Married To Her Ex (a standalone novel) Read online

  MARRIED TO HER EX

  By Kat Cantrell

  Jesse wants to get his ex-wife back. And he’s not above playing dirty to get her.

  The deal is simple: she gives their marriage one more chance and if he fails to win her back, she gets their company.

  Alexia isn't just ready to move on, she needs to. And that means putting Jesse and their past behind her. For good. But she has a score to settle with the man who broke her heart, and walking away with their business would go a long way.

  But as the undeniable heat between them explodes, it surfaces the betrayal that tore them apart.

  Can Jesse convince the only woman he’s ever loved that he did the unforgivable because he couldn't forgive himself? Or will this deal cost him everything?

  Chapter 1

  The offices of Outlaw Manufacturing, Inc. epitomized a two-page glossy ad for a soulless, spawn-of-the-devil corporation, missing only the devil himself. A hulking shadow slid across the frosted window beside the door marked President and CEO. Nope. He was in residence after all.

  Alexia stormed through the cube farm, corner office in her sights. One stiletto caught in the tightly woven carpet, and she almost stumbled but yanked it free and kept going. Heads turned as Dolores blocked her path.

  “Good afternoon, Ms. Ford. Would you like to schedule an appointment?” the admin asked.

  “He’s expecting me.”

  It wasn’t a lie. If the devil’s powers of precognition hadn’t informed him the showdown would be today, she’d eat her Pradas.

  Dolores tried again. “He’s in a meeting. Would you like some coffee while you wait?”

  Circling the wagons, were they?

  “I don’t need any caffeine right now, thanks.” Alexia gave the admin a tight-lipped smile, respecting her enough to pause instead of bowling over the half-a-head-taller woman. “If you have any last words to say to your boss, I’d suggest you do it now. I’m going to murder him in less than five minutes.”

  Dolores clutched her chest and chuckled nervously. “You almost sound serious.”

  “Oh, I am. Deadly. I just haven’t decided if it’ll be a hanging or double-barrel shotgun,” Alexia muttered. Louder, she said, “Don’t bother to announce me. I’ll do it myself.”

  Skirting Dolores, she pounded one fist on the engraved marble nameplate, right between the words Hennessy and President.

  “Jesse James Hennessy, open up right now!” she shouted. “If you don’t, I’m going to tell everyone what a lying, cheating SOB you are.”

  The door swung open.

  “Can I help you?” The devil’s voice cut into her as he spoke from inside the office.

  Deep and rich, the words rolled through her like his namesake cognac and left a wake of memories in its path. They hadn’t spoken to each other in three months, two weeks, and four days, but his voice transported her to another time, another place when his sweat-slicked chest heaved under her palm with regularity and his unshaven jaw abraded her skin. She unglazed her eyes and focused.

  A freezing chunk of ice lodged in her stomach as she stepped into Jesse’s office. The scene of the crime. She faced the devil and braced.

  The faint, caustic scent of grease and burned metal from the factory permeated the air, the same scent which clung to everything he owned. And his skin. That smell—it was worse than an aphrodisiac. More memories clicked by in her mind’s eye, and the pain almost drove her to the carpet.

  Jesse sat behind the large, rectangular desk, radiating power and authority despite being so casually dressed. Or maybe because of it. Jesse didn’t need fancy packaging to punch up his persona. It came through loud and clear—ruthless, formidable, and sexier than should be legal. A Metallica T-shirt hugged his abs, a sure sign he welcomed a fight.

  “So now you think you can barge in here whenever you feel like it?” Jesse stood, blocking the watercolor of an Old West–style bank robbery hanging on the wall—his idea of a joke.

  He sidestepped the desk on cat’s feet, but not the bland, house variety. Effortless grace and Black Irish genetics combined into an explosive channeling of an untamed jungle creature protecting his territory.

  He knew why she’d come, what she wanted. And he wouldn’t give it up without bloodshed.

  His feral squint pinned her in place, but she would not back down, even as her knees started quaking. “You owe me one patent, you sneaky double-crosser. If you give it to me now, I’ll forget you stole it from me and leave quietly.”

  She rose onto the balls of her feet, readying for the coming quick draw. He wasn’t going to hand over the patent amicably, and she didn’t expect him to. This was only the opening volley, and if she was very lucky and very sharp, she could beat him at his own game.

  One lean hip rested on the desk’s edge as he crossed his arms in a deceptively casual pose. The polished surface reflected his torso in sharp relief. Black, just like his heart. “Stole makes it sound like it was yours and I took something illegally. I seem to recall it was a joint venture.”

  Crimson stained her retinas, and with considerable effort, she tamped down the fury. Jesse responded to logic and reason only. “The Thigh Thing is mine. My dream, my design, and my blood, sweat, and tears. You gave up all your rights last Christmas, remember?”

  He glanced at his watch as if to convey there were pressing things on his agenda, things her quest for justice had interrupted. Things more critical than this little conversation about the huge roadblock he’d thrown up on the path to her dream.

  “You signed the patent paperwork before Christmas. I merely filed it. So like it or not, the patent’s been issued in both our names, which is more than fair. We’re partners, remember?”

  Right. Partners when it suited him, especially when money was on the line. Maybe she could convince the patent office or a judge or someone else important that he’d forged her signature and it was really her invention.

  But who would believe it with both of them referenced on the CAD designs? When they each had a prototype?

  When they used to be married?

  As if she hadn’t spoken, he dragged his gaze from the tips of her toes to the top of her head, and bright, sensual energy shimmered between them, flipping her tummy.

  “Been a while. You look good, Alexia.”

  It hadn’t been an accident. Jesse liked legs, and the azure dress showed plenty of them. The gauzy number also transformed her figure into something worthy of a second glance. She knew her target audience.

  She threw up a hand. “Stop trying to distract me.”

  Distraction had been her intent with the dress, but it wasn’t working. How like him to reverse it on her. “Look. When I called the patent office earlier today to find out why my application hadn’t been processed, they kindly informed me I don’t have a lot of recourse since the patent’s already been issued. But you can still remove your name as joint inventor, which is what you’re going to do. I don’t want to be partners with you anymore.”

  The M and the A on his T-shirt rippled when he uncrossed his arms and leaned forward as if about to pounce. “All right. I’ll buy you out.”

  She bit her lip hard enough to taste blood. None of this added up, especially not offering to buy out her share of a product he didn’t care anything about. Yes, he’d provided some manufacturing expertise as a favor, but the idea was hers, and when he’d caught the first stagecoach out of Dodge the second their relationship hit a rough patch, he forfeited any claim on it. The Thigh Thing had become solely hers—and all she had left.

  She’d dropped the ball when it came to her marriage, but she wasn’t dropping the Thigh Thing.

  Surely he must realize
all this. It was all spelled out very clearly in the divorce settlement that all rights to the Thigh Thing belonged to her. Of course, she would have to actually file the divorce paperwork for that to matter, but after the one-two whammy of being laid off from her marketing job at a snack-food conglomerate and then discovering Jesse had the patent, she couldn’t juggle any more balls.

  Time for the backup strategy. The only way to beat Jesse was to get the upper hand. And the more control she had, the fewer balls she’d drop.

  “You’re bluffing. There’s no benefit to buying me out. You make car parts. You don’t know how to position a niche product like the Thigh Thing. I’ve already done the entire marketing plan, and without my advertising skills you’ll be twisting in the wind,” she said smoothly with a calculated smile and a dismissive flick of her fingers. “So here’s what I’m willing to offer you. We’ll be partners until we’re in the black, and then I’ll buy out your share with the profits. Otherwise, my ad campaign goes away with me, and you can’t afford to take this product to market without advertising. Deal?”

  Her insides wobbled as she waited for his answer. He had to agree to the terms. He just had to. She couldn’t be here in his office much longer, not with all the hurt and horrible history clinging to everything like the stench of decay.

  With a quirk of his eyebrow, Jesse pushed the intercom button on his phone. “Send in Layla, please.” His irises shifted to the color of old stained glass, beautiful but no more transparent than brick. He was about to throw a wrench in the works.

  Behind her the door opened, spilling the scent of jasmine and sin into the office along with an exotic beauty of a woman, the kind who always got breakfast in bed the morning after instead of the middle-of-the-night dash for freedom. The kind who made Alexia’s features pale and uninteresting, and she hated her on sight.

  “This is Layla Montoya, my new marketing director.” Jesse grinned like a leopard about to smear a white rabbit all over the pristine snow.

  Eyes narrowed so she didn’t miss the trick, Alexia said, “What kind of qualifications does she have?”

  The woman glided right in, settling gracefully at the table like she’d done it a thousand times. “I have an MBA from SMU.”

  The first tendrils of panic unfurled in Alexia’s stomach. “What kind of market research have you done? Do you belong to a gym?”

  Layla rested manicured fingers on her curves and peered down an aristocratic nose at Alexia’s athletic figure. “I don’t have to belong to a gym to sell the Thigh Thing.”

  A leather portfolio lay prominently on the table in front of Layla. She unzipped it and splayed graphs, a matrix, two multipage bound reports, and the pièce de résistance, a full-color, tri-fold brochure. Alexia’s stomach dropped.

  She wheeled on Jesse and pressed one palm to her roiling abdomen. In one fell swoop, he’d changed the game. “How could you?”

  He didn’t so much as twitch an eyelid. “It’s just business, sweetheart. Let me buy you out, and all this goes away.”

  She shoved a hand through her hair and dug all five fingers into her scalp right at the crown where it most felt like the top of her head would explode. “In your dreams. You don’t like my deal, then let’s hear the counteroffer.”

  “Thanks for your time, Layla.”

  Ms. Montoya gathered her weapons and departed but left the folder encasing all her brilliant ideas prominently in the center of the table. Exhibit A of her qualifications, which were better than Alexia’s.

  Jesse extended his hand toward the vacated chair at the table. “Please sit. This could take a while. Drink?”

  “A Long Island iced tea would be great, thanks.”

  The sarcasm was lost as Jesse hit a button on the remote he picked up from the table, and with a snick, a hidden panel glided away to reveal a recessed bar. In moments, he placed a chilled glass on the table filled with amber liquid.

  He steepled his hands, and his eyes narrowed like a gunslinger sizing up the opposition. “Here’s the deal. You give us another shot, and I’ll give you the patent. Take my name off as joint inventor. Easy as that.”

  “What?” The chair’s back thumped against the floor as she leaped up. A flailing hand narrowly missed upsetting the untouched Long Island iced tea.

  Just business, huh? “Are you out of your mind?”

  “I don’t think so, although Ben might argue the point.”

  “Your lawyer knows about this? Does Ms. Montoya?” Her competition must have had inside information. It was the only explanation for the thoroughness of her marketing plan.

  “That’s irrelevant. Will you agree?”

  So still, so controlled. Her insides cartwheeled, and he stood calmly, muscles relaxed, which infuriated her like it always had. No, not always. Just After. “Agree to what? Allowing myself to be eviscerated in exchange for my lifelong dream? It’s not worth that.”

  But it was. And he knew it. Nice touch, bringing in a gorgeous new marketing director, as was the “buyout” he so benevolently offered. All to get in her panties again?

  “I miscalculated. Very well. You can show yourself out.”

  He pulled a slim phone from the back pocket of his jeans and proceeded to check his messages while she sat there fuming. What good would leaving do? When Jesse wanted something, mountains asked how quickly they should relocate. Any illusions she had of getting or keeping control of the situation vanished.

  “Fine.” She righted the chair and dropped into it. Might as well go down in a blaze of glory and maybe find a facet or two she could use for leverage. “Give me the details of your proposal. And take that CEO stick out of your butt.”

  Jesse grinned and took the opposite seat, tilting the chair back on two legs. “And here I thought you were going to be difficult. Six months is all I ask.”

  The tension lessened all at once. Now that he was getting his way, it was all smiles and light.

  The cocktail glass beckoned. She downed it in a couple of quick gulps, but too much Russian ancestry rushed through her veins for the alcohol to have much effect. “Six months of what? Dating?”

  “Oh, no, nothing so mundane. Of living with me. In my house.” His teeth gleamed in the florescent lights.

  Laughter burst out of her mouth. “Now I know you’re out of your mind.”

  He picked up the bronze sculpture of a bucking bronco from the table and hefted it from hand to hand, a habitual gesture designed to distract his prey. “I’m very serious.”

  A cursory glance at his granite features convinced her of it, and a weight settled on her chest. “You’re the one who packed your bags and walked out the door. You. If you aspired to give it another shot, as you so eloquently put it, you should have stuck around. I’m not for sale.”

  “Aren’t you?” His eyebrows lifted. “You must not want the Thigh Thing after all. Is it really such a bad deal, having to put up with me for six months?”

  As the reality of his suggestion crashed down, her head fell into her hands, suddenly too heavy for mere neck muscles to support. Could she really live with him again, with his distance, his inability to be there even when they were in the same room?

  She covered the hitch in her breath with a sigh. “I’m not a boomerang. You can’t throw me away and expect me to come flying right back into your arms. You had your chance and you blew it, but now I’m the one who has to pay. How is that fair?”

  “Life’s not fair,” he said harshly. “If it were, we wouldn’t be having this conversation. Yes, I’m the one who left, but you gave me no other choice. I’m only returning the favor. You heard the deal. Take it or leave it.”

  The world jerked to a halt. How dare he ask for the one thing she couldn’t do? What an emotional train wreck it would be. Did he really think things would be different this time? Or was this about something else? “I don’t get it. Was I so amazing in bed?”

  Staccato laughter startled her. “Is that what you think this is about? Sex?”

  “Well, it
’s certainly not about business,” she snapped. “You obviously miss having a woman around, and I guess I’m convenient.”

  He slid the bronze back to the center of the table, and his shrug matched his nonchalant posture. “I could find someone to fall into my bed with the snap of my fingers if that’s what I wanted, but sex is the furthest thing from my mind. I’m flattered it’s front and center in yours, though.”

  The small Celtic knot tattooed at the base of Jesse’s spine flew into her consciousness, unbidden. When her fingers trailed across it, his muscles hardened in the most delicious way. She sang the ABCs silently four times to erase the image.

  Intimacy between them was over. Forever.

  “No sex. Period.” She slashed a hand horizontally to emphasis the point. “What else?”

  “No sex until you flash the green light,” he corrected. “And you eventually will, I have no doubt. One date a week. You have to be pleasant the whole time.”

  “Twenty-four dates! No way on God’s green earth can you justify so many dates for a measly patent.” Pleasant. A dig at her temper, no doubt, yet apparently he was allowed to have all the temper tantrums he wanted. They’d always matched each other in the hotheadedness department.

  “Twenty-five dates. October has five weeks this year.”

  “It’s crazy. You’re crazy. I’m not doing it.”

  Jesse picked up the folder his new marketing director had left behind and tapped it against the table in two short bursts, like gunshots to her already-bleeding corpse. “Layla’s raring to go on this campaign. Dolores has the raw-materials order ready for me to sign. How’s the potato-chip business these days?”

  A short burst of pain exploded behind one eye, but she couldn’t be lucky enough for an aneurism to save her. “Seems like you’re already aware I’ve been laid off.” Her teeth ground together. “They outsourced the entire marketing department to a third party. Lucky me. Now I have more than enough with the severance to get the Thigh Thing manufactured and to distributors. Without you.”