He stepped forward, settling into a chair across from the attorney. Justin would handle it, would have everything ready by the time they touched down. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. He was just thinking about coming down to Quincy and escaping the madness of Hollywood. Maybe he needed the kick in the ass to get him there. He felt better already, every minute putting more distance between him and Nadia. Felt better with this freak of nature next to him. The man was terrifying, but he was in his corner, fighting for him. He would rip out the throat of Nadia’s puny lawsuit and eat it for breakfast. Cole relaxed against the back of the seat.

“Have you called Quincy?” Brad DeLuca spoke from beside him, and Cole swiveled his seat to face the man.

“My assistant is handling it. They’ll be ready for us.”

“I’m not staying, just dropping you off. I’ve got to get back home.” The man glanced at his watch. “I’ll call you when I land tonight. Pick up the phone. We’ll game plan then, and I’ll have a response filed with Nadia’s team by the morning.”

“Okay.” He flipped his cell against his leg and looked at the man. “This all you do? Divorces?”

DeLuca nodded. “That’s it.”

“Dismal job. Ripping apart marriages.”

The man grinned. “That depends. For me, my divorce was the best thing that ever happened. I lost a mistake and ended up marrying my soulmate. You can waste your life away, tied to the wrong spouse. Divorce can right at least one of our wrongs.”

Cole laughed. “So you’re Replacement Cupid? Steering husbands away from one mistake and on to their next?”

The man smiled. “One day you’ll thank me.”

Cole looked away. “It’s Nadia Smith. Not many women can hold a candle to that.”

“Stop thinking of her as Nadia Smith. She’s not a shrine you pray to; she’s a woman. I love my wife more than life itself, but she has flaws. If Nadia and you were perfect together, she wouldn’t have fucked another guy and served you divorce papers. You will move on from this. You will be stronger after this.”

It sounded like a crock of shit. A brutal crock of shit. It’d been a long time since anyone, other than Justin or Nadia, spoke to him without carefully selected undertones. Cole shifted in his seat and wished they’d gone by his house first. He’d have liked to shower and change, grab some clothes. No matter. First thing, upon landing, he’d find something else to wear, just to tide him over until Justin arrived. His assistant knew what to do, would catch a flight in with a month’s worth of outfits. He pulled at the collar of his shirt and rolled his neck. Maybe he’d have Justin get him a massage in Quincy. Better yet, book a full day tomorrow at a spa.

DeLuca got on the phone, and Cole reclined back in his seat, closing his eyes and trying to push the thought of Nadia from his mind. She’d looked beautiful, standing in the hotel. Beautiful and unaffected. He hadn’t expected that. It hurt, even more than the papers, even more than what he’d seen in their bathroom. It made it all worse than just an affair or a fight or cheating. It meant that Nadia could walk away from their years together without hesitation. He’d looked through the divorce paperwork. It was too detailed, too tight, to be thrown together in the last week. She had been planning this. That was what made his chest tight. And what made his head hurt was how oblivious he’d been to the entire thing. How disconnected had they been that he hadn’t seen any signs? That he’d thought they were great when they’d been on the brink of disaster?

And then for Nadia to bring up The Fortune Bottle. In the moment when they should have been discussing their love, their relationship, their lives—his movie was what she brought up, what she cared about, fought for. He suddenly remembered scattered comments from Nadia about the movie, her request to be an executive producer, her transfer of funds last month “just moving stuff around.” He groaned and leaned forward, holding his head in his hands.

“Hey.” DeLuca looked up from his phone. “Stop stressing.”

“I’m thinking back on the last few months… I think she’s been setting me up for this.”

“It’s my job to worry now. It’s your job to stay in Quincy, follow my rules, and make a movie that kicks ass.”

“Okay.” Cole leaned back and huffed out a breath.

He could do that. Sitting back and letting others take care of things, have them worry about things, those were things he was used to. He could lick his wounds in Quincy, avoid temptation, and make a movie.

Easy.

CHAPTER 22

The moment that all hell broke loose, I was in my bathing suit, my butt resting in four inches of cold water, my feet propped up on the edge of the bright blue kiddie pool.

“You’re going to burn.” Ben made the comment from underneath three layers of sunblock, one cowboy hat, and linen pants.

“No, I’m not.”

“Yes, you are,” he said with the grave sincerity of a eulogy. “I watched you. You didn’t put on any sunscreen.”

“I never wear sunscreen.” I scooped up some water and drizzled it over my thighs.

“You do realize that the sun is literally aging you right before my eyes.”

“You do realize that this is Georgia and not the Wild West and that you look absolutely ridiculous in a cowboy hat, right?” I flicked my hand at him and water sprayed, his pale body squirming away, his metal folding chair tipping sideways on the grass. I laughed, dipping both hands in the water and taking advantage of his struggle to stand, getting him as wet as possible from my position in the pool.