When I Was Yours(46)

“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.”

Then, she presses a button on the phone and flicks stony eyes to me.

I watch as she looks me up and down, a sneer appearing on her perfectly made-up face.

It’s then I remember that I’m still wearing Adam’s old Rolling Stones T-shirt and my ratty old jean shorts that I might have had since I was seventeen. I haven’t shaved my legs today, and my three-day dirty hair is in a messy knot on top of my head. I quite possibly still have ice cream on my face as I didn’t look in a mirror after cleaning it off.

Oh God.

I’ve just marched into Adam’s building, looking like a homeless person. Great. Just effing great.

“Can I…help you?” she says with as much distaste as is shown in her expression.

Maybe I should just back up and leave the building. I still have time.

No, I’m here now, and I need to know what the hell he’s playing at.

Anger wins out over vanity this time.

Just pretend you belong here and don’t currently look like a hobo.

“I’m here to see Adam,” I say with as much confidence as I can.

“Adam?” She frowns.

“Yes. Adam Gunner, the guy whose name is on that sign hanging above your head.” I point my finger in the direction of the sign.

“I’m well aware of who Mr. Gunner is and what his first name is,” she says icily. “Now, what I want to know from you is, do you have an appointment?”

“No, I don’t have an appointment—”

“Then, you can’t see him,” she says smugly, cutting me off. “No one sees Mr. Gunner without an appointment.”

She pulls her headset off, swings her chair around, and gets up, walking over to the desk behind her.

Okay, now, she has seriously pissed me off. She’s like a f*cking guard dog that I can’t get past.

“Hey, Pit Bull Barbie.” I slam my hands down on my hips.

She turns slowly to face me. The look on her face is pretty pissed off.

Like I care right now.

“Are you talking to me?” Her eyes narrow, her lips twisting.

“Apparently so.” My hands leave my hips to bang down on the fancy glass top, praying to God I don’t crack it. I lean forward. “Now, be a good little receptionist and call upstairs to tell Mr. Gunner that his wife is here, and she wants to see him now.”

Pit Bull Barbie’s eyes widen at the term wife. She actually stumbles back a little, grabbing hold of the desk behind her. “W-wife?” she stutters.

She seems pretty affected by this news.

A stabbing thought suddenly enters my head.

Maybe she knows Adam like I know Adam. Maybe she’s his girlfriend—or at the very least f*cking him.