One Last Time(9)

She’s done so much for me already, I won’t ask for more favors. I just need to be creative.

I think back to when I was a reporter and didn’t have connections. Being resourceful was paramount. The file Erica gave me, the one filled with information about Noah Frazier, sits on my table. He’ll be in Tampa on Friday to visit Eli for the weekend, which means I’m supposed to have a story for the blog on Monday.

Considering I know nothing about Noah, I need to get busy trying to find an in.

I open it and read the info laid out like a police record.

Name: Noah Joseph Frazier

Born: November 3, 1977 (Scorpio)





I smile when I realize we share a birthday.

Location: Currently lives in New York City.

Born in Newton, IL.

Moved to LA at eighteen.

Eye Color: Green

Hair: Dark brown

Height: 6ft (although I think he’s an inch shorter)

Weight: Who cares? He’s hot.





The next line makes me chuckle. Who the hell comes up with these forms for stalking celebrities?

Relationship status: Single as fuck.

Body type: Athletic. Strong jawline and has a banging ass.





I almost spit my coffee. It literally says “banging ass.”

There’s loads of information about his career, food likes, and pretty much anything I could ever want to know. It isn’t until I turn the page that my jaw drops.

Holy shit.

He’s freaking hot. Like really hot.

Maybe this job won’t suck as much as I thought it would.

I open my laptop and click on the browser so I can search his images. Noah is photographed with Eli quite a bit, most of the shots are them on the set of A Thin Blue Line, but then there are a few of them out at various bars. He looks damn freaking good in a police uniform. I rest my chin on my hand as I click through the images. The next photo is of his back, and in it, he’s squatting a little and his gun is drawn . . . I now fully understand the banging ass comment.

My scrolling continues through delicious photos of Noah, and I sigh.

I keep clicking and then stop when I come to a photo from the Emmy Awards.

Holy mother of God.

He’s in a black tux that fits him perfectly. Even with all the material he’s wearing, I can see the angles of his body. Broad shoulders, trim waist, and strong arms are visible in the shot. His dark brown hair is parted to the side and pushed back into a sleek, polished look. The photographer captured him in the middle of a laugh, and his green eyes are bright and full of life.

I could stare at this all day. If my job is looking at him, I may never quit.

My phone rings, and I jump.

Shit. It’s Scott.

“Hi.” I close the laptop, feeling a little guilty that I was drooling over another man while I’m legally married to this man.

“Hey.” My heart thumps at the sound of his voice. We haven’t spoken since I moved out two weeks ago, and hearing it now hurts. “I was verifying the kids are staying with me this weekend.”

“That’s the plan,” I say as I run my finger along the mug. “I can drop them off after work on Friday.”

He clears his throat. “I can get them.”

“Okay, I was offering since I’ll be in West Chase. And per the temporary agreement, I either drop them off or pick them up. This seemed to be the perfect compromise. I have to go into the office on Friday, which means the kids will be at Danielle’s. I have a ton of paperwork to fill out.”

Scott goes quiet and a knot forms in the pit of my stomach. “I’d rather us have a meeting place in the middle. The lawyer suggested having a neutral place. For the kids . . . and for us. That way, we’re not in each other’s business. I’d rather you stay away from my home.”

My hand stops moving and I grip the mug. His home? It’s his home now. He had to say it like that? I’ve known this was going to be difficult, but no one warns you about the pain during it all. It’s about lawyers, money, and keeping things separate. Civility is a struggle when you’re dealing with a selfish asshole.

I do my best to hold back the tears that threaten to form. It’s so much easier said than done. He’s still the guy I always wanted to love me.

“That’s really not convenient for me, Scott. I can’t drive out there on Sunday.”

He huffs. “I’m not trying to be a dick, Kris.”

It just comes natural to him.

“We agreed that one of us would drop them off and the other would pick them up. When you sent your requests the other day, that is what I signed off on.” I can be a bitch, too. I won’t let him walk all over me.

My lawyer called me Wednesday night to let me know we got our court date and to go over Scott’s requests during the separation. I agreed to some, this being one of them, but he’s out of his damn mind if I’m going to drive them to and from his visits let alone meet in some random place. They’re his kids, too. He can be the one inconvenienced if he wants to change shit around. I was the one who had to deal with him until the kids were out of school and then uproot my home and the kids because he wanted to stay in the house, which I still think is totally ridiculous. Why the hell does he need a four-bedroom house?

“My lawyer believes this is the right choice.”