“Well, like you said, you’d be humiliated.” Harry clung to the only threat he had.
Vivien nodded. “You’re right. Maybe I should ask for fifty percent.”
Harry stared at her phone like he contemplated grabbing it and smashing it.
“Don’t worry,” Vivien said. “I have backup copies. If Rex wants to stroll down memory lane, I’ll be happy to email him the file.”
Harry shut the top folder and slid it aside. “I don’t see any need for dramatics.” He opened the next one. “We were worried you might not see things our way, so we drafted a settlement of a one-time payment that is more than generous. Rex just wants to get on with his life. I’m sure you do too.”
Harry turned the folder and slid it toward her. Vivien leaned forward to read, “One hundred fifty thousand dollars.”
Vivien laughed. “Why would I do that? Our divorce states that I am to be paid thirty-five percent of Rex’s salary.”
“Yes, thirty-five of his salary at the time of the divorce,” Harry answered.
“That might have been what Rex wanted, but that’s not what was written down. You might have to fire an intern because what we signed and filed said I get thirty-five percent, period. So unless that third file on the table is telling me what kind of a raise we’re getting with his new promotion, I think I’m done with this conversation.” Vivien stood. “Tell your client that the next time he wants me to meet with his lawyer, be upfront about it, and call my attorney first.”
“Do you really need all that money?” Harry insisted. “Can’t you be reasonable about this, Viv?”
“Call me Mrs. Stone,” she corrected. They weren’t friends. “Now, if you would excuse me, I am taking care of an injured friend and I need to get home.”
Vivien strode to the door and opened it.
Before she left, she glanced back. “Exactly how big is this raise?”
Harry didn’t meet her eyes.
“That’s all right. I’ll just look at the statements that come with the next payment notice. I’m thinking it might be time to have my attorney do an audit of the funds I’m receiving, just to make sure there are no clerical errors. Consider this a courtesy notice to get your paperwork in order. It worries me that you thought it was thirty-five percent of his salary from seven years ago. If there have been any raises, I hope you weren’t sending the wrong amount all these years.” Vivien kept her head high as she strode away from the conference room.
Rex could kiss her ass. Except for the first couple of years when she’d invested the alimony payments into property and franchises, almost all of what he gave her went to charities each month, and several of them had come to depend on the donations. It was Vivien’s way of keeping karma balanced for all the bad shit Rex put out into the world.
She walked by Mrs. Cameron at the reception desk, moving past the woman to go down the hall toward the last place she knew Rex to have an office.
“Wait, you can’t go back there,” Mrs. Cameron called after her.
Vivien walked faster. She stopped by the door that read, “Rex Hewitt,” in bold letters and looked through the blinds at the desk inside the office. Aside from the shift his hair had undergone from black to gray, he looked the same. She always found it to be a shame that a person’s face didn’t always match their insides. Rex had the kind of silver fox features that only looked better with age.
Vivien rapped on the window with her knuckle. The ring on her forefinger struck the glass.
His hands were wrapped around a giant sandwich, and he was mouth deep in a bite when his brown eyes met hers. He visibly stiffened.
Vivien arched a brow and flipped him off, mouthing, “Coward.”
“You can’t be—” Mrs. Cameron rushed toward her.
“Take it easy, Gal Friday,” Vivien quipped, cutting off the woman’s words. “I was just leaving.”
Vivien heard the ding of an elevator and hurried to catch it before it closed. The less time she spent on this floor, the better. When Rex had called, begging her to come by and talk, she hadn’t thought he’d meant to drag her into a legal mess. She should have realized it, but she hadn’t. Her psychic gift didn’t work over the telephone.
She didn’t look to see if the elevator was going up or down. All she saw was the doors closing, and she rushed forward to slip her hand into the opening to trip the sensors.
The doors opened. A man in a business suit looked annoyed by the delay. His hair had enough gel in it that the lines from his comb were still noticeable.
The woman next to Mr. Hair Gel gave her a faint smile. She leaned against the handrail with her arms crossed over her chest.
Vivien hesitated. A small shiver worked over her as she met the woman’s green eyes, and she felt a little sick to her stomach.
“Well?” the man asked.
Vivien stepped forward slowly, a little lightheaded. For such a small space, there was a lot of psychic energy floating around the elevator.
“Vivien?” She had not seen the third passenger on the elevator right away.
“Oh, hey,” she answered. Her new neighbor, Troy Radford, was a professor on sabbatical to write a book on an anthropological study of modern beach culture and its impact on the environment… or something academically worthwhile like that. Every time he tried to talk to her, she’d found an excuse to leave the area.
It wasn’t that the guy creeped her out. In fact, it was quite the opposite. Troy had an approachable smile with traces of laugh lines that proved he used it often. His shorter dark hair had hints of steely gray, and his dark eyes would be easy to get lost in.
In her mind, male college professors always wore slacks and sweater vests. She had no clue why, but it was the image she associated with them—admittedly unfairly. Troy did not fit that mold. His lightweight linen shirts were button-down, but not sharply pressed. More often than not, he was in cargo pants or jeans with sneakers.
“How’ve you been?” she asked Troy, not looking at him.
Vivien glanced at the woman’s reflection in the metal elevator door. She didn’t like the vibe she picked up. It wasn’t the woman, per se, but something that floated around her.
“Good, thanks,” Troy answered. “I finally got most of my boxes unpacked. You know what they say. If they’re not unpacked after a month, you probably don’t need it.”
“Is that what they say?” Vivien didn’t pay attention to the conversation. Troy was a nice enough man, but the second he’d introduced himself, she knew that he wanted to ask her out on a date. She found it best to avoid him.
Having psychic tendencies could be fun, but for the most part it was a great survival tool. Troy was the type to want a relationship, something deep and meaningful. He was the kind to have an eye on marriage. Vivien had been there, done that two times. She wasn’t interested in going for round three. That’s why she preferred dating the younger men who came to Freewild Cove on vacation. They came pre-installed with commitment phobias and a timetable.
Plus, some of them, for the briefest of flashes, reminded her of Sam. She lived for those fleeting moments. She would give anything to see Sam again, hold him, hear him, kiss him. Time had faded some of the details, but that feeling of acceptance and all-consuming love lingered. The ache was deep and had been with her so long that she wasn’t sure what life would be like without it.