When I Was Yours

“Look, what is your problem here, Case? Why the big interrogation about Adam?”

Her face drops, and I instantly feel like shit.

“I’m just worried about you, that’s all,” she says quietly, sounding wounded, making me feel even shitter.

“Case, I’m okay,” I tell her softly, placing my hand on her arm.

I know why she worries. Since Mom died and since her illness, she has this innate fear of losing Dad or me. It can make her thoughts irrational at times, especially when she gets something in her head. She probably thinks that Adam being back in my life is hurting me. And she will have, unintentionally distorted it her head, to it being a way that she could lose me.

“There is nothing to worry about, honey. Adam has nothing to do with anything.” Except that he has something to do with everything. “He’s just someone I used to know.”

I have to stop myself from breaking out in song.

“Just promise me, you’ll talk to me if you need to?”

I brush her hair back off her face. “I promise.”

She stares at me for a long moment.

Then, she picks up her bag and stands. “Okay, well, I’ll see you later.” She bends down and kisses my cheek. “Try not to eat yourself into a coma, okay?”

“Okay.” I press Play on the remote as I hear the front door close.

Wouldn’t you believe it? My cell starts ringing—well, vibrating against my butt.

Mothereffer!

Lifting up, I retrieve my cell. I check the screen. It’s Stan, my divorce lawyer.

I connect the call and put the phone to my ear. “Hey, Stan. Everything okay?”

“Hi. Well, I guess it depends on how you define okay.”

“Usually, right along with something awesome.”

“Well then, I have something awesome for you—or should I say, I have awesome news.”

My bat signal turns on. “What’s the awesome news?”

“I just heard from Adam’s lawyer. He’s agreed to the divorce, which means it’ll go through nice and quickly.”

“Okay.” Even though I knew Adam would agree, I still feel a sinking loss in my stomach.

“But that’s not the awesome. The awesome is that he’s agreed to the divorce on his terms, and they are in your favor.”

“My favor?”

“Yes. Massively in your favor. He is giving you a lot of money, Evie.”

“I’m sorry. What?”

“Money. He’s giving you a large amount of money as part of the divorce settlement.”

“But I don’t want a settlement. I never asked for that. Why would he do that?”

“I don’t know, and I wouldn’t questions it. Adam is offering to give you pretty much his net worth. He’s keeping Gunner Entertainment and his house, and that’s all he wants. The rest is yours.”

“His net worth? I’m sorry. I don’t understand.” My tongue feels like rubber in my mouth.

“His net worth is his total assets, minus outside liabilities, negating the studio. And as he personally owns only one house, Adam’s asset is cash and lots of it.”

“I know what net worth is. I just…” I can’t get my brain and mouth into the same gear.

It doesn’t matter though because Stan is on a roll. “We’re talking millions here, Evie. Nine figures. This divorce is about to make you a very rich woman.”

Millions? Nine figures?

I sit up so quickly that the remote goes flying off my lap and into the coffee table with a loud thud.

“He’s giving me all his money?” I gasp. “But why? It doesn’t make sense.”

“Sense or not, it’s about to be yours.”

“But I don’t want his money!”

“Well, whether or not you want it, he’s determined to give it to you.”

I press my shaking hand to my muddled head. “Can I contest his terms?”

Stan coughs out a laugh. “You can, but I can’t see why you would.” He sounds confused. He’s not the only one.

And he probably thinks I’m mental, but I don’t care. The only mental one here is Adam. He’s clearly lost his freaking mind.

I don’t want his money. I never did.

I have no clue as to why he’s doing this.

“I want to contest. You send those papers back and tell him no way am I divorcing him on those terms.”

There’s silence, and then Stan roars out a laugh. “I have to say, this is the strangest divorce case I’ve ever dealt with. Normally, the husband is holding back on funds, and the wife is fighting for them. Never have I had a husband offering everything and the wife wanting nothing.”

“Yeah, well, nothing about my and Adam’s marriage was ever conventional.” I sigh, dragging my hand down my face. “I just don’t understand why he’s doing this. Is he being forced to?”

“Forced? By whom?”

“I don’t know. The law? I mean, in Cali, is there a law that says he has to give me money?”

“Technically, the law states, if there’s no prenuptial agreement, then assets will be split fifty-fifty. But because of your unique circumstances—the fact that you filed on abandonment, putting yourself at fault, along with the length of time you’ve been separated, and you leaving him ten years ago—then no. There isn’t a judge that would award in your favor.”

“And his lawyer would have told him all this?”

“I would imagine so.”

“I just…” I rub at my head. “None of this makes sense.”

“Don’t make sense of it. Just be happy, and start thinking about how you’re going to spend your money. Look, I have to go. I have to be in court in fifteen minutes. We’ll talk soon.”

Then, he hangs up before I get a chance to reiterate that I want him to tell Adam no freaking way to his terms.

I’m staring down at the cell in my hand like it’s an alien.

What the hell is Adam doing? Why would he try to give me all of his money? It makes no sense.

Well, if my lawyer won’t tell him no, then I will.

Getting up, cell still in hand, I head for the front door. I shove my feet in my flip-flops and grab my car keys off the key hook, and then I’m out the door.

As I make my way down the stairs, I Google the address for Gunner Entertainment on my phone.

Wilshire Boulevard. It shouldn’t take me too long to get there.

I push out the door of my building and quickly cross the lot to my car. I get in and take off.

As I drive, I just get more confused, and then, quiet frankly, I get pissed off.

I mean, what the hell does he think he’s doing? He knows I couldn’t give a shit about his money. Is he doing this on purpose to mess with me? If he is, then it’s working.

Traffic’s pretty clear, so I’m there in no time.

I pull up outside the building. I’m out of my car and heading for the entrance.

I practically blow up into his building. I’m so angry that I feel like I could punch someone—preferably him.

I march over to the reception desk.

The, of course, gorgeous, mega thin blonde-haired receptionist lifts a finger, halting me, as she says into the mouthpiece, “Connecting you now.”