Chapter Eight
1051 Words
The music plays softly as Grant stands in the kitchen making coffee.
Isabelle comes downstairs wearing his shirt, her hair falling loose around her shoulders. He glances up at her and his face immediately lights up with a smile.
“You didn’t wake me,” she says.
“You seemed deep asleep.”
He pours her coffee as she settles onto the stool at the island, drawing her knees up slightly as she wraps both hands around the mug. They eat slowly, basking in the moment.
Her gaze drops to the mug in her hands. He understands her well enough to recognize something is bothering her.
After a pause, she says quietly, “She’s being too quiet.”
“Claire?”
“Yes. She should’ve done something by now.Maybe call, or threaten us, or even show up here.” Isabelle slowly turns the mug between her palms. “It’s bothering me.”
“You’re overthinking it.”
“I’m really not, Grant.”
That finally pulls his attention fully toward her. “She’s hurt. She’s with her parents trying to pull herself together. That’s all this is.”
“You think so?”
“I was married to her for five years. I know so.”
“That doesn’t mean you know her now.”
He reaches across the island and places his hand over hers. “She has nothing to fight with. The company is mine. The assets are mine. Her lawyer will explain that to her and she’ll settle.” He gives her hand a small squeeze. “Stop worrying.”
Isabelle stares at his hand resting over hers. “Okay,” she says softly.
Grant nods and looks back down at his phone.
But Isabelle keeps staring out the window.
The word sits heavy in her throat because she doesn’t believe it at all. Claire Davidson was not the kind of woman who accepted defeat easily. Isabelle knows that all too well.
That’s why she keeps watching the window long after he’s stopped thinking about the conversation.
……….
Claire’s father is in his study when she gets home.
The door is half open, which means he’s available, but she knocks anyway.
“Come in.”
He’s at his desk, reading glasses on and a pile of papers in front of him. He takes them off when he sees her.
“Have a seat,” he says. She does.
Her mother appears in the doorway almost immediately,she comes in quietly and sits in the chair by the window without being asked.
“The lawyer,” Claire starts. “I spoke to her again this morning.”
Her father nods.
“She said what we already know. The documents are airtight. He owns everything.” She says it calmly because she has cried over it enough, and crying again won’t change the course of anything. “The divorce clause means I walk away with nothing if I’m the one who filed.”
“And you filed,” her father says.
“Yes, I did.”
Everyone in the room is quiet.
“What about Mia?” her mother asks carefully.
“He hasn’t pushed for custody formally. At least not yet.” Claire folds her hands in her lap. “But he will. And his lawyers will make the case that I have no income, no stable address…”
“This is your home,” her mother says firmly.
“I know that. But on paper—”
“On paper you are a brilliant designer with a master’s degree who has been the primary caregiver of that child since she was born.” Her father says it without raising his voice. “And I know that counts for something.”
Claire looks at him. “It counts for something,” she agrees. “But his lawyers are better funded than mine.”
He takes his glasses off and sets them on the desk, leaning back in his chair, thinking. Her mother watches him, waiting for him to say something that will ease the situation.
“I’ll handle the lawyers,” he says.
“Dad…”
“I said I’ll handle it.” he says in finality. “You focus on what comes next. Not what’s already done.”
Claire is quiet for a moment. “There’s something else.”
Both her parents look at her.
She takes a breath. “Nora. The woman I was with the other night. The one Isabelle saw me with.” She pauses. “As I was leaving this morning she told me to tell you Car says hi.”
The temperature in the room changes.
He looks like he’s trying to remember if he’s heard the name before,then his face lit with surprise, and then something warmer, almost like old fondness.
“Car,” he says quietly. Almost to himself.
“She said that’s what you know her by. It’s probably short for Carter?”
Her father is quiet for a moment. Her mother looking at him now with obvious curiosity.
“Carter,” he says slowly. “Nora Carter.” He shakes his head. “I’ll be damned.”
“You know her?” Claire asks.
“Not directly.” He leans forward on the desk. “She worked under Edmond Reiss, my partner of fifteen years. Sharp girl, traveled everywhere with him, sat in on every meeting.” He pauses. “When she stopped coming around I asked Edmond about her. He said she resigned. Personal reasons.” He looks at Claire. “That was four, maybe five years ago.”
“She came back because of her brother,” Claire says. “He lost his wife.”
Her father nods slowly. “Small world,” he says.
“Very,” Claire agrees.
Her mother looks between the both of them. “Well,” she straightens. “Invite her for dinner.”
Claire blinks. “Mom.”
“She knows your father, she’s your friend who helped you out, she said hello.” Her mother stands, smoothing her dress with both hands. “Invite her for dinner. That’s what you should do.”
She leaves the room before either of them can argue.
They both look at each other. Claire raises her brow.
“You heard your mother,” he says.
- Writer
