The Billionaire Husband Who Faked Bankruptcy

"Then let him."

"He traced it back to me. He asked if you'd set it up."

"What did you tell him?"

"That I didn't know anything."

"Good."

There was a pause on the line. "Vivian, what are you going to do now?"

"Find another job."

"Then I—"

"Keep the job you've got for now. He won't dare touch you."

I hung up just as the bus pulled in. I climbed on and took the window seat in the last row.

We passed Main Street, and the sign of that steakhouse swung by outside the glass.

Two bites of steak. A wristwatch worth three years of my pay.

I cracked the window, and the wind poured in.

It started to rain.

My hands rested on my knees, still shaking a little.

The bus reached the end of the line, and the driver turned and called out before I realized I'd missed my stop.

The rain was heavier when I got off. I ducked into a convenience store and bought an umbrella.

The first rib bent the moment I opened it. I couldn't be bothered to swap it, so I walked under the crooked thing.

My phone rang again. Unknown number.

I answered. It was him.

Rodney Lambert.

"You blocked me?"

"What is it?"

"I left the house keys with the building manager for you. Go back and live there."

"Fine."

"You—"

"I'm hanging up."

He didn't say anything more. After two seconds of silence on his end, I cut the call first.

Walking on under the crooked umbrella, I passed a noodle shop. The owner was out front wiping the sign, and she paused when she saw me.

"Haven't seen you in a while, hon."

Then I remembered—back when I was doing delivery runs, I used to stop here for a bowl of noodles, and I'd traded a few words with her.

I shook off the umbrella and went in and sat down, and she brought over a steaming bowl of fettuccine.

"You look pale. Have you eaten?"

I shook my head. I picked up the chopsticks, but my hand trembled and the noodles slid back into the bowl.

She watched for a moment without a word, then turned and set a small plate of roast beef on the table.

"On the house. Eat up and go home and sleep."

The noodles warmed me through. When I went to pay on my phone, she waved me off, but I forced thirty through anyway.

She chased me to the door. "That's too much, too much!"

"Then I won't pay next time."

The umbrella was useless. I walked back in the rain, my hair half soaked through.

Megan was in the kitchen brewing ginger tea. The second I came in she yanked the wet jacket off me and threw it in the washer.

"Where've you been all this time?"

"Took the bus past my stop."

She pushed the ginger tea into my hands. "Why are your hands still shaking?"

"They'll be fine."

"Did you take the medicine the doctor prescribed?"

I dug through my pocket for the bottle and only then remembered I'd left it at the law office.

She rolled her eyes at me and went rummaging through the cabinet for vitamins from the first-aid kit to make do.

The next morning I woke to her on the phone in the living room, her voice low.

She came back after hanging up. "That assistant of yours. She got fired."

I sat up out of the blankets. "When?"

"This morning. She called asking for your address. I didn't give it to her."

"What did she say?"

"That she'd been fired, and asked if you could not bother setting up a new job for her."

I reached for my phone.

Dialed her. Busy.

Dialed again. Powered off.

Megan leaned against the doorframe. "He's doing this to get at you."

I got out of bed and went to find my pants.

"Where are you going?"

"To the company."

"You go now, you're walking straight into his crosshairs."

"She did the work for me. I can't let her lose her livelihood."

At the company entrance, the security guard stopped me, said Mr. Lambert had given orders not to let me in.

I said, "Tell him to come out and say that to me himself."

The guard called up on the internal line, and after he hung up his face went awkward. "Mr. Lambert says he's not here."

I went around him toward the elevator. He reached out to block me, the doors opened, and there Rodney stood inside.

A fresh shirt. His face still dark.

"You came."

"Where is she?"

"Who?"

"The assistant."

He stepped out of the elevator and stopped two paces from me. "I gave her three months' severance and let her go."

"Where is she now?"

"I don't know. What do you want with her?"

"That's not your concern."

He suddenly smiled. "You made this whole trip for her? You were never this invested in me."

I stared at him. "What did you say?"

The smile dropped.

The elevator started to close, and he threw out a hand to stop it. "Let's talk."

"Talk about what?"

"About why you'll help an outsider but not me."

"She's not an outsider."

His eyes reddened again, and this time the reason made no sense. "I'm the one who's your husband."

"Ex-husband."

The two words landed like a blow, and his whole body rocked back a step.

A few seconds passed before he said quietly, "Did you get the house keys?"

"Haven't had time."

"I'll drive you back."

"No need."

He stood there in the elevator doorway, not moving, his hand still bracing the door.

"I'll bring her back," he said. "Just don't do this, all right?"