The Divorce Club (10 page)

I shake my head.

"Why not?" Jamie asks.

"Because—" My brain kicks into motion to come
up with an answer. Mentioning the distance won't work since France
is only a mere two-hour drive away. Sam has Friday afternoons and
weekends off, but I can't cancel the club meeting. There's my
reason to bail out. On the other hand, a change in scenery might
actually help her focus and improve her motivation. And yet deep
inside I know going on a trip with Jamie's a bad idea.

I hate to say it out loud, but I feel I have
no choice. "Actually, maybe not this year. It isn't a good time
financially."

"See? There she goes again." Sam rolls her
eyes and takes a huge bite of her pizza, talking with her mouth
open, "It's all about money with her."

"Why would you have to pay? It doesn't make
sense since I'm the one who should be paying
you
for your
services," Jamie says.

I shoot him a sideway glance. "Well, you did
sign up for the plan with all the bells and whistles." Now's the
time to admit that I'm already charging him twice what I charge
everyone else, but I'm a such a chicken, I'm too scared to do
it.

Jamie shakes his head. "Doesn't matter. This
is extra. Eating lunch in a quaint sidewalk cafe and sighing at
beautiful medieval architecture, while walking down winding
cobblestone streets to world-class museums with two awesome girls
is the perfect therapy and all I need. I'll be more than happy to
foot the bill. Did I mention I own a tiny house outside Paris? It
isn't a five-star hotel, but it'll do. We'll drive there, and the
fridge is always stocked up." Jamie grins. "What do you say?"

"Yeah, as long as the gargoyles don't come to
life and eat me," Sam says.

"We'll keep them glued to the Notre Dame
Cathedral Towers."

I don't know what to say to their little plan
except that I'm not happy. In fact, I'm terrified because I
suddenly see where he's heading. This isn't about him and breaking
free of his bonds with Chloe. It's about distracting him, which is
a fantastic technique to stop thinking about the soon-to-be ex, so
how could I blame him for trying? But I fear for what it could do
to Sam and me. He's entering our lives way too quickly and will
probably leave just as fast, leaving behind a teen who's looking up
at him and the bitter divorcee who enjoys his company more than she
should.

"No." I shake my head.

"I'll pay you for the extra therapy. You and
Sam can help me forget about all my worries if even for a minute,
and we can work on that life plan of mine," Jamie says.

He's so insistent he must be in pain from all
his Chloe-related problems. I understand what he's going through
because I've been there myself. He needs my help and I could use
the extra cash. Before I realize it, I hear myself say,
"Saturday."

"Great." Jamie grins. "It's settled then. We
leave on Saturday and shall be back on Sunday."

I shrug. "Sounds good."

"We'll go over the details after Monday's
session."

I nod. "Perfect."

Jamie frowns as he peers behind me. I follow
his line of vision, but all I can see is a busy street and a group
of youngsters waiting to cross. "Are you okay?" I keep my voice low
even though I've no idea why.

"Can I try your pizza?" Sam asks. Without
waiting for an answer, she cuts off a slice and drops it onto her
plate.

Jamie's gaze fixes back on me. I raise my
brows. He shakes his head in response whispering, "I just
thought—it's nothing."

"Are you sure?" I ask.

He nods and turns toward my daughter,
smiling. "Yep. How do you like your pizza, Sam? Want to share with
me because mine's crap."

"I put my grubby fingers all over it, but if
you insist." She beams and gives him half of what is left. My phone
beeps in my handbag. I retrieve it and press the envelope sign
without thinking, almost choking on a gulp of air. My eyes start to
water and my hands turn cold as ice as I read the message.

He's not the right one and u know it. Tonight
no door will keep me out.

I must've fainted because when I wake up
blackness has spread over my eyes. The darkness lifts slowly,
leaving behind a floating sensation in the pit of my stomach. A
throbbing pain has invaded the left side of my mind. Under the
watchful eyes of several people hovering over me, I push up on my
elbows as I struggle to sit up from the floor next to our
table.

"Are you okay?" Jamie asks, fanning air.
Groaning, I bob my head even though it hurts.

Sam holds a glass of water to my cracked lips
and urges me to take small sips, a frown perched between her thin
eyebrows. "Thanks, sweetie," I whisper.

"Mum, you can't go around scaring me like
that! If you die, what am I supposed to do?"

"The ambulance will be here any minute," a
waitress says.

I shake my head and force myself to my feet,
fending off the many hands reaching for me. "I'm okay. No
ambulance, please."

"Are you sure?" Jamie wraps his arm around my
waist and leads me to my seat. I nod and he turns to the gathered
crowd. "She's fine. Thank you, everyone."

"What happened? You just dropped to the
floor," Sam says. "Are you trying to skip out of the bill?"

Heat scorches my cheeks. I've never felt more
like the freak in a carnival show. Why, all I need is the spotlight
over my head and I'm ready to go. Now's the time to tell them about
my stalker, but I falter because I'm embarrassed. They wouldn't
understand. "Must be the heat." I rub a hand over my forehead. "Or
tiredness. I didn't sleep very well last night." This is becoming
my standard excuse. I can only hope I'll be able to sort out my
issues before people start digging deeper. Judging from how fast my
mental health is deteriorating, they might soon.

"If you say so." Jamie doesn't seem
convinced. "Listen, I'm taking you home."

"What?" Sam yells. "But I'm not finished with
my pizza." She had such a lovely time, it wouldn't be fair on her
to end the evening in such an abrupt manner.

"Can we just eat, please?" I don't mean to
snap at him, but my nerves are on edge and tears are slowly welling
up in my eyes. Now that the club's set up and my life's slowly
getting back on track, some wacko's starting to ruin it all. I'm so
angry I could hit the wall.

"Sure," Jamie says. I see him exchange a
glance with Sam.

"What?" Sam shrugs. "I'm starving. And pizza
sucks when it's cold."

"I'll be right back. Just need to make a
call." Grabbing my phone from the table, I jump up before they can
protest or offer to accompany me, and head for the back of the
restaurant. From the corner of my eye, I see blinking lights
outside, so I sprint for the door with the toilet sign and lock
myself inside a small cubicle.

The air smells of disinfectant and lemons. I
lean my forehead against the cool wall and allow my eyes to close.
I don't know how long I sit there pondering over the text message
and the fact that I'm being stalked.

"Stalked," I say out loud, testing the word
on my lips. It doesn't sound as frightening as I thought it
would

just funny because something like
this usually happens to Hollywood stars and politicians, not to an
average-looking thirty-something with frizzy hair and baggy
clothes.

I barely glance at my face in the bathroom
mirror on the way out, only wash my hands and then return to my
table. Jamie stops his conversation as he sees me approaching.
Plastering a fake smile on my lips, I sit and finish my water in
one gulp.

"Anybody want coffee and desert?" Jamie
asks.

I shake my head. Sam doesn't want anything
either, so Jamie pays the bill. I don't argue to split it, but I
vow to take him out as soon as my wallet allows it. Outside, a
star-less night has descended. The air smells relatively clean
given that we're in a traffic-infested city. On the way home I keep
silent until Jamie parks the car and accompanies us to the
entrance.

"Sam, why don't you go inside? I need to talk
to Jamie," I say as I unlock the door.

"Why? Are you guys going to kiss? The last
thing I want is watch you make out with some guy you just met."

I smile. "Don't worry. No one's kissing."

Sam pulls a face and squeezes in, but not
before throwing an interested look over her shoulder. She's not
stupid, I know that.

"At the restaurant—" Jamie starts.

I hold up a hand. "No, don't."

"But there's something going on. Why don't
you talk about it?" It's so easy for him to say when he's not
really opening up to me either.

"There's this huge mess in my life right
now." I take a deep breath, hesitating. How much should I say?
Should I disclose anything at all? Would spreading out my life in
front of a client make me seem less professional? Probably, I
decide.

Jamie inches closer and whispers, "I see
you've overextended yourself with the club, and I want to help. You
can pay me back later even though I don't want you to."

Why do men always think it's all about cash?
It angers me that he should see me the way Greg did: unable to fend
for myself and Sam, always reliant on someone else. "This isn't
about money. Even if it were, you're my client, not my benefactor.
I'm supposed to be the one helping
you
, not the other way
around
.
"

"You're pregnant?" A shadow crosses his face.
He doesn't mind having a thirteen-year-old around, but give him a
newborn and some diapers and he's likely to make a run for the
hills.

I roll my eyes. "My personal life's no one's
business. My job is to counsel you, help write a life plan and get
you through the pain of this divorce with Chloe. I'm a
professional, Jamie. My personal problems won't get in the way of
my job." He studies me, his blue gaze narrowing. It's none of his
concern, but I can't let him think I'm having a baby. "No, I'm not.
Okay?"

His smile returns. It's so easy to make a man
happy, just tell him you're not expecting a child and any
depression will dissipate within seconds.

"I've been having—" I consider my words
carefully "—insomnia recently. And some panic attacks."

"Must be from all the responsibility you're
carrying on your shoulders." He moves closer and starts massaging
my shoulders with firm, knowing fingers. He's trying to score. No
man would ever say something like that without harboring thoughts
of hooking up at the back of his mind. Surprisingly, the idea seems
rather appealing. I lean into his touch even though it feels
awkward.

"Do you always massage your employees?"

He smiles. "Sorry?"

"I'm your life coach. I should be comforting
you, not the other way around."

His laughter tinkles through the night. I've
no idea why he's so amused. "That's what I originally thought, too.
And let me tell you, the pain's still there."

"Huh?" I ask, looking up.

"Nothing." He shakes his head and removes his
hands from my back. "I'll suffer through the pain if you're at my
side to help."

Behind us, the door opens and Sam calls out,
"Hey, you should get inside. A house was robbed down the street.
Apparently, the guy's armed and dangerous."

I wince. The text message flashes through my
mind. Sweat starts trickling down my back. Not only do I have to
deal with a stalker, now the worry about a dangerous criminal on
the loose has just joined the list of reasons why I should
seriously consider moving to Alaska. "Great. I won't sleep one wink
tonight. Now that I'm a single parent I don't feel safe in this
area any more." It's just half of the truth. I don't feel safe, but
it has nothing to do with the area.

"It's not
that
bad." Jamie peers
around him, then back to me. His eyes shimmer in the darkness.

I want him to stay. Even if he has never
engaged in mortal combat, he's a man and fighting's programmed in
his DNA. "Would you like to come in? I was thinking we could work
on your life plan. You've been avoiding it for a while."

"Can't think of a better way to spend my
Saturday night." Jamie grabs my hand and pulls me inside, then
locks the door. "You're trembling. I can sleep on the sofa if you
want to."

"No, that's not necessary." I'm lying because
I don't want to look pathetic. Secretly, I'm praying he'll
insist.

"I have a fetish for sleeping on sofas." He
winks. "Not really, but if something happened to you, who'd pen out
my life plan?"

I laugh. "Of course."

"No, seriously, Sarah, you have a daughter to
think about. With a robber in the vicinity, I don't want to leave.
There's safety in numbers." Our gazes connect and I switch off for
a moment, mesmerized by his blue eyes. "I'm staying."

I try to smile, but my heart's hammering in
my chest, making it impossible to breath. "You make a great point.
I cordially invite you to be my protector and sleep on my
sofa."

"But only on one condition." He laughs.

"Anything."

"No life plans tonight. Just TV."

"Deal." I hold out my hand, but he pulls me
into an awkward hug. "Thank you, Jamie."

"My pleasure." His voice is low, carrying
hundreds of promises, or so I imagine.

He's staying the night. That's exactly what I
wanted to hear. I switch on all lights and show him around. Part of
me wishes he'd suggest moving in, but that might be too much too
soon. Instead, I settle for pretending a night in front of the
television set will free me of any developing disorder. Whatever
he's offering will have to do for the time being. Tomorrow I plan
to call in a security company and have a burglar alarm installed. I
might even get that Rottweiler I've been secretly dreaming about in
the last few days.

If Sam finds it strange that Jamie's sleeping
here, though taking over the sofa as I assure her, she doesn't show
it. She changes into her sleepwear and joins us downstairs like she
used to do when her father was still living here. I brew tea and
make us microwave popcorn, then go in search of a new toothbrush,
bedding and a towel. From the door, I make sure Sam and Jamie
aren't paying attention as I check the doors and windows just to be
on the safe side. But my routine's less vigorous than before.
Having a man here gives me a false sense of security. Even though
he's neither invincible, nor immortal, the whole cliché of how a
male protects his territory kicks in and I feel myself tumbling
into our society's century-old gender roles.