His wife’s walk on the dangerous side? Not so much. He’d be lying if he said he hadn’t come home and done an internet search on the African country she was going to be working in after his hour-and-a-half-long walk through the streets of Chelsea last night. What he’d found he hadn’t liked. Diana was putting herself well within the reach of the rebels who were causing havoc for the government. Who were known to use kidnapping as a bargaining tactic. He hadn’t slept a wink.
Harrison turned to face him as they stepped off the elevator. “Use this time to figure out what you want out of your life. We only do this once. You have a fresh start to work with.”
He lifted his chin and met his brother’s stare. “Since when did you get so philosophic?”
“Since my wife got hold of me,” Harrison admitted with a rueful smile. “I like it, actually...”
Coburn watched him walk away. Now that the aliens had taken his older brother and replaced him with that man, he thought maybe he’d consider his point as he strode toward Frankie, who gave the conference room Diana and the lawyers occupied a pointed nod. It was true. A fresh start was exactly what he wanted out of this divorce, and it was exactly what he was going to get. Now.
“So sorry,” he murmured, striding into the glass-and-chrome conference room with its magnificent views of New York. He kept his gaze firmly away from his soon-to-be ex-wife and on the stiff, expensively suited lawyers who were five hundred an hour apiece.
Chance Hamilton, his lawyer, made an awkward joke about this divorce not going anywhere. Jerry Simmons, Diana’s very proper, blue-blooded Harvard grad, stood and shook his hand. His wife remained seated, her eyes fixed on the windows. His guts twisted. She wouldn’t even look at him.
“So,” Jerry began as Coburn sat down beside Chance, across from Diana, “shall we do a final review of the terms, starting with property?” Diana, who looked like something out of Madame Tussauds wax museum, moved her lips in what he assumed was agreement.
“Fine.” He added his assent as he continued to study his wife, despite his better instincts. Only Diana could look her most beautiful in a simple white shirt, slim dark jeans and a floral scarf. Her dramatic dark features and hair made adornment unnecessary, something he’d always found vastly appealing versus the made-up showpieces he came across at most of the social functions he attended.
Her beautiful hair was caught up in a knot today as opposed to last night’s wavy curls, her makeup minimal, designed to cover the shadows beneath her eyes, but it hadn’t quite worked. Hands that lay in her lap, constantly clenching and unclenching, were the only sign that she felt anything at all.
Last night she had felt a whole hell of a lot. The half-moons dug into his biceps he’d noticed when he’d put on his shirt this morning bore testament to that. The sensation of her body tightening around his as he’d driven her to the brink was burned into his brain, taunting him, reminding him of just how good it was between them.
“The Key West house,” Jerry prompted.
Coburn gave him a distracted look. “Sorry?”
“The Key West house. Diana keeps it.”
He nodded.
“The East Side apartment closes this week. Half of those proceeds will go to each of you when that happens.”
He nodded. He’d hated that apartment from the first day they’d moved in. It had been a stuffy, cliquey building with a tiny terrace that had made him feel like a caged animal. He’d been thrilled to get out of it.
Jerry wrapped up the remainder of their properties and moved on to the incidentals.
“The season tickets to the ballet and the opera will go to Diana, while the basketball tickets go to you, Coburn.”
“Fine.” Did she really think he wanted to attend a brutally boring opera now that they were through? The only reason he’d ever agreed to go was because watching the joy it put in his wife’s eyes when she finally took a night off had been worth it and ten times more.
He nodded. Waved for him to continue.
Jerry started listing off such minor, inconsequential stuff his mind faded to black. What the hell did he care if he had the country club membership? He’d never have time to golf. He also had no interest in the artwork Diana had walked off with.
“I only want the painting of the Pyrenees,” he broke in. “She can have the rest.”
He’d cycled a race there. It had sentimental value to him.
Jerry nodded and resumed the exhaustive list. Coburn couldn’t believe he and Diana had accumulated so much stuff in two years. The free spirit in him thought it utterly ridiculous. He waved a hand at Jerry. “She can have it all. Whatever’s on the list, let her take it.”