I lean back on the couch and take a drink, my mind spinning. I don't speak for a long moment, absorbing everything that I already knew and what Adam had just told me. And although I'm profoundly hurt by it all, there is a strong current of anger – a dark and steadfast anger – coursing through me as well.
I have been a good and faithful husband to her for almost ten years. I've had plenty of chances to cheat with gorgeous women, but every single time the opportunity had presented itself, I declined. Why? Because I love my wife. I've spent almost a decade trying to be the best husband that I can be. Providing for her. Catering to her every whim and desire. Ever since we got married, Brittany has lived a pampered life, wanting for nothing. It's a life that I've been more than happy to work hard for.
But now to find out that not only was she having an affair, but was plotting to steal my company and bleed me dry? I honestly don't know how to feel about it. I'm stunned, and more than anything, angry.
“So, what are you going to do?” Adam asks me.
I take another drink and shake my head. “Honestly? At this point, I don't have the first clue.”
“Yeah, I can't even begin to imagine,” he says. “Not that it's any of my business, but do you have a solid prenup? Something that protects you in case of divorce or what have you?”
I nod. “Yeah, I do,” I say. “It gives her a pretty generous amount of alimony.”
“If I were you,” Adam says, “I'd talk to my lawyer before you do anything. Lay it all out and see if there's any way that you can void it. What she did is wrong. She shouldn't get that kind of a parting gift. Not after something like this. Assuming that you plan on divorcing her, that is.”
“I don't see a scenario that doesn't involve divorce,” I say. “I won't ever be able to trust her again.”
“Talk to your lawyer,” Adam says. “Before you do anything. Before she knows you found out. If you tip her off and she figures out you're moving against her, she could do something stupid. Better to protect yourself.”
I nod again. “Probably the best way to go,” I say. “Thanks, Adam.”
“No sweat,” he replies. “I'm just sorry that it came down like this.”
“Yeah,” I say. “Me too.”
Chapter Two
Paige
“Thanks, Margo,” I say.
“No, thank you for getting me a copy,” she beams. “I can't wait to sink my teeth into this one.”
I hand Margo the bag containing the latest Patricia Cornwell novel. She's been one of the store's most loyal customers for years. She was actually the first customer to ever step through the door of Bookworms, way back in the day when my parents first opened the store. On the wall behind the register, there's even a photo of her with my folks at the grand opening.
A retired teacher, she's a voracious reader and goes through crime fiction novels like nobody's business. Whenever there is a new release, I always make sure that she gets the first copy that comes in the store. It's a tradition that my folks started. After they passed, and I took over the business, I decided to continue that tradition.
Margo is not only one of my most loyal customers – she is one of my only customers. The truth is, Bookworms isn't doing so great and hasn't been for years.
“You really should see about having a book signing with some of these authors,” she says. “I think it would do wonders for your business, Paige.”
I cut a quick glance around the store and smile to myself. No self-respecting author would come to Port Safira to begin with. They'd be even less likely to come to my store. It's small and cramped. When my folks opened it, they wanted to give it a cozy, intimate feeling. But, over the years, with so many bookshelves, books, and piles of knick-knacks everywhere, the store looks disorganized and more “junkyard chic” than cozy or intimate.
“That's a good thought,” I say, knowing the likelihood of it happening hovers somewhere between slim and none. “I'll see what I can do, Margo.”
She smiles widely. “If you can, see if you can get Sue Grafton or Patricia Cornwell in,” she says. “Or maybe Michael Connelly.”
I laugh. “I'll see what I can do.”
“Thanks, dear,” she says and heads out of the store.
After the bell tinkles as the door opens and closes behind her, I walk to the front windows of the store and look out at Sapphire Avenue – the main artery that cuts through the middle of town. Thankfully, it's the one thing that hasn't changed around here.
Port Safira is a growing town but still isn't quite on par with Seattle. Nestled on the Olympic Peninsula, my hometown is still a relatively small place, with just under a quarter of a million residents. I was born here and have seen it change drastically over the last decade. And, in my opinion, not necessarily for the better.
When the cruise ship industry gained a foothold here, I knew that things were going to go downhill. Once the terminal went up and the money started flowing into the local economy, it wasn't long before hotels started springing up. And then condominiums. And after that came the high-end chain stores and boutiques.
The Mom-and-Pop shops that were once a staple of my hometown started dying out and becoming extinct. Places like Starbucks and Banana Republic are sprouting up like weeds, while businesses like Donna's Coffee Spot and Fashionably Late – places that have been in existence longer than I've been alive – are being driven out of business.
Port Safira has always been a blue-collar, middle-class town. It’s not Beverly Hills or even one of the more affluent suburbs around Seattle, but it has always been a nice place. A good place to raise a family. And yet, developers by the score are coming through here, buying up land and gentrifying the hell out of everything. And in the process, pushing a lot of lifelong residents out of town.
I sigh and look up at the clock. It's almost noon and I figure that since I'm alone in the store – as I am most days – I might as well close up for a bit and go grab something to eat. Which is pretty much my standard routine most days. It's not like I come back to hordes of people waiting outside the doors to get in.
When my parents first opened this place, it wasn't with dreams of getting filthy rich. They were both avid readers and thought that sharing that love of reading and the written word was something Port Safira needed. They held events designed to get kids interested in books, always attended local functions and had a booth at the fair. And for a while, the bookstore thrived.
But, of course, with the proliferation of the Internet, video games, and the slow death of all community events and functions in Port Safira, fewer people are reading. At least, in paperback book form. Most people just download books to their tablets, phones, or e-readers.
Technology signaled the demise of the brick and mortar bookstores much in the same way these goddamn developers are bringing about the death of everything that had always made Port Safira special. Everything that made it a tight-knit community.
I sigh again and shake my head. Thinking about my hometown and what it is becoming never fails to put me in a bleak mood. And the fact that I sit in my bookstore day after day, rarely seeing anybody, doesn't do anything to alleviate that mood.
Putting the “Be Back Soon” sign in the window, I walk out and lock up behind me. I need something to eat, but more than that, I need human interaction. Something to help snap me out of this foul mood that has me wrapped up tighter than a Christmas present.
ooo000ooo
“So, then he tells me that it was somehow my fault,” Skyler spits, genuine anger in her voice. “Can you even believe that?”
I laugh and shake my head. “You're kidding me.”
“Not even a bit,” she says. “I walk into his office and catch him with his secretary bent over the desk and he's just pounding away. They didn’t even notice me for like two full minutes.”
“That is unreal, hon,” I say.
“Tell me about it,” she replies. “When I finally get them to notice me –”
“And how did you do that exactly?” I ask.