Cole

  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.”

  Jake welcomed me from the elevator that evening with a look of surprise. “Hey, Addison.” He still wore a business suit from work. A pot of coffee had started to sputter alive behind him. “Sia’s not here, if that’s who you’re looking for?”

  “No.” I shook my head. “I’m looking for you. I might need legal help.”

  His eyes lit up. “Well, in that case, you came to the right place. Come in.” He gestured to the living room. “Do you drink coffee—no. You don’t, but Sia does. That’s right. She told me you’re not a big coffee drinker.”

  The elevator doors closed, and I waited on the couch as he got organized. He hung his suit coat on a nearby chair and sat down across from me.

  “Okay. What do you have for me?”

  I took out the papers. “I was given these a few hours ago.”

  “Yeah?” He took them and leafed through.

  I hated this. I hated that Liam’s family had put me in this position. I glanced around. This was my neighbor. I wasn’t supposed to be a client, not this way. I clasped my hands together.

  This was the worst part. The waiting.

  “Okay.” He finished reading and placed them on the table. “Um, well, first, how are you?”

  “What?”

  “How are you?”

  “I’m…” I cocked my head to the side. “What do you mean?”

  His eyes went to the floor, then came up as he cleared his throat. “Sia told me about you and Liam, how much you really loved him, and these are your in-laws doing this. So, I guess,
how are you? I’m not asking as your lawyer, but as your neighbor and the guy in love with your best friend.”

  “Love, huh?” I sat back.

  “Yeah. I love her. I haven’t told her, but this isn’t about that.” He tapped the papers. “How are you feeling about Liam’s parents doing this?”

  “I’m furious.” My voice was monotone.

  “Okay. Yeah.” He coughed into his hand. “I can see that. My firm does work in property law. You paid for your home in full?”

  I nodded. “With cash.”

  “And who primarily paid for it? Was it you and Liam? Was it mainly just Liam?”

  “It was Liam.” I slid my hands under my legs. They were beginning to tremble. “I paid for the insurance, and I helped with the furniture, but it was mostly his money.” I had to swallow a lump in my throat. “It was all his money.”

  “Okay.” His eyes drifted from me to the papers, then to the floor. “Your name isn’t on the title, but you’re his wife. They don’t have a case. However, if you wanted to make this go away more quickly, you could show them a copy of your accounts—where it shows that it was Liam’s money, and not money put into his account by your in-laws. That would be enough to make this completely go away, but you don’t have to do that. As your lawyer, I wouldn’t advise you to show your bank statements for any reason.”

  “And as a friend?”

  “If you want to make this go away so your in-laws aren’t fucking with you, I’d just show them the proof. They have to go away then.”

  I wanted them to go away. I wanted to go away. I nodded. “I can do that. Liam got his inheritance when he turned thirty. So that money would’ve been in there before.”

  “And that’s how he paid for the house?”

  I nodded. “I didn’t know it at the time, but yes. He got twenty million from his grandmother’s estate. I found out about it at the funeral. Carol, his mother, told me. The lawyers came over later with all the paperwork.”

  “Okay. Those were her lawyers or Liam’s lawyers?”

  I tried to remember. “They were lawyers. I don’t know if they were Liam’s or his parents’.”

  “They should’ve been Liam’s, but sometimes family members use the same firm. Did Liam get along with his family?”

  “No.” This conversation was ripping me open. “He and his younger brother didn’t get along with their parents. There’s a sister, and she did, but Liam didn’t get along with her either. I mean, Liam had lunch with her sometimes until she began trying to introduce him to other women. She didn’t like me.” My voice sounded so strange right now, like it was another person talking.

  “Do you remember who came over with the inheritance papers?”

  “No.” I shook my head.

  “So, okay. I think if you can remember the name of the firm Liam worked with, I’ll have my firm reach out to them. That would help because we don’t want them coming back and suing you for validity of inheritance. We’ll make sure everything is in order. This shouldn’t be a problem. I don’t know how it even could, to be honest. People can sue for anything these days. Most claims are bullshit, but if you don’t want to prolong this—”

  “No. I know. I’ll do that. It’s fine.” I nodded, and that was it. We made plans for our next meeting, which would be held at his actual place of business. I was about to head for the elevator when he asked, “What about Sia?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Technically this is confidential information with attorney-client privilege, so you tell me. I don’t have to say a word to her, if you don’t want me to.”

  “Oh.” I blinked. Sia hated Carol. “Maybe not, for now. I don’t want to be sued for my ex-mother-in-law’s death. Sia tends to look for pitchforks whenever she talks about Carol.”

  Jake laughed. “That sounds like Sia. Okay. I think we’re set then. I’ll see you in a few days. My office will call you tomorrow.”

  “Thank you, Jake.”

  “Not a problem. We’ll take care of you.”

  Those words—take care of you.

  I hit the button for my floor and leaned back. It’d been a long time since I’d heard words like that. When the elevator stopped, I was expecting it to open on my floor, but I looked up and realized I was at the lobby instead, and Ken stood right before me. His hands were folded in front of him, and his head was slightly bowed.

  He cleared his throat. “There’s been a request from our mutual acquaintance. He’d like for you to pack an overnight bag and your identification. There’s a car waiting for you outside.”

  “What?”

  “You’ll be driven to the airport. Mr. Cole is unable to come here, so he’d like to bring you to him instead.”

  The car drove me to the airport and dropped me off in the private planes section, pulling up outside a hangar. A Ken look-alike waited for me—similar greying hair, his hands folded in front of his dark blue suit, kind eyes warming as he nodded a small smile to me.

  He held his hand out, gesturing toward a set of stairs that led to a private plane. “Ms. Bowman, I imagine?”

  I nodded, still dazed from what Ken had said. “Uh, yeah.”

  “The plane is prepped and ready. You’ll be landing at JFK shortly, and another car will be waiting for you there.” He bowed, just briefly. “Have a wonderful trip.”

  “Uh.” I was still dazed. “Thank you.”

  He didn’t tell me his name, but he took my small bag and carried it to a flight attendant waiting at the bottom of the stairs. I trailed after him, and as the attendant took the bag, he gave me another professional nod.

  “Safe flying, Ms. Bowman.”

  Then he was gone, disappearing back inside the hangar.

  The attendant waited, a similar smile on her face. She indicated for me to go ahead, and as I did, she put my bag in a compartment.

  “Would you like anything in particular to drink or eat before we take off?” she asked.

  I shook my head. This was all… I looked around. Private plane. I mean, I knew Cole had been on a private plane, but I didn’t know it was his, and this one must’ve been. Maybe he just chartered it? For some reason, that helped settle my nerves. That made sense.

  Still, when we arrived at JFK and I got inside the waiting car, I didn’t ask the attendant or the driver. A part of me didn’t want to know. What would those details indicate about Cole? He looked too young to have all this, but then again, maybe that was what he thought about me? I wasn’t working, and I could afford to live in The Mauricio. It was obvious I had money, but he never questioned me. And why was I even wondering about this?

  I was nervous.

  My thoughts bounced around, and when the car headed into the city, I crossed my arms over my chest. Deep breath. Maybe a second one. I wanted to calm the knots inside, loosen them up.

  When the car pulled over and the driver opened my door, I got out and craned my neck. We were outside a building similar to The Mauricio—all silver colored and made of pure glass. This one stretched much higher than the one I lived in, and it seemed friendlier. Unlike The Mauricio’s door, which was small and almost drab-looking on purpose to help with the exclusivity, this one was a circling glass door.

  A doorman approached with the same polite nod and smile as the others. “Ms. Bowman.” He took the bag the driver offered him and gestured toward the doors. “I’ll show you to your room.”

  I didn’t know what to expect, but when we went inside, I was still surprised.

  It was a hotel. One desk, one worker behind it, and a small fountain in the middle. That was it. The walls were dark with red trim, and the floors were dark marble tile. It gave off a swanky feeling that mingled with anonymity. The doorman passed the desk and led me around the corner to the elevator. He rode with me, pushing the top button on the panel, and I had déjà vu. Cole often came from a higher floor in The Mauricio; it seemed fitting that he had the top floor here.

  “Miss.”

  The doors opened, and the doo
rman held an arm out, waiting for me to go first. I stepped out, and he swept behind me, disappearing into a room. A second later, he returned and pressed the button for the elevator again. It opened, he nodded to me a last time, and was whisked away.