Present Day

“So we’re really doing this,” Paige says from the bedroom doorway, glowering at me where I’m sitting at the bar counter, using my computer. She’s dressed for an active day outdoors. Because late last night Stu informed us that if we wanted to make any progress today, we’d have to do it while tagging along with him on a hike.

Figures that my wife would think that’s somehow my fault. Yeah, between the two of us, I’m the one who enjoys hiking. But I sure as shit won’t enjoy it while in the company of our annoying-as-fuck clients.

“Caroline wants to settle things quickly,” I point out. “And Stu doesn’t want to spend his vacation in a conference room.”

The unspoken question is of course: why is Caroline so desperate to get divorced in a hurry? I’m still waiting for Rodriguez to give me the answer.

With a grunt of disgust, Paige disappears back inside the bedroom. Hearing the unmistakable sounds of her getting ready to go, I shut the lid on my laptop, slip my phone into the pocket of my shorts, shrug into my light jacket, and head to the front door.

When I made the trek up to the hotel about an hour ago for the breakfast buffet, the sky was covered in a thick sheet of gray clouds, and I’m so sure it won’t clear up anytime soon that I know I won’t regret leaving my ball cap behind. It’s unlikely we’ll see the sun today.

Stepping out onto the patio, I inhale the crisp morning air. Okay. Considering I could be sitting in my downtown office right now, this isn’t half-bad. Aggravating clients aside.

As I zip up my jacket, Paige brushes past me, half jogging down the steps. Irritation at her hostile attitude jabs me while I follow her.

That sensation is quickly overshadowed by my appreciation of the view, though. Underneath her small backpack, she’s wearing a track jacket that only halfway covers her behind. Can’t blame me for noticing the round and tight outline of that ass in those clingy leggings. Can’t blame my dick for noticing, too.

I stay a few steps behind her as we make our way down the path, and even though I’m like a kid standing outside a candy store with empty pockets, I can’t look away. Memories flash of coming home from work and finding her busy—because she was always occupied, the household tasks never-ending—and greeting her by kissing her neck and grabbing that delicious ass.

And even if she was in a crappy mood, even if she’d had an exhausting day, she’d always arch back into me, tilt her head to give me better access, and usually let out a breathy little moan.

Because, like a cat, she responded to my hands with hedonistic joy. The easiest way to remind her how completely and unquestionably she belonged to me was to touch her.

Which is why it chafes like a shoe a size too small that I’m not allowed to do it anymore.

We find Stu and Caroline waiting for us at the fork in the path down the hill from their cabin, dressed like the experienced hikers Stu told me they are, in layers of lightweight and moisture-wicking clothes. They’re calmly chatting, but that doesn’t fool me. Today’s business is figuring out who takes what with them as they walk their separate ways. It’s almost guaranteed to get ugly. Actually, considering what Stuart told me last night he wanted out of this negotiation, ugly is probably an understatement.

As we reach their side, Paige plucks her phone out of her pocket and informs them, “Since I can’t take notes while hiking, I’ll be recording on my phone whenever the case is being discussed.”

Stu’s gaze flicks to me. “Are we okay with that?”

“I don’t think she’s giving us a choice,” I say with a shrug.

“Well, are you going to record it?” he asks, frowning.

I tap my temple with my index finger. “Got my recorder right here.”

“Right.” Garnett visibly calms, and as he starts leading the way toward the woods, he says to his wife, “Logan has a photographic memory.”

“No, he doesn’t,” my wife immediately cuts in.

“Here we go,” I comment under my breath. Stu and Caroline are about to get a near-lethal dose of Pedantic Paige.

“First of all,” she says as we trail behind our clients across the dry dirt ground, twigs crunching beneath our shoes, “there’s no such thing as photographic memory. The closest thing is called eidetic memory, and it pretty much just exists in kids.”

While Stu throws her a blank look over his shoulder, Caroline seems wholly disinterested in the conversation.

“Logan has exceptional attention to detail,” she continues, “and he grasps information quickly, and once he learns something, he remembers it for a long time. But he doesn’t have photographic memory.”

“Basically, what she’s saying is I’m just your run-of-the-mill kind of genius,” I supply, grinning as she directs a sour glance at me.

“Still,” Stu says, “that means he doesn’t need to record any of our conversations.”

“He’ll remember more than you or I will,” Paige concedes, “but not every single word. Don’t worry, though. I’ll happily send him the files of my recordings.”

I press my lips together to suppress a smile. It’s been too damn long since I’ve had the privilege of witnessing her lecturing. I used to bait her all the time, because my wife on her soapbox, showering us with facts like they’re fairy dust and she’s Tinker Bell? It’s fucking hot.

And it’s not just because of our separation that I’ve been missing out. The truth is, for almost three years now, she’s preferred not to talk to me at all.

The trees thicken up ahead, and seeing how narrow the only walkable path is, I move closer to Stu and nudge him. As he falters and gives me a questioning look, I say quietly, “Ladies first.”

Though he looks confused, he thankfully hangs back and lets Caroline take the lead, followed by Paige, and then me with Stu trailing. I don’t really see a need to explain to him that this way I won’t miss any communication between Paige and Caroline. Plus it puts an attorneys-between-clients buffer that I’m sure I’ll thank myself for later.

I’m torn about being thankful for how it keeps Paige’s backside in my direct line of view, though. The upside is I can keep staring at her ass. The downside? Thoughts of what I’m aching to do with that ass will make it hard to focus on this stupid divorce case.

“So…the more quickly we get this over with…” With a glance back at me and Stu, Paige makes a show of hitting the big, red recording button on her phone screen. “Fixed assets.”

“Uh-huh,” the man-child grumbles behind me. “I’m sure she wants everything plus my balls on a platter.”

“Stu.” Uttering the low warning, I half turn my face back toward him, struggling to disguise my disgust.

“Let’s start with the properties,” Paige forges on as if he hadn’t spoken. “Which ones would Stuart like to keep?”

Oh, nice try, babe. She wants me to make the first move, because it gives her the high ground. “Why don’t you start with telling us which ones Caroline wants?”

Trudging along, she looks at me over her shoulder. At my fake smile, she pinches her lips together. “Okay,” she says grudgingly. “She’s willing to let him have the beach house in Hawaii, the penthouse in New York, the condo in London, and the cabin in Vail.”

Yeah, right. I let out a snort that turns into a laugh. “Leaving her with the house in La Jolla. Which is worth three times as much as any of the other properties, plus it’s the only one near both of their corporate offices.”

“See?” Stu calls out, clearly addressing his wife up ahead. “Photographic memory.”

Caroline only waves in acknowledgement, and Paige replies, “The house in La Jolla has an appraised value of twelve million. The other properties combined are worth nineteen million. Again Stuart comes out ahead.”

“What the fuck?” the ass-clown behind me exclaims, and from the way his voice fades, I can tell he’s stopped walking.

The rest of us come to a halt as well, turning back toward him. He’s standing next to a big rock, his face ruddy with indignation as he glares up at his wife. “You had the house appraised? When? How long have you been planning this?”

From a few steps farther up the hill, Caroline scoffs. “Did you think I just woke up one morning and thought, ‘You know what? I think I’ll get divorced today?’”

Stu’s expression twists darkly. “No,” he snarls. “I always knew you were a calculating bitch.”

“Okay! Not productive,” Paige says, shooting a warning look at me. As if I have any control over my asshole of a client.

“How about I keep the house in La Jolla and you get the rest?” Garnett demands petulantly.

Caroline rolls her eyes. “Now you’re just being contrary.”

“Yeah?” he snaps back at her. “Well, when your wife just out of the blue wants a divorce, and you have no idea what the fuck happened, I think you have a pretty fucking good reason to be fucking contrary!”

“Time out,” I announce, raising my hands, and then I say to the women, “Give us a minute?”

Without a word, the two of them pivot and continue climbing the ridge. I take a step back so that I’m on an even level with Stu.

Because we’re partners in this. Yeah, I work for him, but he also needs to let me be in charge. I take a deep breath before I calmly ask him, “Do we need to postpone this meeting? If you can’t control your temper, it’s a waste of everyone’s time.”

My client brushes a trembling hand down his face. Avoiding my gaze, he grinds out, “I’m fine. I’m good.”

He’s clearly not. So I keep my mouth shut, giving him a moment to cool down while I watch Paige and Caroline up ahead. There’s room for them to hike side-by-side up there, and from the way they keep looking at each other, it’s obvious they’re having a discussion.

At dinner last night that I had no choice but to have with Stu, he complained that his wife had rushed through their round of golf yesterday and then had spent the rest of the day with Paige. They’d gone to the spa—billable hours, I’m assuming, since they probably talked shop—and then the two of them actually left the hotel to go to dinner in Truckee.

So yeah, we’re both stuck with our clients here, but at least she doesn’t despise hers. I can’t help but envy and resent her for that. Just a little.

“Should I let her have the house?” Stu asks abruptly.

I turn my attention back to him. The answer to that galls me, but I have an obligation to look out for his interests, so I say, “If we’re just talking financial value, it’s a good deal.”

He stares at me, open-mouthed like a fish out of water. “It’s our home. It’s where we spend most of our time together.”

“Right. So do you really want to live there without her?”

That signature blank look comes over Stuart’s face again, and then he grimaces. And, because apparently I’m a sucker and a bleeding heart, sympathy churns in my chest.

“You know I’ll go to bat for you,” I say, putting my hand on his shoulder, “but it should be over something that matters to you, not just for petty revenge.”

Indecision freezes my client’s features. I can practically hear the gears creaking and grinding in there. “Fine,” he says. “Let her keep it.”

Nodding, I turn and start tramping up the steep incline after the women, who are now just two dots toward the top of the hill. Stu treads nimbly beside me, and I have to give him credit: he’s in great shape, and I’d welcome him as a hiking buddy anytime—if it weren’t for all the shit that comes out of his mouth.

“Besides, we already discussed what I want,” he says after a minute or so.

Yup, we sure did. And I’m actually looking forward to seeing Paige’s face when I bring it up.

“On it,” I tell him, and then we silently set ourselves to the task of catching up to our wives.

When we reach them, they're sitting on a boulder, where they have a pretty spectacular view of the lake.

I don't let myself admire the scenery as long as I would like, though, instead gesturing at the phone in Paige’s hand and asking, “Are you going to turn that thing back on?”

Raising her eyebrows, she unlocks the phone and makes a show of tapping the recording button again.

“Caroline can have the house,” I pronounce.

The woman in question widens her eyes, her lips forming a stunned O.

“Great,” Paige says with a satisfied smile. “Then I think we’re ready to move on to the small stuff?”

“Not quite.” I let my interruption settle over them all while I brace my hands on my hips and place my boot on a small rock. The women are watching me expectantly, but I take my time before elaborating. A little drama never hurts. I want to savor this moment, because Paige is going to hate it.

“Stu wants the dogs,” I announce at last.

Paige blinks. “What?”

“Excuse me?” Caroline blurts.

“You have dogs?” My wife gives the other woman a confused look.

“They're my dogs,” her client spits at mine, pushing up off the boulder. “You gave them to me as a Christmas present!”

“I did,” Stu agrees, and then for some reason, he sees the need to explain to Paige, “Her old pug, Annie, had just died. So I got her two Corgi puppies. They were adorable. She told me once that she wanted Corgis because it's what the queen has, and if they're good enough for royalty—”

“You're not getting my dogs,” Caroline states with murder in her eyes.

“They're her dogs,” Paige says to me as she gets to her feet as well, apparently having recovered from her initial surprise.

I heave my shoulders in a too-bad kind of shrug. “Stu’s really attached to them.”

“I'm really attached to them!” Caroline’s voice takes on a fiery edge. “They're my dogs!”

“You said you weren't going to count gifts,” Paige argues with measured patience, her hard gaze fixed on me. “The dogs were a gift.”

I offer a quick, indulgent smile. “A dog shouldn't really be a gift, though, should it? It's a living creature.”

Her eyes turn squinty with irritation. “What has that got to do with—”

“According to Caroline’s company travel records,” I interrupt, deciding to thrust again before she has a chance to parry, “she spent one hundred seventy-two days last year traveling. While Stu was only away for seventy-nine days. He spends more time with the dogs. They should be his.”

Caroline explodes. “Only because he's just a goddamned figurehead at this point! I actually run my business!”

“And while you do,” I tell her, “you leave the dogs at home. With Stu.”

The cool, beautiful, professional entrepreneur is gone. Caroline Carne’s face has turned ugly with rage, her skin splotchy and her eyes bugging.

“You motherfucker!” she screams at Stu. “You're not taking my dogs!”

Suddenly, she charges him with her arms out, giving his chest a shove hard enough to send him staggering backward—toward the mountain’s edge, with its steep, rocky drop of at least a hundred feet.

“Caroline!” Paige yells just as I shoot forward, grabbing the older man’s arm and jerking him back from the edge. As I push him behind me and away from his wife, Paige clamps her hands down on her client’s elbow, pulling her close in an attempt to restrain her.

Jesus Christ.

“You trying to kill me now?” Stu wails breathlessly over my shoulder, and I suffer a brief pang, almost wishing she had—and had succeeded. I put my hand out behind me to try to get him to settle down.

“If I wanted you dead, trust me, you’d be dead,” Caroline fires back, though she sounds calmer and isn't fighting against Paige’s hold on her.

What a fucking nightmare.

Apparently deciding it safe, Paige lets go and takes a step back. Her eyes are wide with alarm as they find mine. It’s on the tip of my tongue to snap at her to control her client, but that expression on her face stops me cold, so instead we share a brief moment of silent bonding over the fact that our clients are fucking insane.

“Maybe you can take one dog each?” she suggests once everyone has caught their breaths, and the offended looks they give her has her putting her palms up defensively, saying to her client, “All right, then, joint custody. He has the dogs when you're away, and when you're home, they stay with you?”

After chewing on that for a moment, Caroline wipes her brow and says, “That's fine.”

Even though I probably shouldn't stir the pot further, professional pride compels me to say, “He’ll have them half the time she's home, too.”

Paige purses her lips, considering. “They each keep them half of the year, but the days Caroline is away count toward his half.”

She throws a questioning look at Caroline, who nods reluctantly.

“Stu?” I glance back at my client.

“I guess I can live with that,” he says at length, but it clearly pains him to compromise.

“Then let’s move on,” Paige says with obvious relief.

And so we do. While we continue trekking through the wilderness, we start divvying up the contents of their main residence—the one Caroline’s keeping. Thankfully, Paige has the full accounting of all those possessions on her phone. It's a staggeringly huge list of stuff, and for a while it seems like our clients are going to bicker about every last one of them.

The only thing that keeps us moving forward is Caroline’s eagerness to settle everything, which obviously motivates her to make more concessions than she normally would. I can sense Paige’s growing frustration with that, but I'm too fed up with this whole situation to find any satisfaction in it.

Or maybe it's just because I still love her, still want her, and push comes to shove, I don't enjoy watching her struggle.

The truth is I want to fix her problems, not cause them.

We’ve reached a small clearing when we’ve finally finished with the La Jolla house, and of course, Paige tries to move right on to the possessions at the smaller properties.

“I'm done for the day,” Stuart announces unceremoniously, unhooking his stainless-steel water bottle from his backpack and taking a drink. “We can wrap things up tomorrow.”

“Okay,” Paige says hesitantly, eyeing Caroline, who just shrugs. Like she's saying, It is what it is.

Which I suppose might be the only way to deal with Stuart Garnett and keep your sanity. Not that Caroline herself is any kind of model for mental stability.

“You two can head back if you want,” Stu continues, recapping his bottle.

It takes me a second to grasp that he means me and Paige, not Paige and Caroline.

My wife throws her client a worried look. “That's probably not the best idea. Maybe we should all turn around.”

“I promised I’d hike to the peak with him,” Caroline says with a shake of her head, “like we always do. We’ll talk later.”

Wow. Paige looks as taken aback as I feel as we watch our clients take off across the clearing toward the pines and the next uphill portion.

“Are you going on?” she asks me, sounding apprehensive.

I snort. “I’d rather pull out my toenails.”

Still, she wavers. “If they kill each other, can we be blamed?”

With a grim smile, I say, “It'd be our word against nobody’s that we had any idea there might be any violence.”

Paige is silent for a couple of heartbeats. Then she says, “Cool.”

And we start our hike back down the mountain.