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Eric sighed as if he knew he’d triggered bad memories for her. “Can we please just talk?”
“About your divorce? Why would I care about that?”
“It’s about my assets. Bree is playing hardball.”
“Your assets?” Jenna stood so abruptly her chair tottered before the legs came to rest on the hardwood. “What the hell do yourassetshave to do with me? That’s between you and yourwife.” She watched Eric twisting in his seat and tapping his fingers against the table as if to stall.
“She’s going after everything, including the house in Malibu.”
Flinched as if stung by a bee, Jenna’s voice tore from her throat in a high-pitched cry. “You kept the house? The house where Mark Chambers attacked me! The place whereyoupractically attacked me!”
She flung the contents of her cup into the sink. Dark liquid splashed the white porcelain and spattered out onto the counter. “Dammit!” She pounded at the mess with a tea towel. “Malibu was another life. The house has nothing to do with me. I never want to even think about that place.”
Eric got up and stood beside her, close, too close. “I’m sorry but I never took your name off the deed. In fact—”
“In fact?” She rounded on him. “Is that why you’re really here? To tie up loose ends? How dare you compromise my privacy just to protect your money.”
“Cut it out, Jen. Do you honestly think I give a shit about money?”
Her pulse was thunder in her ears. “You cared an awful lot when you didn’t have any.”
“Damned right. I cared about living above my head while my wife paid the bills. I came here to pay you back!”
“Pay me back or pay me off? You have one hell of a nerve to think I’d take anything from you. Let Bree have the fucking place. I only gave it to you so you could cash in the equity. I didn’t want to leave you with nothing.”
Eric froze. His steady stare was unreadable but to someone who knew him well. Jenna knew him more than well. She knew him intimately. She’d seen the same veiled look in his eyes a hundred times—anger, sadness, humiliation. He marched to the door and opened it.
Before stepping out into the morning sunlight, he turned. “Yet that’s exactly what you did.” She watched as he boarded a small car. And with tires screeching, he sped away.
Chapter Eight
“Damn it.” Eric gripped the steering wheel as he burned down the street.When did she become so stubborn?So damned cold?He sighed.Probably after the night you said you hated her unborn baby.He depressed the brake pedal and flicked the turn signal. Getting a speeding ticket was the last thing he needed. With nothing better to do, he continued to cruise through town.
Eric made a left onto Baldwin Street, hung a sharp right onto Baldwin Court, and as he approached the town limits, he passed a strip mall, not surprisingly called Baldwin Square.
“What the hell?”
The woman he’d politely shoved away from Jenna’s storefront had been arguing with her over someone named Baldwin.Who the hell is this guy?A half-mile down the road, Eric had his answer.
A large sign at the edge of a construction site readComing Soon Baldwin Ridge. Smaller letters beneath the heading advertised the future site of an exclusive country club, golf course, and luxury town home community.A Baldwin Development project, AEB Contracting, Ashton Edward Baldwin president. Eric parked his car and walked over to a chain link fence. Behind it, mammoth excavating machines were digging in one area, while in others, rough framed structures were already standing. Oddly, one house, an immense fixture of rotted wood and peeling paint, stood far back on the other side of the fence near the leveled trees and framework. Hanging on a lopsided post beneath a rusted mailbox, a sign saidRoom for Rent.
Eric’s curiosity was at once piqued. Why was something so dilapidated so close to the lofty construction project? He stepped carefully onto the shattered ruins of a long concrete walkway.
The closer he got to the house the more obvious it was how desperately the massive old Victorian needed repairs. He looked up at decomposing clapboard, shutters hanging by a thread, and gaps on the roof where shingles were absent. Several windowpanes were missing glass. The monstrous house resembled the Bates Motel.The only structure Eric had seen in worse condition was his house in North Carolina. He rang the bell and waited to the tune of haunted house chimes that escaped from broken windows.
In true gothic fashion the heavy door creaked open. But instead of being received by a cadaverous butler from a horror movie, a cheerful looking, silver haired woman, no taller than five feet, stood at the threshold. Her smile abruptly vanished when she saw Eric.
“I thought you were the mailman. If you’re one of Ashton Baldwin’s lackies here to bother me about selling my house again, you can turn right around.” She spun on slippered feet and made to slam the heavy door, but Eric flattened his hand against it. “No, ma’am.” He coughed as he tried in earnest not to laugh at the squat little woman. “I’m here about the room for rent.”
Pivoting back, she squinted, her gray eyebrows drawn low. “Sonny, I rent to veterans, old men with nowhere to go. Why would a young man like yourself want to live here?”
“Well, ma’am, I have some business in town, and I’ve been staying at a hotel. I stay in them a lot, and I thought it might be nice to live in a house for a change.”
Flyaway silver hair framed her wrinkled face. “Nice try, but I think you’re a bullshit artist working for that scum-sucking son of a bitch Ashton Baldwin. You’ll move in here and set the place on fire.”
“No, ma’am, I don’t work for the scum-sucker.” Eric tried to stifle a laugh, but it was futile, so he covered it with a cough. The old lady’s aggressive stance and easy use of epithets was beyond funny. He was suddenly more curious than ever about Baldwin.
The woman puckered her face into a scowl. “So, what is this business of yours then?”
