The Pre-Nup (4 page)

Ellie
Chapter
4

W
here’s Daddy? I want Daddy,” Hannah whined from the backseat of Ellie’s BMW.

Ellie exhaled slowly and white-knuckled the SUV’s steering wheel. “Daddy’s working, baby. You know that. He’ll be home for dinner.”

At least, she hoped he would. “I’m playing nine holes with the guys from the Oro Vista Center deal,” he’d announced in the kitchen that morning after she returned from her walk with Mara and Jen. “Maybe eighteen if we have time. See you around six-thirty?”

And then he’d poured some of her freshly brewed coffee into an insulated travel mug and breezed out the door. She’d stared after him, contemplating Mara’s advice about tax returns and keystroke loggers, until Hannah tugged on her hand and demanded waffles for breakfast. Then she’d gotten them both dressed and plodded with her daughter through the Saturday crowds at the grocery store and the post office. She had one last stop to make on today’s suburbanista tour of duty: the bank. There was certainly no harm in making a list of the contents of all the accounts and the safety deposit box before…well, before things got even more out of hand.

It’s just a little preemptive photocopying,
she told herself.
And they’re my accounts, too. He’s the one who should feel guilty, not me.

For once, she was going to let her head overrule her heart. Then tonight, after she’d tucked Hannah into bed, she’d confront Michael and they could discuss this like rational adults. Well, “rational adults” might be a bit overambitious. Even
semi
rational was a stretch. She’d try her best to refrain from strangling him to death with a lacy red thong. And ramming his beloved little PDA right up his—

One thing at a time. Breathe in. Breathe out. She braked for a red light and forced her body to relax, starting with her shoulder muscles and working her way down to her toes.

“Mommy, I’m hungry.” Hannah kicked at the back of the driver’s seat. “I want juice. And a cookie.”

“I just gave you a snack, honey.”

“Don’t like carrot sticks,” Hannah whined. “I’m still hungry.” She pronounced this word with plaintive desperation:
hon-gry.

“Hang on, we’re almost home. I bought some grapes at the store and we can—”

She broke off in mid-sentence as she noticed a familiar silver Mercedes parked in front of the cozy little bistro across the street.

And there, right next to Michael’s car, was a sleek red convertible with a vanity license plate: VIX MD.

“It’s your lucky day, little girl,” Ellie announced as she executed an illegal U-turn directly over the road’s landscaped median. “Mommy’s going to give you a snack right now!”

“Not carrots?” Hannah asked suspiciously.

Ellie kept her gaze trained on the restaurant’s front door while she waited for a hulking white Cadillac to inch out of the parking lot’s only available space. “No, something much better than carrots.” She tried to remember the contents of the grocery sacks piled in the cargo area. “Cheerios.”

“Don’t want Cheerios,” Hannah said.

“How about a granola bar?” Ellie offered as she piloted the SUV into the now-vacant parking spot.

“No.” Hannah’s little feet thrummed against the back of the driver’s seat again. “I hate granola.”

Ordinarily, Ellie would have quelled this brattiness with a firm hand and a lecture series on good manners. But right now…

“Hey, what about chocolate chips? I know you like chocolate chips.”

Hannah squealed at her incredible good fortune. Ellie rolled down the back windows a few inches and turned off the ignition, then raced around to unearth the bright yellow bag of chocolate and a juice box.

“Here you go, honey.” She ripped open the plastic with her teeth and thrust the bag at her daughter. “Mommy will be right back. Just stay put for a minute.”

Hannah glanced down at the web of car seat straps rendering her immobile and nodded. “’Kay.” She plunged her hand into the chocolate chips and crammed a fistful into her mouth.

Ellie hit the “lock” button on her automated key fob and raced over to peer through the café’s plate-glass window. She cupped her hands above her eyes and squinted to see past the glare of the afternoon sun.

Busted.

Her perfect, polished husband sat in the back corner booth. As she watched, he flashed his dimpled grin and reached across the table to refill the wineglass of a woman whose face Ellie couldn’t see.

But still. A quick glimpse of silhouette was sufficient to ascertain that his companion had the body of a lingerie model and long, dark hair straight out of a shampoo commercial.

Michael tilted his head and nodded as he hung on to his dining companion’s every word. That focus, that intensity, had always been his forte. He had the power to block out the rest of the world and make you feel like you were the only person who mattered. He used to do that with Ellie, back when they were first dating.

Ellie had thought that she could never feel any more heartbroken and alone than she had last night in the tub. But as she watched her husband in the act of betrayal, she realized that last night had provided only a tiny taste of the bitterness churning up inside her.

“Mommy?” Hannah called from inside the car. “Whatcha doin’?”

“I’m…” Her hands dropped to her side and she realized she was still clutching the juice box. “I’m just looking, baby.”

“At what? I wanna see.”

“Eat your snack, Hannah.” This was real. This was happening. Her family was imploding right before her eyes.

And she was just standing here. Gaping. Accepting it like the good little girl she’d always been. Surely these circumstances called for extreme measures: yelling, smashing things, throwing one’s wedding band through the sewer grates. Jen would march right in and slap the cheating weasel. Mara probably would have set the red convertible on fire by now. She had to shake off this paralysis and
take action.

Slowly and deliberately, Ellie punctured the juice box’s foil seal with the thin green straw and drizzled apple juice all over VIX MD’s buttery black leather car interior.

“That’s what you get for leaving the top down,” she murmured as the car alarm started shrieking.

“Mommy! Make it stop!” Hannah covered her ears with chocolate-smeared fingers.

“It’s all right, sweetie, we’re leaving now.” Ellie climbed back into the car with a savage little smile. She’d finally gotten Michael’s full attention. He stood frozen in the restaurant’s doorway, staring out at her with a mixture of shock and horror.

Then Ellie got a good look at Vixen_MD and stopped smiling. The willowy brunette standing next to Michael could only be described as stunning. She had long, shapely legs and full, pouty lips and she didn’t look the least bit alarmed at the thought of what apple juice would do to her upholstery. She met Ellie’s gaze with an air of frank assessment, then arched one tapered black eyebrow.

Really?
that eyebrow said.
That’s all you’ve got?

The stitching on the steering wheel dug into Ellie’s fingers as she backed out of the parking space and merged into traffic. Her breath came in quick, shallow gasps. To hell with that husband-poaching harpy and her condescending smirks. Ellie had won. She’d made her rage known and unleashed her inner bitch. With organic apple juice. Which, admittedly, might not be the most formidable instrument of revenge, but she awarded herself points for creativity.

In the backseat, Hannah flung aside the bag of chocolate and announced, “I don’t feel good.”

Pity. That was the emotion flickering in the brunette’s eyes. She hadn’t seemed threatened because, to her, Ellie was nothing more than a vapid suburban housewife who lounged around eating bonbons all day. Organic apple juice would only add to her derision. She was probably throwing her head back formidable, laughing about the sad little soccer mom’s fit of pique.

Sweat poured down Ellie’s forehead. Apple juice! What had she been thinking? She should have stormed into the café and grabbed a fistful of steak knives! She should have—

“Mommy, I don’t…uh-oh.” Hannah gagged, then vomited all over her car seat.

“Oh, sweetheart.” Ellie jabbed at her hazard lights and pulled over to the side of the road. “It’s okay. You just ate too much chocolate. Hang on. We’ll get you cleaned up.”

My fault,
she admonished herself as she rummaged through the glove compartment for a package of wet wipes.
Bad mother, bad wife, bad person.

Hannah threw up again as soon as Ellie finished wiping up the first round, then announced, “All better.”

“Good.” Ellie smoothed her daughter’s silky blond curls. “We’ll go home now. You can watch a movie and sip some ginger ale.”

“’Kay.” Hannah smiled up angelically.

Ellie set her jaw and flicked on her right blinker. “Mommy just has to do one more thing real fast.”

The red convertible’s alarm had stopped blaring but Ellie triggered it again when she pulled up behind the car and lobbed the vomit-soaked wipes into the driver’s seat.

Michael sprinted out to the parking lot, his face red and his eyes wide.

“Holy shit, Ellie! What are you—”

“Watch your mouth.” Ellie slammed out of the SUV and strode over to confront him.

“Hi, Daddy!” Hannah chirped from the backseat.

Michael’s face changed from crimson to chalk white in the space of two seconds. “Hi, sweet pea.” He lowered his voice and hissed, “I mean it, Ellie. I demand to know what you think you’re doing.”

“Oh, really, you demand?” She brandished her car keys like a weapon. “Well, I have a few demands of my own.”

“You…?” He blinked a few times. “What is going
on
with you?”

She widened her stance. “I know, Michael.”

He regarded her with what appeared to be genuine confusion. “About…?”

“Don’t play dumb.” She jabbed her index finger toward the restaurant. “You. Her. I know. So give it up.”

He opened his hands and turned both palms toward her. “What are you talking about? That’s one of my new clients. Dr. Victoria Locane. She’s looking for new office space out by the Biltmore.”

Ellie let out a harsh bark of laughter. “Michael, honestly. How stupid do you think I am?”

“I don’t—”

“Stop, okay? Stop talking before you make this worse for everybody. Including Hannah.”

Michael’s voice eased into a low, gentle cadence. “You’re not making any sense, honey. Take a deep breath and calm down—”

“You’re supposed to be golfing,” she reminded him. “Nine holes? The Oro Vista deal? Ring any bells?”

He shrugged one shoulder. “Those guys got stuck in traffic coming across from the west valley. The Fifty-one freeway’s under construction, so I pushed the tee time back to two-thirty. Since I had a few free hours, I offered to take Dr. Locane to look at some potential office sites. I tried to call you, but you didn’t answer your cell.” He reached into his jacket pocket and withdrew a sheaf of real estate listings. “This is just business. So whatever it is that you’re accusing me of—”

“I’m accusing you of Vixen_MD and the red thong.”

His jaw slackened and his eyes went wide with panic.