong number.”

Shawn double checked his notes, but the number was correct. Maybe she applied under her maiden name?

“Try Calypso Meyers.”

The woman typed it in and shook her head again. “Sorry, no Calypso Meyers either.”

“Try Callie. She goes by Callie.” It was a long shot. She would’ve used her legal name on the application.

“Nope, sorry. No Callie Davidson or Meyers either.”

What the hell was going on? Had she made up the whole story about getting accepted to UCLA? Had she even applied? And why would she lie about that?

Shawn ran his fingers through his hair. “Thank you. My sister is such a scatterbrain. She probably applied to a different university and sent me here for nothing.”

As he walked out and headed for his car, Shawn felt like he was in an episode of The Twilight Zone. Nothing made sense. Was he losing his fucking mind?

Back at home, he upended every drawer and searched every cabinet for any scrap of paper Callie might have left behind. There was no trace of any paperwork. Not the acceptance letter, and not the multiple scholarship forms she’d filled out right before his eyes.

She had either taken everything with her or destroyed them before leaving.

Either that or he’d imagined the whole thing. Could too much booze and drugs induce hallucinations?

Had he even been married? Or had it all been in his head?

Except, of that he had proof. The fucking divorce papers were exactly where Shawn had left them. On the coffee table.

A constant reminder of how the cunt had screwed him over.