Daddy, Unexpectedly. Lee MckenzieЧитать онлайн книгу.
warm and wilted, it was just plain gross. She dumped it into the trash can under the sink and put her lunch dishes in the dishwasher.
“Forget about food. You have more important things to think about.” She walked purposefully back to the dining table, sat and opened the calendar on her laptop.
This had been a busy week. She had closed the sale of a home in Seattle’s Victory Heights neighborhood and listed two others. She’d lined up three showings tomorrow morning for some prospective home buyers—newlyweds in search of their dream home. She would be tempted to tell them it was all downhill once the honeymoon was over, but she was a real estate agent, not a marriage counsellor.
The company she’d launched several years ago was really taking off and her two business partners were as busy as she was. Busier, given their family commitments. Claire was happy for Samantha and Kristi, she really was, but more than a little envious, too. Since she’d been a little girl, crisscrossing the country from one military base to another, she’d dreamed of a real home with a white picket fence and a big backyard, where she and the man of her dreams could watch their children chase the dog and play with their friends. Technically neither Sam nor Kristi had a white picket fence, but they had everything else Claire wanted.
She stood and walked to the floor-to-ceiling wall of glass that overlooked Puget Sound. She had a pricey penthouse with a million-dollar view, an imperialistic cat who slept most of the time, no children and a soon-to-be-ex husband. She checked her watch. It was two-thirty and it was Friday afternoon and all her work was done, so why was she feeling so out of sorts?
“Because I’m starving.” The salad she’d eaten for lunch had worn off, as had the sense of virtuousness for eating something healthy and almost calorie-free. She went back into the kitchen and looked in the fridge. The makings of another salad, four eggs, a tub of fat-free yogurt and a quart of skim milk. She took out a Tupperware container filled with carrots and celery sticks, then opened a cupboard. A box of breakfast cereal with a measly hundred calories per serving and a package of rice cakes.
What were you thinking? she asked herself.
That you’re supposed to be on a diet.
She set the rodent food on the polished granite countertop. Ugh.
“La Cucaracha” started playing on her cell phone. Double ugh. Only one incoming caller was assigned to that ring tone. Her can’t-be-ex-soon-enough husband. She’d been hearing it a lot lately, and he was really starting to bug her. She was tempted to let the call go to voice mail, but then he’d leave a long-winded message. And then he’d call back in twenty minutes to find out if she’d listened to it.
“I told you to stop calling me,” she said, forgoing the usual pleasantries when she answered.
“This is important.”
It always was. “What do you want?”
“My lawyer has drawn up the divorce papers and we’re sending them to your lawyer this afternoon for you to sign.”
Typical Donald. He assumed she would agree to the terms, just as she had agreed to everything he’d wanted while they were married. They’d bought the luxury condo he’d chosen, postponed having a family because he wasn’t ready. Getting divorced would damn well be on her terms.
“I’ll discuss them with my lawyer and see what she thinks.” She was suddenly overcome by the feeling that lunch had been two days ago instead of two hours, and a carrot stick wasn’t going to do it for her. She was craving something rich and sweet and chocolaty. A candy bar, maybe. Or a double-chocolate donut. Or a quart of Ben & Jerry’s Chocolate Therapy.
No, make that all three.
“It’s a straightforward agreement,” he said. “Everything will be divided equally, and we’ll split the proceeds from the penthouse...although that can’t happen if we don’t get it on the market.”
Claire picked up one of the rice cakes and pictured a Belgian waffle heaped with fresh strawberries and a mountain of whipped cream, all liberally sprinkled with shaved chocolate. “I still have to find a place to live,” she reminded him.
“You own a real estate company, Claire. You’ve had months to find a new place. It’s not that difficult.”
It sure hadn’t been for him. He had moved out of their home and straight into his new girlfriend’s condominium. Deirdre. Claire had never met her, but she imagined the woman was a lot like Cruella de Vil, only meaner.
“My lawyer will call your lawyer,” she said.
“One more thing.”
With you, there always is. “What?” she asked. She dipped an imaginary spoon into a chocolate-bottomed crème brûlée and pretended to swirl it across her tongue. Heaven.
“We’ve come up with an equitable division of assets, and I want that book my grandmother gave you.”
Claire practically dropped the phone. We who? Donald and his lawyer? Donald and Deirdre? “Absolutely not. That was a gift to me, and that makes it mine.”
“Doesn’t matter,” he said. “It was given to you by one of my family members and I want it back.”
His mother had given her a butt-ugly red vinyl purse for her birthday last year. Did he want that, too? “It’s a children’s book,” she reminded him. “Why would you want it?” Unless...was Deirdre pregnant? After insisting he wasn’t ready to start a family with Claire, that would be the ultimate insult.
“Apparently it’s a collector’s item and it belonged...belongs...to my family.”
Of course. This had nothing to do with sentimental feelings about families or children, or even literature. Claire still had all of her favorite books from childhood and over the years she’d added to the collection. When she finally had kids of her own, they would spend many happy hours reading those books together. Donald’s grandmother had loved books, too, and had looked forward to a great-grandchild someday. Just before she died, she’d given the book to Claire and made her promise to share it with her children.
Donald probably didn’t even remember it was a first edition Beatrix Potter. With him it was only about the money. Always about the money. Well, too bad. If he thought he was getting that book, he could think again.
No, he could go straight to hell. In a handbasket.
“It’s been a busy week and I have to get back to work. My lawyer will call your lawyer after we’ve looked at the papers.”
He was still blustering when she hung up.
Her hands were shaking and her stomach felt like a deflated balloon. Screw the diet. She dumped the raw veggies and rice cakes into the trash, snagged her purse off the counter and headed for the door. She debated whether to leave her phone at home and quickly ruled it out. The only thing worse than getting another call from the cockroach was missing a call from a client.
* * *
ON THE WAY BACK TO HER building, Claire navigated around a cluster of pylons on the sidewalk. A window-washing platform was suspended a few feet above the ground and a crew of workers was loading equipment onto a truck.
“Claire? Claire DeAngelo? Is that you?”
She whirled around, clutching a paper bag filled with guilty pleasure. Who on earth...?
She looked up at the man on the platform and stopped breathing. She’d recognize that devilish grin anywhere. “Luke!”
He vaulted over the safety railing, landed lightly on his feet in front of her and swept her into an enthusiastic embrace. “I knew it had to be you. What are you doing here?”
“Just taking a break.” She waved at the main doors of her condominium complex. “I’m on my way home, and back to work. I mean, I work at home sometimes.”
He planted a kiss on her forehead. “How long has it been?”
“I’m