The Ex Factor. Nancy Warren
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Laurel, how do you manage in the real world? I don’t mean do you contemplate the site the way you’d meditate on world peace or whatever you do when you sit around cross-legged and chant aum, I mean what do you think about Karen doing the online dating thing?”
“Oh.” The cake decorator turned her huge eyes to Karen. “Do you want to meet men on the Internet?”
“Of course she does, she’s desperate,” Dee announced. “And you should try it, too.” She sent them both a megawatt smile. “Right, then, see you tomorrow.”
“Yes. Have fun tonight.”
Once Dee had gone, Karen turned to Laurel. “I’m not definitely going to do it, I’m only thinking about it.”
“I think you should do whatever makes you happy.”
And the amazing thing about Laurel was that when she said wacky things like that, she actually meant them. “I know you do. So, what have you got for me?”
Laurel was in the habit of bringing in her cake designs for Karen to approve. Not that she needed to, everything she baked was incredible, but Karen suspected she liked the reassurance of her approval.
But she really wished the woman didn’t bring sketches of the most delectable treats that looked so good even in the sketchbook that Karen’s mouth started to water. Especially not at the end of the day when her willpower was at its lowest ebb.
Once she’d approved half a dozen designs and they’d gone over timing and delivery of the cakes for this weekend, Laurel drifted out of the office and Karen got back to her accounts.
After giving in to her hunger and nuking a Lean Cuisine meal, she continued wrestling with her books for another couple of hours. When the muted chime that announced an after-hours caller rang, she wasn’t surprised. She supposed on some level she’d expected him.
Ignore the bell or go answer him?
It really wasn’t an option. With a sigh, she rose and stepped back into her heels and took her time going to the front door.
In the dim light he looked almost a stranger to her, so tall and elegant and, she reminded herself sternly, no longer hers.
“You look good, Kiki.”
In spite of herself she smiled. “No one’s called me that in years.”
“Good.”
It was cold outside and she shivered.
“Can I come in?”
Only now did she realize they were both standing at the entrance.
She stepped back to usher him in. “Of course.”
Once more he followed her into her office. He glanced around as though he hadn’t been there earlier that very day. “Place looks good. You’ve done well for yourself.”
Not compared to him. After they’d split, he’d become one of the top architects in New York, the go-to guy for bringing faded grandeur back from near death. He was fanatical about reclaiming and modernizing heritage properties and designing new buildings or additions to fit the old neighborhoods. She felt his approval at the way she’d used the best of the old building she occupied while still managing to bring in ultramodern conveniences.
“Do you own the building?”
“Not that it’s any of your business, but yes I do.”
He nodded. “Smart girl.”
“Too smart to be charmed by you.” She sighed. “What do you want, Dex?”
“I don’t know.” He scratched his head and her eyes were drawn to the thick, black hair she remembered so well. “I knew this was your outfit, obviously, but I thought it would be fun to surprise you.”
“You certainly did surprise me.” But if almost giving her a heart attack was supposed to be fun, she thought she’d pass.
His gray all-seeing eyes locked on hers. “You didn’t tell Sophie about our past.”
“Didn’t seem very good for business to bring up my divorce when the woman’s here to plan a wedding.” She shot him a glance. “Did you tell her?”
“No.” He picked up her gold Montblanc pen off the desk, ran his thumbnail over the monogram. “I decided to leave it to you.” He’d given her that pen back in happier times, and now she was annoyed with herself for her sentimentality in using the damn thing every day.
“So, we don’t tell the lucky couple that their wedding planner and his best man used to be married?”
“No, I guess not.”
“And that we hate each other?”
He put down the pen, straightened to his full six feet and looked down at her. “I never hated you. That’s your department.”
A moment passed and she pressed her lips together to keep from crying out that she missed him. Instead she said, “Why are you here, Dex? I mean, in the city. You work in New York now.”
“I do. But I’m quoting on a project here in Philadelphia. A grand old structure that’s been a home, a warehouse and a boardinghouse, to name a few.” Enthusiasm lit up his eyes. “She’s a tired old girl, but with amazing bone structure. The best of the original architectural features are intact and the client wants to work with them, while bringing the building up to date. It’s going to be a boutique hotel and retail combination.”
“Sounds amazing, and right up your alley.”
“It is. I really want this one. And if it works out, you’ll be seeing a lot of me.”
She raised one eyebrow.
“Helping Sophie and Andrew plan their wedding.”
He looked so sincere, so good, so sexy that for a moment she forgot the reason she’d divorced him. The five-foot-ten blonde goddess she’d found half dressed and wrapped around her husband. The saddest aspect of that fiasco was that on some level she’d noted that Dexter and the former model had looked natural together, two tall, glamorous super-people.
“You’re good at planning weddings, not so good at staying faithful once you’re in one.” Her venom seemed to curdle the air.
“Like I said, hate was always your department.”
“Well, I got over it.” With a lot of tearful sessions with her girlfriends and some rather expensive ones with a therapist. “Now I’ve accepted that our marriage was a mistake.”
“You sure didn’t fight for it.”
The old, familiar anger began to surge inside her but she bit her tongue and counted to ten. Then eleven. Finally twelve before she felt calm enough to speak.
“Why would I fight to keep an unfaithful husband?”
He shook his head. “I don’t know why I bother, but I am telling you again that I never had sex with that woman. She was drunk and crazy.”
“Didn’t look like you were trying very hard to peel her off you.”
“Believe me, I was, and I could have used your help that night instead of having you turn tail and abandon me.”
Oh, how she wished she could believe him, could have believed him six years ago when it had happened. But she didn’t believe him, and couldn’t imagine living with a man who thought so little of her that he’d betray her like that.
“I guess maybe we were wrong about each other.”
“I guess so.”
He shoved his hands in his pockets, leaned against her desk, looking ridiculously masculine against the feminine lines of the furniture; it appeared as though the wood might snap from the weight of him leaning on it. But like her, the piece was stronger than it looked. “You’re