“Oh.” I looked down at my desk, where the redlined document was still sitting there, unfinished and waiting to be typed up. “Can you let her know I need more time? I’m still going over some of the terms. I’ll get it to her this afternoon and then she can fax it over.”
“Sure.” She hesitated, looking a little concerned.
“Do you need anything? Everybody been treating you okay?” I tried to pay extra close attention to the interns we brought on from See Yourself. Knowing they’d been treated so poorly in the past made me overprotective. I wanted them to feel safe, and confident. Ready to succeed.
Mareena smiled, tucking her dark hair behind her ear. A move that reminded me of my wife. “Everyone’s been great. You just look…I don’t know, stressed. Distracted. Is it the lease you’re working on? Something I can help with?”
This was exactly why Mareena was such an asset to MREH. No matter what needed doing, she was always eager to jump in and assist. That kind of attitude was what made our team so strong. It hadn’t always been that way, but with my father mostly-retired, I’d taken the helm more frequently. And when I hired someone new, I didn’t look for the pedigree of an Ivy League education or years of experience in real estate. I looked for candidates with keen minds, a willingness to learn, and the ability to stay on top of things even on our most chaotic days.
“I’ve got this,” I said, forcing a smile. “I just have a lot on my plate at the moment. Nothing I can’t handle, though. I’ll give a shout if I need a hand.”
“Okay. Well, you know where to find me.”
“Thanks, Mareena.”
The second she turned around, my smile dropped. I wasn’t just stressed, I was utterly wrecked. All I could think about was Emzee.
It had been over a week since I’d last seen my wife, after See Yourself’s fundraiser. She wouldn’t answer my calls or texts, wouldn’t come to the door when I stopped by Stefan’s to try to see her. Hell, I missed Munchkin too. Our little family had been torn apart, and I knew it was all my fault. I should have come clean to Emzee years ago. Now I was paying for it.
I’d hardly slept in days. My productivity at work had gone to shit. And if Mareena was noticing it, everyone else had to be, too. Especially with Miss Evans—my sweet, nearly-retired executive assistant—now keeping tabs on my to-do list. Her usual job functions were answering my phone, scheduling my calendar, and making sure the kitchen was fully stocked. My zombie-like state must have given her the impression that I needed supervision. And maybe I did.
Midway through going over the lease’s arbitration exclusions, I realized I’d lost my train of thought again. I couldn’t focus like this. My mind was elsewhere. There was nothing I could do to get Emzee to talk to me and it was driving me crazy. I needed her to forgive me, to give me another chance. To giveusanother chance.
Suddenly, I had an idea. I’d send her a gift.
Minimizing the lease agreement, I opened up a browser window on my computer and started browsing reviews and photos for local florists. Maybe flowers were cliché, but I needed to do something to show Emzee that I was sorry. It seemed like a good place to start. I’d probably have to call around to see if anyone could get black orchids on short notice, but—and then I started second-guessing myself. Maybe flowers weren’t the way to go at all. Jewelry might be better. It’d definitely last longer. Em wasn’t one for lots of flashy accessories, but she appreciated beautiful things. I’d bet anything that she’d love a vintage piece, or something made by a local artist, if it was minimalist and elegant. Subtle enough to wear every day.
I was browsing the Ivy and Rose website when I heard a commotion outside my office.
“You can’t see Mr. Malone without making an appointment,” Miss Evans was saying, sounding fretful. “I’m sorry, but he’s very busy, and we don’t offer walk-ins.”
“I need to talk to him,” a guy coaxed. “It won’t take long. Just give me two minutes.”
I got up and leaned out of my office door to see what was going on. I didn’t recognize the man, but he wore a nice suit and carried a briefcase, and he certainly didn’t look dangerous. What if he was from a messenger service? Could he have been sent by Emzee?
“You can’t just go back there,” Miss Evans argued. “I’ll call security.”
Rushing to the main reception desk, I said, “Thank you, Miss Evans. I’ll handle it.”
“You’re Ford Malone?” the guy asked.
“I am,” I said. “Did Mara Zoric send you?”
“More or less. She wanted me to give this to you,” the man in the suit said, handing over a thick envelope. “You’ve been served.”
“I’ve—wait, what?”
Adrenaline rushing, I ripped open the envelope.
There were divorce papers inside.
When I looked up, I saw that the man—the process server—had already left.
“Mr. Malone?” Miss Evans was saying. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
Her voice sounded a million miles away. My ears were ringing, my stomach was churning. I stood there, speechless and numb, eyes blurring as I skimmed through the pages. My emotions were growing more and more frantic with each word.
I wanted to tear the whole thing up. Set it on fire. Send it through the shredder and then shred it again. On the final page was a small, neon green arrow sticker that said “Sign here.”
