Page 12 of Chasing his Ex

“Not together?”

“I don’t enjoy living with anyone. I like my own space.”

“Did you live with your ex-wife?”

“She’s the reason I don’t want to live with anyone.”

Chapter 5

Ava

Maybe I’m crazy for not wanting what Jameson is offering. I mean, how many women would turn down a life in New York with an apartment and a wealthy guy ensuring she gets everything she wants?

It isn’t me.

I earn my money, and yes, I’m not wealthy. But I have to show Emmy the right way to be in the world. So, I left Jameson a message when I left the venue to not contact me again. Not that he listened.

Jameson has tried to contact me after I left him, but trying to explain how I feel to a man who’s used to being able to get whatever he wants is the most difficult conversation I’ve ever had.

He refuses to accept it.

The flowers turned up at work on Monday morning, and since then I've gotten a daily delivery with requests to meet him.

My mobile rings. I smile. “Hey Stella, how are you and Ems?”

“Everything is fine, but she has to speak to you,” Stella replies with a groan. “You know how insistent she gets.”

“Okay, that’s fine. Put her on.”

There’s a small tap on my office door.

“One minute,” I say.

“Why?” Emmy replies.

“Not you, baby, the person at the door. Are you having a good day?”

I get up and walk to the window, looking outside as Emmy starts to tell me about what she did at reception class, that she and Jacob played together all day and that they’re getting married. I smile at that. Emmy is just over three years old, but she knows Jacob is the one for her already.

“Stella and Jacob’s daddy talked when we played in the park,” Emmy says and laughs, her voice turns into a whisper. “I think Stella wants to kiss Jacob’s daddy.”

“I was only talking to him!” Stella’s voice pipes up in the background.

I burst out laughing. “I need to go, Emmy, but see you soon.”

“Don’t be late, Mommy,” Emmy calls. Her sweet voice makes me smile into the phone.

I turn as the door creaks, and my eyes immediately meet his. His look is a mixture of hunger and anger, yet I don’t quite know which dominates.

“No. I won’t be late today, but I have to go,” I say.

“Love you, Mommy.” The phone disconnects.

I straighten my blouse, push my hair back and say, “I didn’t say come in. I’m busy.” Showing him a folder but hiding the case name. He’s a lawyer and poaching clients is the name of the game.

“How’s the old guy?” he asks, leaning against the door.

“Fine,” I say, much too slowly.

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