Grumbling, he snatched up her bag and hurriedly hunted for the device. She gave him her code, another sign of trust his disgruntlement stopped him from appreciating fully, and told him to accept the call and put the phone on speaker.
Must’ve happened a millisecond before Lise hung up or the call went to voicemail, but he managed to answer in time. He plunked the cell on a clean spot in front of her. “You’re on.”
“Hey, Lise,” Molly said, still smiling.
Only it wasn’t Lise. At the caller’s first words, Dearborn’s shoulders squared. Her posture went ramrod. Her expression smoothed into that marble mask of hers.
Instead of washing his hands, Karl planted his feet and stayed right where he was.
“Molly?” The asshole sounded impatient. “I thought you’d never pick up. Where are you? And who just answered the phone?”
Her own sticky hands now folded serenely on the table before her, she paused before responding. Maybe to gather her thoughts. Maybe to screw with the guy on the phone, since he was in such a goddamn hurry.
“I’m not sure why that matters, Rob,” she eventually said, sardonic as hell.
Instead of seizing the phone and telling her ex-husband to leave her the hell alone, so Karl never had to watch her happiness curdle into sour cynicism during the space of a single damn sentence again, he carefully used his clean hand to remove her blindfold.
She blinked, squinting in the sudden light. But as soon as it looked like she could see again, he pointed to himself, then the door to the front, and raised his brows in question.
He wanted to stay. Support her. Defend her.
But Dearborn was private. Always had been. That wedding cake story? First specifics she’d ever shared about her ex. Karl’s presence during this call, overhearing every damn word, would make her uncomfortable.
To his shock, though, she spread her hands in a gesture of resignation, then pointed to the stool across from her.
So he stayed. Listened. Tried not to take the stainless-steel table in his fists and snap it in half as he listened to her asshole ex wheedle and browbeat and—eventually—insult her.
“Is there some reason I shouldn’t know where you are?” The bastard just wasn’t giving up. “It’s a simple question, Molly. I thought we were trying to be adults about all this.”
“It may be a simple question, but it’s one you have no good reason to ask.” Her jaw flexed. “If it’ll end this pointless conversation more quickly, though, fine. I’m in Harlot’s Bay. Now, why are you calling? Is there some problem with the bank?”
“Really? Harlot’s Bay?” His tone was thoughtful. “That place in Maryland where you lived way back when?”
“Why are you calling?” she repeated, with extra emphasis.
He finally got to the point. “I saw Derek yesterday at the gym. He said the upkeep on our house was getting to be too much for you”—bastard sounded happy about that—“and you might be thinking about listing it.”
Her eyes closed, and her nostrils flared as she inhaled sharply.
When she eventually spoke, her voice was calm. Even. “When I asked Derek for home-renos advice, I didn’t expect him to run tattling to you. But let me be clear: He has no idea how I feel about the house. And it’s notourhouse, Rob. It’s mine.”
Couldn’t take this battle for her. Didn’t know the weapons each side had. Didn’t even understand the stakes. But he needed to dosomething.
His stool scraped the floor as he lurched to his feet. Dearborn didn’t startle, because the woman was damn near unflappable. Kept her eyes shut as he stomped to the sink, washed up, and wet a couple of soft, clean dishtowels.
When he carefully took her hand in his, though, and began cleaning the smears of honey from her fingers with the damp cloths, her eyelashes fluttered. She looked up at him. Leaned her shoulder infinitesimally to the side, until it just barely bumped his chest.
She let him support her, if only the tiniest, tiniest amount.
He made sure not to move an inch. Didn’t react. Just rooted himself in place and kept wiping off the stickiness. One hand, then the other.
“It’s yours for now, but maybe not for much longer.” Her ex’s voice brimmed with confidence. “Alexis and I want to buy it from you before it officially goes on the market. I figure the current value would be around...”
He named a price that literally dizzied Karl. Jesus H. Christ,was that how much houses cost in LA? Or did Dearborn own a goddamnmansion?
“I don’t even know what to say anymore, Rob.” With another of those brittle, bitter laughs, she leaned a little harder against Karl. “I currently have no plans to sell the house. If that changes, I’ll let you know. Which is something I’ve told you at least a half-dozen times already.”
“If the house isn’t on the market, it should be.” Disapproval dripped from every word, and Karl wanted to reach through the phone and throttle the prick. “We both know it’s too much work for you, and your health is suffering for it. All that stress isn’t good, Mol. I’ll bet your blood pressure—”
