Something Old (The Jilted Series Book 1) Read online

  Something Old

  Copyright © 2021 Liz Lovelock

  All Rights Reserved

  All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

  Cover Design by Sarah from Opium House

  Edited by Lauren & Kelly from Creating Ink

  Proofread by Jen Lockwood Editing and Felicia Tatum

  www.lizlovelockauthor.com

  Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Epilogue

  Also by Liz Lovelock

  About the Author

  Acknowledgments

  Connect with Liz

  How did my life end up like this?

  For the second time in my short thirty years, I’m sitting in a divorce attorney’s office.

  “Did you hear me?”

  My attention clicks to my soon-to-be, second, ex-husband, Craig. The smug grin on his face makes my hand twitchy. Loving him used to be so easy . . . but it turned into something sour.

  “No, I didn’t, sorry.” I attempt to keep my voice even.

  He huffs and rolls his eyes. “That’s your problem, Scarlett, and why we’re here. You never were present. Your work always took first priority. Not me.”

  My back straightens as I lay my hands flat on the table. I shut my eyes briefly and open them again, staring directly at Craig. “Excuse me! That work you speak of gave you the life you’ve enjoyed living for the past two years, and don’t even get me started on your lazy ass.”

  Vivian lays her perfectly manicured hand on my arm. I snap my mouth shut and bite the inside of my bottom lip. I inhale a large breath through my nose and then release it, hoping to expel the bubbling anger rising in me. My body vibrates. How I put up with this man has me baffled. What the ever-loving hell did I see in him?

  Vivian clears her throat and tosses her blonde hair over her shoulder. I hang my head and train my focus on my hands as they rest on the dark-wood conference room table. If I have to talk again, I might not be able to rein in the verbal abuse that threatens to spew from my mouth.

  “My client has informed me that she has been the income provider in this marriage.” Vivian pauses a moment, and I glance up at her. She winks then continues. “Thankfully, my client listens to her lawyer, and when she was told to get a prenup signed, she did.”

  I don’t miss the smugness emanating from her words. He’s paled significantly.

  Craig quickly leans into his lawyer and whispers something.

  “My client has no recollection of signing a prenup,” his lawyer states matter-of-factly.

  I shoot a worried glance in Vivian’s direction. The soft look of reassurance in her green eyes tells me she has what she needs.

  Vivian lifts some paperwork from her file and slides it across the table. “This is a copy that obviously has his signature on it. Does he have short-term memory loss? There are even witnesses to the signing, me being one of them.” She stops, and a look of confidence passes from her to me. The weight that’s been sitting on my chest lifts slightly. Thankfully, I listened to her on this when she shoved paperwork in my face.

  I’d thought Craig was different. Most guys who date me don’t know that I come from money. Craig, though, is the son of one of my father’s business partners.

  When we met, he was this sweet, caring guy. We were married within six months. Our families were over the moon, and I was, too—until I noticed the things he’d buy with my money. From there, things went downhill at a fast pace.

  He played me.

  His lawyer collects and scans the document, and he and Craig speak in quiet whispers.

  “Do you think things will go smoothly?” I whisper to Vivian, who’s busy shuffling papers around.

  She side-eyes me. “Honey, you should have listened to me long ago.” Her words sting, but they’re true. She warned me. My best friend sighs and faces me. “I’ve got you. We made sure this prenup could not be bent. Even if he bought things, if he used your money, then it’s yours. You own everything, and he has nothing. Anything that’s in his name is all he gets, plus whatever he came into the marriage with, which, from memory, wasn’t much at all.”

  I wish I had her confidence. “I’m glad you’re on my side,” I mutter.

  “I always will be.”

  After a moment, Craig’s lawyer clears his throat. “My client wants the apartment in New York.”

  My attention shifts to him, and I want to vomit. That’s my favorite place, and Craig knows it.

  “No,” Vivian shoots back sternly before I can even protest. Judging by the vein pulsing at her throat, she may not have been expecting this. Neither was I.

  “We’re not negotiating. He leaves with everything he came into the marriage with. Here’s a list of all that my client will be keeping. Your client can have the same apartment he had when they first got married. I believe his father bought it for him.” She slides a single sheet of paper across the table to him.

  “But . . .” Craig jumps up from his seat. His face is flaming red, and heavy breaths push from his mouth. “I’m owed something.” It almost sounds like a growl.

  His eyes burn into Vivian’s.

  Her expression is blank and devoid of emotion, very professional. “Craig, you’ve been married for eighteen months and together for two years in total. All properties are in my client’s name, and she owned them before you came into her life. What makes you think you are owed anything? She has worked hard for what she has, but according to my records, you haven’t been working for the past six months. You’ve been living off her hard work since then.”

  “It’s not my fault she’s a workaholic and couldn’t be bothered with her marriage,” he mutters before sitting back down.

  “So, me working meant it was okay for you to sleep with someone else? Did she make you feel better? And if you had read the whole document before you signed it, yo
u’d know it states that if you cheat, you get nothing except what you came into the marriage with. Don’t give me your sob story, Craig. You made your bed—now you have to sleep in it. Can we finish this up now?” The words rush from me, my chest tight.

  Vivian twists in my direction. Her mouth hangs open, and her eyes are wide. “I thought we weren’t going to use that against him.”

  “I was trying to let him keep some dignity. I guess that’s out the window now,” I whisper.

  “How did—” Craig stares at me.

  “You may think I had my face buried in my work, but I noticed the little things. I noticed the nights you were gone, the secret calls and text messages. I’m not blind to what goes on around me.” I rest back into my seat.

  The room turns stale and silent.

  Vivian doesn’t take too long to bring all the attention back to what needs to happen. Her in a courtroom is powerful; I think men underestimate her. “Well, this should be wrapped up in a neat little bow from here on out. I suggest we just get the paperwork signed and move on with our day.” She clicks her pen, rests it on the settlement agreement, and then slides it across the table. The winning grin plastered on her face says it all.

  I can’t wait for this entire charade to be over. Perhaps I’m destined to become a cat woman. Being alone may not be such a bad thing; it’s something I could get accustomed to. My father wasn’t around much, Mom kept herself busy, and I seem to marry and divorce any guy that catches my attention. I’ve learned my lesson now. No more guys—just work.

  By the end of the meeting, I walk out with everything still intact—all the belongings I had at the start of our marriage, thanks to Vivian’s wise advice. I’d hate to see my publishing business destroyed. It’s something that’s mine and mine alone.

  “Well, that’s it, then. Please don’t marry anyone else for the time being.” Vivian struts beside me, her black, shiny heels clicking on the marbled floor as we exit the building.

  I laugh and playfully shove her shoulder. “Thanks for everything.”

  The lump in my throat thickens; no one wants to admit their husband has been unfaithful.

  Vivian’s arm wraps around my shoulders. “I’m here for you. Let’s grab some lunch and have a cocktail or two. What do you say?”

  “No, thanks. I’m just going back to the office and drowning myself in work.”

  She stops and faces me, the worry lines in her forehead more predominant. Her hands go to her hips. “Don’t do that. Don’t shut yourself away.” Now comes the lecture. She crosses her arms over her navy-blue satin top, her cream pencil skirt complimenting it well.

  The lasso wrapped around my chest tightens. “I just want to be alone right now. Maybe we can catch up later this week.”

  Vivian agrees, and we say our goodbyes. I head in the direction of my office a couple of blocks away. It’s my safe place. The one thing that keeps me grounded and happy.

  I can’t believe how my life has turned out. I’ve messed things up.

  The only sound I hear is my high heels clicking on the sidewalk, and I scan all the faces around me. People-watching is something I enjoy. A woman with a baby—perhaps it’s a secret baby, and the father doesn’t even know the cutie in the pram is alive, but, thanks to fate, when they run into each other at her friend’s wedding, love blooms.

  Warmth blossoms in my chest. Who doesn’t love a good love story? Like the ones in the romance books I publish.

  A horn blares behind me. I jump, my heart skipping a couple of beats. I stop and face the road, seeing cars, businessmen, beautiful women.

  Across the street, a tall, blond man catches my attention. Squinting, I try to make out his face. It couldn’t be. Is it Lachlan? No, my mind is playing tricks on me. There are plenty of blond men around. What would be the odds of me running into my first ex-husband the day I divorced the second?

  My head must be taunting me with past mistakes. That’s all I seem to be good at. Bad choices. Poor judgment. Stupid mistakes.

  My head throbs, a constant reminder of how my day has gone so far. I squint at the screen of my laptop and try to read an invitation to a black-tie event for the Big Brother and Sister Charity. I’ve spent my life attending these events. I’ll always support good causes. I’m going to have to rope either Vivian or Dylan into coming with me.

  I stand from my dark-oak desk and glance out the large window of my home office. New York’s city lights glitter back. This view is why there’s no way in hell Craig would get this place. It’s my comfort zone—my home. Any other bit of real estate I own is just an investment, nothing more.

  Grabbing my phone, I head out of the office and enter the large living area. Dark, wooden shelves line my walls with an overflow of books that my company has worked on. Most are my favorites.

  I make my way to the kitchen, and my stomach rumbles as I step toward the marble countertop in the spacious area. I’d completely skipped lunch after the meeting today. Oops. I’ve got to remember to take more breaks.

  I turn my gaze to the large flat-screen television. It’s been in the apartment since Craig and I started dating, but I’ve never been one to sit and watch anything for longer than thirty minutes. The black screen stares back at me. Maybe I should just switch it on and escape for a while.

  You work too much. How could anyone love someone like that?

  Craig’s words from one of our earlier arguments haunt me.

  “What the hell,” I mutter before going and turning it on. The news pops up, and I leave it going. I’ll pick something else to watch after I make some dinner—well, pull a meal from the freezer is more like it.

  My phone rings. Vivian’s name is on the screen. “Hey,” I answer. I click the volume button to low.

  “Hey. Wait, is that the television going?” she asks.

  I yank the phone back for a moment and press the speaker button, saying, “Who the heck gets excited over me turning on the TV?”

  Vivian laughs. “Me, because you’ve never watched it in all the years I’ve known you. Oh, honey, did Craig break you?”

  “What? No. I just thought maybe I’d try something else. You know, give something new a go.” I place the phone on the bench, turn to the freezer, and grab one of the meals I’d bought last week. Apricot chicken. My favorite.

  “What are you watching?”

  After shutting the food in the microwave and turning it on, I spin and come face to face with the TV and two familiar blue diamond eyes that caught my attention almost four years ago now. “Oh my . . .”

  I watch his mouth move, not really listening to his words as he stands there, sweat dripping down the sides of his face, neck, and all the way to his New York Giants jersey.

  Lachlan . . .

  He’s still as good-looking as I remember. That sandy-blond hair and the perfectly chiseled jawline that has a little growth—not much, but enough to make him even sexier than any male model on the catwalk. My hands tremble, and my heart skips a few beats.

  “What’s going on? Scarlett?” Vivian calls through the phone.

  I blink once then twice. Am I imagining this? “Uh, do you remember Lachlan?”

  “Husband number one? Yes, how could I forget? He was delicious. What about him?”

  I can’t remove my eyes from the screen. I’m not even registering what he’s talking about. “He’s on the TV.”

  “For…” Vivian pushes. “What channel?”

  I tell her which one and hear her scrambling around, and then the same voice I have going in my room comes through the speaker from her end.

  “Wow. He’s the quarterback for the New York Giants. How did we not know that?”

  “Because the night we met there wasn’t a whole lot of discussion on our professions. Now that I think about it, he asked what I did and that was pretty much it. It was drinks, an Elvis wedding, and then an annulment. All in the space of twenty-four hours in Vegas.”

  The memory races back into my thoughts.

  When we woke
and I saw the ring on my finger, and a matching one on his, I think we were both in too much shock to register any kind of feelings from the night before. There was chemistry—but chemistry isn’t hard to sustain for twenty-four hours.

  But what if?

  What if we could have had something more?

  “Do you ever think about that night?” Vivian’s tone turns soft.

  “It’s going to sound stupid, but yes, I have. Only randomly.” On the screen, Lachlan smiles and thanks the interviewer, and wow, that smile—it’s like a million dollars. “Seeing him now is stirring up all those feelings and memories again.”

  “Hey, don’t beat yourself up over it,” she soothes and then asks, “Do you still have his number in your phone?”

  “Probably. I don’t remember deleting it. But even if I still have his number, what would I do? Do I message him and say, ‘Hey, remember me? Your one-night-stand-turned-wife-and-then-ex-wife?’ I’m not seeking him out, Vivian. That would be silly.”

  Now she has me wanting to seek him out. I shouldn’t. It was one night.

  “Scarlett, take a damn chance. Look through your phone.”

  “What if he changed his number?” I stare down at my cell as I talk. My finger flicks the call screen up, and I go into my long list of contacts. As I stand at the counter, my legs tremble.

  “Then he changed it, and we move on.”

  “Okay, hold on. I’m looking now.” Silence fills the line. I scroll through each of the names in my phone. “His name isn’t in the Ls.”

  “Weren’t you calling him Hungry Eyes?”