I don’t hear anything after that because every bit of my focus is glued to the papers in my hand. Then I realise, sort of belatedly, that I’ve been pushed into a chair and that June is fussing, ordering Fin to bring me a glass of water.
‘It’s fine. I’m fine.’ It clearly isn’t fine, according to the letter I fold from view; my fingers almost as pale as the letterhead it’s written on. ‘It’s just a bit of a shock because I... I have to go back to the States.’
‘Why, whatever for?’ clucks June, smoothing my hair away from my forehead. I suddenly want to cry.
‘A... contractual thing. Something I thought I could do from here.’
‘And you can’t? Sort it from here, I mean?’ asks a clearly concerned Fin.
I purse my lips, shaking my head, feeling something else in the bottom of the envelope. I open it. ‘I’ll need to close the salon until I get back.’ A slim silver flash drive lurks in the seam.
‘Nonsense,’ exclaims June. ‘You’ll leave it to us. Didn’t you say you’d already interviewed a nice young man for a job?’
‘But if I’m not going to be here—’
‘We’ll manage, won’t we, Fin?’
‘Of course. Whatever you need,’ she quickly confirms.
‘But your new job—’
‘It’ll be fine,’ Fin replies firmly, cutting me off. ‘But will you be?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘You look scared stiff, Ivy.’
Scared is about the strength of it. Terrified, even. I left L.A. and his arse, and now, he wants what, exactly? As the pair resumes their fussing, I consider the flash drive as I pull on one edge of the heavy cotton bond, reading the letter beyond the shocking headlines this time.
Our client requires your presence in Los Angeles... improper termination of your contract period... grounds to pursue recompense...
Contract. No mention of our marriage. And he’d sue me? What the hell for? A tiny salon in the arse end of nowhere? Could he really take that from me in a divorce—in a bogus contract dispute—and what the heck for? And why now, after all this time?
Because he can. Because you left him.
I scan the document again.
Please note the contained documentation pertaining to our client's demands.
Oh, shit. There’s more; a plain white envelope addressed to me. A plain white envelope withIvyscrawled across the front.
I can’t go back, can I?
Oh, fuck. Oh, fuck. Oh, fuck!
Chapter Four
Ivy
‘You’ll messageme when you arrive?’
In the car on our way to the airport, I turn away from the passenger side window to Fin’s clearly anxious face.
‘For the twentieth time, yes. And once more, just for your benefit, I already have a hotel room booked, and I’ll be getting a cab there straight from the airport; no murderous hitchhiking for me.’ Only, in a last-minute change of plan, I’ve cancelled my hotel reservation. Nat mentioned that Dylan’s in New York for some red carpet thing. I’m not sure whether to be disappointed or relieved, but it looks like I won’t have to deal with him, maybe just his legal team. It also means our house is empty. And this visit is already costing me enough.
‘There’s no need for sarcasm.’
‘And.’ In the same vein, I carry on. ‘I’ll be sure not to talk to any strange men at the airport. Or on the flight. And I definitely won’t pop to the bathroom, leaving my plastic cup of tepid wine unattended because who wants to get roofied and ravished in economy class?’
