and the scoop-hungry photographers who would be hunting him once news of an impending divorce hit the media. And it would hit, no matter how they tried to keep it quiet. If Carson or Tia’s people didn’t release the news, then someone along the chain of information would. There were always leaks no matter how hard you tried to keep things confidential. It wouldn’t come from Reed’s staff, that he knew. They were paid extremely well—not just for their expertise, but for their discretion—and knew their jobs depended on their ability to keep their clients’ business to themselves.
But there were others out there Reed had no control over. Everyone from valets at the Monarch to desk clerks and hotel maids. Once the media found out where Carson was staying, they’d continue to dig until they found out why the action star was holed up sixty miles from his house.
“You live at the Monarch, don’t you?” Carson asked.
“Yeah, I do. So once the paperwork is completed, I’ll have it all sent to your room for signing.”
“Convenient, huh?” Carson said wryly. “Anyway, I’m registered under the name Wyatt Earp.”
Reed laughed. The wildly famous usually signed into hotels under false names to keep those not in their immediate circle from knowing where they were. “Got it,” he said. “I’ll be in touch.”
“Right.” Carson nodded. “Thanks, I guess.”
Reed watched the man go and once the office door was closed again, he walked to the windows behind his desk and stared out at the view of the ocean as his client had done only moments ago. He’d been through this so many times now, with so many people, he knew what Carson Duke was feeling, thinking. The big decision had been made. The divorce was in play. Now he was feeling a mixture of relief and sorrow and wondering if he was doing the right thing.
Oh, sure, there were plenty of people who divorced with joy in their hearts and a spring in their steps. But they weren’t the rule. Generally, people felt the pain of losing something they’d once pinned their hopes and dreams on. Hell, Reed had seen it in his own family time and again. Each of his parents invariably entered a marriage thinking that this time would be the last. The one. True love and they would finally live happily ever after.
“And they’re never right,” he murmured, shaking his head.
Once again, he was reminded that he’d made the right life choice in never letting himself fall into the trap of convincing himself that good, healthy lust was some kind of romantic love destined to transform his life.
At that thought, he snorted in amusement, then walked back to his desk to begin drafting Carson Duke’s divorce papers.
* * *
Lilah Strong took her time driving along Pacific Coast Highway. The scenery was wildly different from what she was used to and she intended to enjoy it in spite of the hot ball of anger nestled deep in her belly. She didn’t like being angry. It always felt to her like a waste of emotion. The person she was furious with didn’t care how she felt. Her anger affected no one but her...by making her a little nauseous.
But knowing that did nothing to ease the underlying tension that burned inside her. So rather than try to ease that uncomfortable feeling, she briefly distracted herself by glancing out at the ocean.
It was lovely—surfers gliding toward shore on the tops of waves. Sunlight glinting off the deep blue surface of the sea. Boats with jewel-toned sails and children building castles in the sand armed with nothing more than tiny buckets and shovels.
Lilah was a mountain girl, through and through. Her preferred view was of a tree-laden slope, wide-open meadows covered in bright splashes of wildflowers or the snowy mountainsides that backed up to her house. But looking out at the Pacific was a nice change. Of course, she had time to look at the sea while driving only because she wasn’t actually “driving.” It was more...parking.
Pacific Coast Highway was completely backed up with locals, tourists and, it seemed to her, every surfer in Southern California. It was the middle of June and Lilah could imagine that the crowds would only be getting thicker as the summer went on. But thankfully, that wouldn’t be her problem.
In a day or two, she’d be back in the mountains, leaving her companion here in Orange County. That thought gave her heart a hard squeeze, but there was nothing she could do about it. It wasn’t as if she’d had a choice in any of this. If she’d been someone else, maybe she would have considered ignoring facts. But she couldn’t live a lie. She had to do the right thing—even if it felt wrong.
Glancing into the rearview mirror, she looked at her companion and said, “You’re awfully quiet. Too much to think about to leave room for talking, hmm? I know how you feel.”
Her own mind was spinning. Lilah had been dreading this trip to California for two weeks and now that it was here, she was still trying to think of a way out of the situation she found herself in. But no matter how she looked at it, Lilah was stuck. As was her friend in the backseat.
If she were doing this on her turf, so to speak, she might feel a little more in control. Back in her small mountain town in Utah, she had friends. People she could count on to stand with her. Here, all she had were her own two feet and that sinking sensation in the pit of her stomach.
Orange County, California, was only an hour-and-a-half flight from Lilah’s home, but it might as well have been on the other side of the world. She was walking into the unknown with no way out but through.
By the time she parked, helped her friend out of the car and walked into the law office, Lilah’s stomach was swirling with nerves. The building was Victorian on the outside and a sweep of glass and chrome on the inside. It was unsettling, as if designed to keep clients off guard, and maybe that was the idea. The floors were a polished, high-gleam hardwood, but the walls were decorated with modern paintings consisting of splashes of bright color. The reception desk where a stern-faced, middle-aged woman sat sentry was a slab of glass atop shining steel legs. Even the banister gliding along the wood staircase was made up of steel spindles faced with a wall of glass. It was cold, sterile and just a little intimidating. Oh, she was now sincerely prepared to dislike the man she was there to see. Lilah stiffened her spine and approached the reception desk. “I’m Lilah Strong. I’m here to see Reed Hudson.”
The woman looked from Lilah to her friend and back again. “Do you have an appointment?”
“No. I’m here on behalf of his sister, Spring Hudson Bates,” Lilah said and watched a flicker of interest glitter in the woman’s eyes. “It’s important that I see him now.”
“One moment.” The woman watched Lilah as she picked up a phone and pressed a single button. “Mr. Hudson, there’s a woman here to see you. She claims to have been sent by your sister Spring.”
Claims? Lilah swallowed the spurt of impatience that jumped into her throat. It took another moment or two before the receptionist hung up and waved one hand at the staircase. “Mr. Hudson will see you. Up the stairs, first door on the left.”
“Thank you.” Lilah and her companion walked away, but as she went, she felt the other woman’s curious gaze follow her.
At the landing, Lilah paused to settle herself outside the heavy double doors. She took a breath, then turned the knob and walked inside.
The outer office was small, but bright, with sunlight pouring through windows that overlooked the ocean. Lilah stepped inside and took a breath, pausing long enough to
