Chapter 13

Jonathan

I stared out my office window, watching heavy sheets of rain fall over the city. As hard as I tried to rationalize what I’d seen in that parking lot, I couldn’t help but feel hurt.

My heart damn near broke at the sight of seeing her with someone else, but once I realized it was him—her ex-husband, it practically shattered. 

Why didn’t she call me?

I knew there had to be a logical explanation—some type of reason, so I picked up my phone to call her, but there was already a call waiting.

“Hello?”

“Mr. Statham?” It was a high pitched voice. Miss Corwin.

“Good afternoon, Miss Corwin. Can I help you with something?”

“Yes, I um...I’ve been leaving messages with your fiancée, but she hasn’t gotten back to me. I’ll be staying in town for the next few weeks, so would you mind leaving me a wedding invitation with your secretary? I asked Miss Gracen to mail me one, but she probably forgot.”

“When was this?”

“When was what?”

“When did you ask her to mail you the invitation?” I knew damn well we’d made her one. In fact, we’d made her ten, just in case she wanted to incorporate them into the reception space somehow.

“Um...Well, I asked her that night you came to L.A., remember? And I called her two weeks ago about it.”

“And you never received it?”

“No...” Her voice was soft. “I’m sorry if I’m causing you any trouble...”

“It’s no trouble. I’ll have it delivered to you personally.”

“Thank you...”

I hung up and called Milton.

“I’m on my way to your office, Jonathan.” He picked up on the first ring. “No need to act like you actually give a damn about my financial reports today.”

“That’s not why I’m calling.”

“Of course it isn’t. What do you want?”

“Have you received my wedding invitation in the mail yet?”

There was a knock on my door and I walked over to answer it.

“Would you like me to keep talking into the phone?” Milton walked into my office. “It wouldn’t surprise me if you did.”

“Did you receive a wedding invitation?”

He shrugged. “No.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’m pretty sure, but I don’t need one of those to be there if that’s why you’re asking...”

I shook my head. “No...I’m just...I’m just wondering.”

He asked me to give him a few minutes to get his files organized and I took a seat at my desk. I sent out a text to five people, five people who I knew I had personally told Claire to invite—addresses and all, and waited for them to tell me if they had received their invitation in the mail.

Their responses came back instantly: “No.” “No...” “No.” “I need an invitation to get in?” “No.”

What the fuck?!

I prepared to text Angela to get to the bottom of it, but I accidentally hit my email app and saw a message labeled: URGENT. It was from our cake designer:

To: Statham, Jonathan

From: Elegant Cakes, Inc.

Mr. Statham,

My name is Jacqueline Russell and I am the manager of Elegant Cakes. Per my conversation with your fiancée two weeks ago, I wanted to make sure that you were canceling your complete order which includes: One five tiered wedding cake, two three tiered dream cakes, and the customized frozen anniversary cake.

Since your name is on the contract and we have your signature on file, we’ll need you to verify that this information is correct.

We’re sorry we won’t be able to work with you on your special day,

Sincerely,

Jacqueline R.

My mind was officially blown. I couldn’t believe this shit.

“Jonathan? Jonathan?” Milton cleared his throat. “Are you there?”

I shook my head and sighed. “Go ahead...”

“Okay...” Milton handed me a folder. “Inside that folder, you’ll see that I’ve outlined your current assets, totaled your domestic and foreign bank accounts, and appraised the company’s future earnings. As you can clearly see, the future Mrs. Statham’s name is nowhere to be found because well...She did not contribute to you gaining any of these things so...”

“I thought this was a strategy meeting.” I rolled my eyes.

“It is. Angela informed me that you’ve cancelled all your appointments with the marital attorney as of this morning. Is that true?”

“Yes.”

“Well, maybe you’re not thinking straight... Let me help you out: Your net worth as of this quarter is nine point eight billion. Your net worth. We live in California, a fifty-fifty split state.”

“Milton...”

“That means that if you should ever get a divorce, your-ex-wife will automatically be entitled to over four billion dollars. If you last for more than ten years and your earnings continue to grow like they have in the past, you’re looking at handing over seven to eight billion easily. Do you understand that?”

“I do.”

“Glad to hear that. I’ll arrange for the attorney to come back.”

“There’s not going to be a pre-nup, Milton.”

His jaw dropped. “I thought you just said you agreed with me.”

“There can’t be a pre-nup if I’m not getting married...”

“What?” He gasped. “You two were just here weeks ago telling me about the wedding venue...It’s over?”

I didn’t answer him.

“Jonathan?”

I sighed. “I’ll call you later tonight to go over that mistake in the master file you mentioned at this morning’s meeting. I have a feeling we’ll need more than one accounting team to sort that out.”

He opened his mouth to speak, but then he shook his head. He took his folder back and patted me on my shoulder before leaving my office.

As soon as the door closed, I leaned back in my chair and shut my eyes.

I can’t believe this shit...What the fuck is Claire thinking?

I didn’t want to jump to any conclusions about the wedding, about marrying Claire, but invitation and cake bullshit aside—what she’d pulled last week had rocked me to my core.

At first, I didn’t want to believe that I’d seen her and Ryan inside of Starbucks when I drove by. I refused to believe it. So, I’d driven around the parking lot, telling myself that Claire—my Claire, would have called me the second Ryan showed up anywhere near her. Like she promised.

I’d decided that my eyes were playing tricks on me so I simply parked my car. With flowers in tow, I’d headed towards the Starbucks, but then I saw her again—with Ryan, pressed up against her car with her fucking leg around his waist, with her lips inches away from his mouth.

No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t get that image out of my mind...

I hadn’t been home in a week, and I had no plans to return any time soon. I was too damn angry to be anywhere near her.

When she’d broken up with me last year and went her separate way for three fucking months, I was livid. Infuriated. Inconsolable. But this recent stunt of hers was—there were no words for this shit.

What part of ‘I don’t share’ does she not understand? What part of ‘Call me ASAP if Ryan shows up’ is difficult to comprehend?

She’d been sending me numerous text messages to apologize, trying to explain her side of the story and beg me to come home, but I never answered. And I sent each and every one of her hourly calls directly to voicemail.

I didn’t want to talk to her right now. I didn’t want to talk to her ever.

“Mr. Statham?” Angela’s voice suddenly came over the intercom.

“Yes?”

“Miss Gracen is—”

“I’m not here.”

“Sir, she’s standing right outside your—”

“I’m. Not. Here.” I gritted my teeth. “Are we clear?”

“Yes sir...”

I waited for an hour, until I was sure Claire was gone, and then I stepped outside. I walked around the corner and stood at Angela’s desk. “Did my—” I stopped myself. I’d almost said my wife. “Did Miss Gracen leave another note?”

“Yes sir.” She handed me a folded sheet of white paper and I took it into my office.

I debated whether or not I should toss it into the trash with all her other ones, but I decided to open it:

Jonathan,

I know you’re very angry with me, but please give me a chance to explain what you saw last Friday...I’m sorry I ever allowed it to happen, and it’s not what you think. I promise.

I love you and only you, and I wish you would come back home...

Yours,

Claire

I crumpled her letter into a ball and tossed it into the trash. I took a deep breath and shook my head, trying to think about what I needed to do to get this off my mind.

I called Angela back.

“Yes, Mr. Statham?”

“Is the security team meeting still going on right now?”

“Yes sir.”

I sighed. “Write this down: I want last Monday’s interior and exterior security video footage from the Powell Avenue Starbucks—everything between the hours of four o’ clock pm to seven o’ clock pm. And I want audio. The very second that Corey gets out of his meeting, ask him to put his best team on it.”

“I will sir. Is that all?”

“No.” I balled my fists. “I want them to hack into Smith & Hayes Associates in Pittsburgh and get me Mr. Hayes’ full client list. I want the name of every client he worked with before he made partner, even the clients he worked for when he was a fucking intern. I also need a list of every single law firm in Pittsburgh—big, small, independent, commercial, every last one of them.”

“I’ll make sure it gets done. Um...Are you still sending flowers to Miss Gracen this week? The order has to be put in within the next half hour if you still want to send something.”

I was silent.

“Mr. Statham? Is that a yes or a no?”

I shut my eyes and tried to block out this past week. I’d never missed a day sending Claire flowers. Even when she was in Costa Rica, I’d called a local flower shop and made sure she woke up to a new set of blooms every morning.

Not sending them felt wrong—hurtful, and even though she’d damn near made me cry last Friday, I couldn’t bring myself to say no.

I sighed. “It’s a yes, Angela...But no note—just the flowers...”