The apartment, which I had originally purchased to offer to Emilia—and she had just as promptly refused—was still vacant. But Lindsay was thinking about buying it for her nephew, who was attending Chapman University.
I drove north to the city of Orange on the 55 freeway, trying to ignore how I felt driving down the same roads I used to drive when I would visit Emilia at her old apartment. Trying to disregard that constant nagging feeling of loss.
It was crazy. Only five short months ago we’d been at the beginning of this thing. Those five months now seemed like a lifetime—like I’d lived an entire existence, from birth to growth to experience. But it was a life cut short before its time. And in my soul there were mourners gathered at the funeral of what had been our relationship, our love, unwilling to forget or even believe that it was already over.
It was still a gaping wound—sometimes a throb, sometimes a deep, deep ache. But it was something I couldn’t put out of my mind, no matter how hard I tried.
I unlocked the door and went inside. As usual, Lindsay was late. I swear the woman would be late to her own wake. If we had ever been a couple, it would have driven me batshit insane. Fortunately, we never even attempted it because it never would have worked. We’d both been too young, but wise enough to know that we were both too similar and so polar opposite as never to see eye to eye.
She’d hit on me recently, when she’d first started her divorce proceedings last spring. Since then, things had been awkward between us. In fact, I hadn’t seen her in person since that day she’d come to my office to have lunch—the day Emilia had seen us together. I’d made a poor decision that day to see how Emilia would react. I’d grabbed Lindsay around the waist and whispered in her ear while Emilia had watched us with wide eyes and an expression of horror.
Lindsay wasn’t stupid and had figured it out immediately, scolding me for doing it as Emilia turned and ran out of the building. Lindsay had even told me to go after her, but like an idiot, I’d refused.
I pulled out my phone to send Lindsay a text after waiting half an hour. Then I heard her heels echoing in the stairwell. The door had been left ajar but I went to open it for her.
“Adam!” She grabbed my shoulders and landed a kiss on my cheek—which I returned on hers. She wore too much perfume and was fully made up, as always. She looked as if she’d just stepped out of a fashion photo shoot for Vogue, quite typical for her. At thirty-two years old, she was still a very attractive woman—always had been.
When I’d met her, while running errands at my uncle’s office, it had been more than flattering to have a gorgeous blond law student show an interest in me. Yeah, she’d been my first. Not that it really meant anything to me now.
I gave Lindsay the brief tour of the apartment and we ended up in the empty kitchen. “This has been vacant for a while…” she said, with a question implicit in her statement.
I shrugged, not really wanting to go into the reason I’d bought the place. “Yeah, well, the original reason for getting it no longer exists.”
She gave me a long look and I avoided her gaze.
“How are you holding up, tiger?”
I sent her a questioning look.
“The lawsuit. Peter tells me it’s the bane of your existence. You should just stop being your usual type A self and let the insurance guys handle it.”
I blew out a tight breath. “Those people are idiots. They’ll save themselves a few dollars while putting my company’s reputation on the chopping block. Fuck them.”
She raised her brows. “Not much you can do about it, you know.”
“Yeah, but now the rumors of settlement are getting out and people are blogging about it and speculating. There’s talk of a congressional hearing on the harmful addictive qualities of video games. Guess who’s first on the list for a possible subpoena for that?”
She frowned. “Wait, what are the bloggers saying about the company? Anything libelous?”
I shrugged. “Speculation, rumormongering. Warnings that concerned moms everywhere might get restrictions imposed on online games. They’ve already got ratings for content maturity. Who knows what’s next? Maybe a risk-of-addiction meter?”
She snorted. “Well, I think you know—and are related to—enough lawyers that if anyone went after your reputation, you could send some scary cease-and-desist letters, at the very least.”
I rolled my eyes. That would solve my problems. Not.
Lindsay scrutinized me, eyes focused on my neck. “What the hell is that? A hickey?”