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I told her plenty that night in New York.
“I’m sorry to say that there’s more bad news to come,” Regina says regretfully.
I had a feeling she and Jim were going to spring something new on me. I could almost feel the unspoken words between them.
I glance at Regina.
“There’s been an attempted caveat placed on the land in Stoney Creek…” she says as Jim sifts deftly through the paperwork and hands something down to his daughter.
My head snaps up, knocking me out of my one-track thoughts over Hartley for a moment.
“What?” I balk. This is news.
I glance at Regina, Jim, and then finally Hartley, who appears to be reading something related to the caveat.
“It means nothing,” Jim says, flattening his hands out. “It’s not worth the paper it’s written on, and we all know it.”
“This has to be some kind of joke that she’s after the distillery?” I try to keep my voice calm, but I’m ready to fucking explode, my hands balling into fists under the table. She has no legal right to any of that.
“Not the distillery,” Jim says with a sigh. “Coyote Run.”
I swallow hard and bite back the anger that flares.
Keira knows that parcel of land is the one thing that I’ll fight for, down to my last dying breath. I can’t fucking believe it.
It fucking stings.
My eyes flick to Hartley and her eyes bug because she knows what this means. I told her everything.
I rattled out a lot of private details that night. Including the name of the land I made up as a kid, where my dream home is going to be built.
Yeah, it’s all coming back to me now… kids running around barefoot and my wife on the porch watching on. I even mentioned being a stay-at-home-dad.
All true. And I’m not ashamed of it, but they are secrets I shouldn’t have told a stranger. Apparently, you can’t even tell the person you were closest to, your own wife, without her using it against you at a later date.
My heart sinks. This is a low blow, even for her. But what did I expect? Was I honestly believing I’d be here signing the final settlement documents today? What a joke. There is always something new with her.
She showed little to no remorse over fucking that asshole on our couch, or disregarding every vow she ever made.
“She can’t do this,” I grit out, banging my fist down and pushing my seat back. I’m ready to pounce, trying to keep my anger at bay. I know Keira can’t touch the distillery or the land. Coyote Run was acquired before our nuptials and not part of our prenup. She’s just done it to piss me off because she can, arguing over every little detail to get me to fold because we both know she won’t stop until she gets her own way.
“She’s trying to rattle you and our case and get the upper hand, Grayson. It’s a cheap shot, and her and her asshole attorney know it.” Jim tries his best to smooth it over, but it does nothing to calm my nerves.
I’m racking my brain about legal loopholes. Who fucking knows at this point. Maybe she can take it? I’m not a lawyer.
I made it clear from the beginning what my stance was on Coyote Run. It has nothing to do with her. Me and my siblings used to play on that land as kids back in the day, running amongst the trees and riding on horseback. As an adult, I've been down there a million times in Bessie and walked to the edge of the creek behind. I was born on the property, for fuck’s sake!
It’s then I hear Hartley’s soft but stern voice. “Grayson, we’ll fight fire with fire. No one is going to take that land from you.”
My eyes quickly divert to hers, and I know she sees the emotion in my eyes. Long gone are the sexy smiles and the innuendo. For now, at least. Keira is having one last dig at me for no reason other than I filed for divorce, and she wanted to keep living the highlife and having the prestige of being married to a big CEO, but sleep with other people behind my back.
The nerve of this woman.
“You know what,” I sigh, running a hand through my hair. “I was going to be reasonable about the house in Nashville and give her the damned thing as part of the alimony. Now she can go to hell.”
Jim and Regina exchange glances. “We can give you a minute?” Regina suggests.
“A stiff drink might be better,” I mutter. I need it more than I need a minute. I know that much.
