The Pre-Nup Page 7

  She wrapped her arms around herself. “I can’t. I’m sorry. I wish it were that simple, but…”

  “But what?” Josh crossed his arms, mirroring her defensive posture.

  “But things happen. I mean, look at Ellie. She thought she and Michael would be together forever.”

  “You’re not Ellie. I’m not Michael.”

  “I realize that, but do you see where I’m going with this?”

  “All I see is that you sabotage us every chance you get.”

  She gasped. “How can you say that? I have never—”

  “Let me finish.” He set his jaw. “Whenever I try to take things to the next level, you kick and scream and do something guaranteed to push me away. You were sabotaging us in San Diego, and you’re sabotaging us now with this pre-nup.”

  Mara didn’t say anything.

  “I don’t know what you expect me to do,” Josh said. “I’m not a masochist. I’m not a doormat.”

  She reached out for him and murmured, “I love you.”

  He didn’t take her hand. “It’s decision time, Mara. Say what you mean and mean what you say. Do you really want our marriage to be based on a bunch of conditions starting with ‘hereto’ and ‘whereas’?”

  Her hands remained outstretched. “I will never, ever cheat on you again. You have to believe that by now.”

  “According to you, it doesn’t matter what I believe.” He fished her house keys out of his pocket and plunked them down on the counter. “It’s about what we put in writing. If you get to protect yourself, so do I.”

  Jen Chapter 9

  So tell us.” Chelsea Kincaid, the perky, Permatanned host of Up with the Sun, Phoenix! flashed her dazzling white smile and settled back into her interview chair. “How does a local woman like you build her own nutrition empire before the age of…how old are you, if you don’t mind my asking?”

  Jen tried to laugh this off. “A lady never reveals her weight or age.”

  “But you look so young,” Chelsea exclaimed. “You look like you’re barely out of college. And certainly, you’ve got nothing to play coy about in the weight department. Come on, let us in on some of your secrets.”

  Jen smiled, took a deep breath, and reminded herself to speak clearly and slowly, just like she’d practiced with Deb, the publicist she’d hired to help springboard her company’s profile from local to national. “Balance and variety,” she said into the TV camera. “That’s the key to health, inside and outside. Eat a variety of whole, unprocessed foods and challenge your body by changing up your workouts. Don’t be afraid to try something new.” Deb had coached her to turn all her interview responses into a pitch for her product. “In fact, I came up with the idea for Noda one day while I was rock climbing in Sedona.”

  Chelsea played along with the segue and held up a bottle of Jen’s energy drink. “Noda: the antisoda. Love it! So you came up with the idea on a cliff?”

  Jen forced herself to relax and let her guard down a bit. “Well, I wasn’t always so health-conscious. Back in college, I developed what would probably qualify as a clinical dependency on diet cola.”

  “A caffeine junkie!” Chelsea bobbed her head. “I can relate!”

  “I knew all the chemicals were bad for me, but I just couldn’t kick the habit. I swear, diet cola is more addictive than nicotine! And I had lots of friends in the same boat. We drank six cans a day, some of us, and every time we tried to quit, we’d get horrific withdrawal symptoms: headaches, irritability, the shakes.”

  “That’s what I’m like when I don’t get my morning coffee!” Chelsea laughed.

  “I majored in nutrition, and I spent a few years working as a personal trainer. I would tell my clients to cut the caffeine and preservatives out of their diets, but I wasn’t practicing what I preached.” She leaned in, as if confiding in Chelsea. “I’d exercise and eat tofu ’til the cows came home, but soda was my dirty little secret.”

  “So what finally pushed you over the edge?”

  “Well…” Jen waited a beat, trying to decide if she should continue with this story. “I was camping in Sedona with an old boyfriend, and he bet me that I couldn’t make it through the weekend without diet soda. We were out in the middle of nowhere, so I couldn’t cheat. After about thirty-six hours, I freaked out—I was in serious withdrawal but I refused to let him win the bet. So I dragged him back down the mountain to a health food store and started messing around with seltzer water and all kinds of roots and herbs.” She grinned. “The early versions of Noda tasted, to put it mildly, not good.”

  “But the finished product is delish!” Chelsea hoisted up the bottle again for the camera. “I tried it before the show and I have to tell you, I am amazed! It really does taste like cola. You’d never guess it’s good for you!”

  “Thank you.” Jen felt her cheeks flush. “It took me about two years to get the formula just right.”

  “And did your boyfriend help you test all the failed prototypes?”

  “No; he broke up with me. But it all worked out for the best,” she said quickly, “because it freed up lots of time for me to work. I tinkered with the recipe on my own for a while, then finally brought in a pair of food chemists to help me refine the flavor and make sure it could withstand packaging and shipping.”

  “Well, you did an excellent job,” Chelsea gushed. “This caffeine addict gives you two thumbs up! And Noda is currently available at health food stores all over Phoenix.”

  “Right now, we only distribute locally, but we’re hoping to take Noda nationwide in the next few years.” Jen tried to convey both ambition and modesty. “It’s definitely a product whose time has come.”

  “A real lifesaver for those of us who are getting off-track with our New Year’s resolutions,” Chelsea said.

  The producer started making “wrap-it-up” gestures behind the cameras, but Chelsea wasn’t quite ready to cut to commercial. She consulted her interview note cards and said, “Now, your husband is also your business partner, correct?”

  “Um,” Jen hedged, “he was one of my first major supporters, both financially and emotionally. Chelsea, thank you so much for having me—”

  Chelsea leaned into Jen’s personal space. “How does he feel about representing a product that you and an ex-boyfriend came up with?”

  Jen glanced desperately at the producer, who indicated with a curt nod that she should answer the question. “Well, he…My husband doesn’t actually represent Noda. He’s more of a silent partner.”

  “So your ex-boyfriend’s loss was his gain?”

  “Um.” Shouldn’t we have cut to a word from our freaking sponsor like thirty seconds ago? “I suppose you could say that.”

  “Wow, he must be really secure.” Chelsea laughed. “My husband would flip out if I built an empire from a bet with one of my exes.”

  Jen didn’t know where to look. “He’s always been very supportive.”

  “A match made in health food heaven!” Chelsea ex-claimed. “Noda, people! It’s going to be the next huge thing. Look for it at your local supermarket.”

  “Oh!” Jen popped her head back up. “And we have a website: www dot No—”

  “Too late,” the producer announced. “We’ve already gone to break.”

  “Oh.” She reminded herself to stay positive, focused, and low-maintenance. Be a delight to work with, her publicist had instructed. Always leave the door open for them to invite you back.

  “It was a pleasure to meet you,” Jen called to Chelsea, who had whipped out a compact mirror and was touching up her lipstick. “I really appreciate the opportunity to come on the show.”

  “Mm-hmm.” Chelsea finished up with the lipstick and bared her teeth to check for smudges. “Good luck with everything, Jess.”

  “Thanks. But actually, my name’s—”

  “Next guest!” the producer bellowed, and a skinny, wild-eyed woman dressed in head-to-toe sequins and carrying a Chihuahua swept in from the green room. “Ninety seconds!�
�

  “Follow me,” ordered a production assistant with headphones and a clipboard. “You did great. Here’s the exit. Bye, Jess.”

  Fifteen minutes later, Jen was still wandering around the TV station parking lot in a daze, clutching her keys in one hand and her cell phone in the other.

  Wait. What kind of car do I drive, again?

  There was a reason why she’d majored in nutrition instead of communications. One unexpected interview question and she’d completely lost her composure. And Up with the Sun, Phoenix! wasn’t exactly hard-hitting investigative journalism. If she couldn’t even hack the local morning shows, how did she expect to land a spot on Today or Good Morning America?

  She probably should not have recounted the details of the Sedona bet on live television. She definitely shouldn’t have implied that Eric was anything less than a full partner in Noda. Deb insisted that a happily married, health-conscious couple made for a better marketing image than an “obsessive” single woman.

  Her marriage had become a marketing tool. And Jen was increasingly terrified that image was all that remained of the relationship.

  When she and Eric had first announced their engagement almost six years ago, one of Jen’s aunts had sidled up to her at a family dinner and whispered that sometimes being married was lonelier than being single. At the time, Jen dismissed this as sour grapes from a disenchanted divorcee, but lately, she had started to understand what her aunt had meant.

  Eric had been her best friend when she walked down the aisle. Emphasis on friend. The grand passion and raging chemistry she’d experienced with Patrick wasn’t there, but grand passion had broken her heart and raging chemistry had left her with third-degree burns. Eric had been there for her when her spirit bottomed out, and she concluded that the steady, subdued love she shared with him was a healthier alternative to all the Sturm und Drang with Patrick.

  Except now she and Eric weren’t best friends anymore. They were kind of like roommates. Cordial, considerate, painstakingly polite roommates who hadn’t had sex in…God, how long had it been?

  Jen wandered up and down the aisles of cars until she located her black sedan. She slid into the driver’s seat, flipped open her phone, and dialed Eric. This time she’d get it right. This time she’d find a way to share all the fear and hope ricocheting around in her heart and—

  “Hello?” Her husband sounded completely unenthused to hear from her.

  “Hi, hon.” She tried to compensate for him by oozing positivity. “I just finished with Up with the Sun, Phoenix! and I wanted to check in.”

  “Mmm.” He stifled a yawn. “How’d that go?”

  She frowned. He could at least pretend to care. “It started off okay, but I definitely need more media training.”

  “I’m sure you were fine.”

  She tapped her fingers on the steering wheel. “Don’t you want to know what went wrong? The interviewer started asking all these personal questions about you and how our partnership works.”

  “Into the minefield,” he deadpanned.

  “I told her that you’re totally supportive and secure and my dream man.”

  “So basically, you lied?”

  “Oh, that’s nice.” She gave up on positivity. “You know what? I have to go. Enjoy the rest of your trip.”

  “Wait, wait. Don’t hang up. I’m sorry.” He sounded gruff and uncertain. “And I appreciate your saying that I’m your dream man.”

  “I wasn’t just saying it,” she insisted.

  He paused, then changed the subject. “Hey, did you get the package I sent?”

  And that’s when she realized the date: Next week would be their fifth anniversary. She had completely forgotten. But she knew that when she returned to the house, something truly spectacular awaited her. Eric outdid himself every year with extravagant gifts of jewelry. He didn’t believe in practical gifts like vacuum cleaners or new tires. “Weddings are romantic, and anniversaries should be, too,” he’d announced after their first year together. “You’ll always be my bride.”

  From you’ll always be my bride to basically, you lied in just under five years. Jen shuddered to imagine what he might come up with by their tenth anniversary.

  “Check the front porch when you get home,” Eric continued. “I overnighted a box from the hotel yesterday. Call me when you open it, okay? It’s valuable and I want to make sure it didn’t get damaged during shipping.”

  “I will. Honey, you’re always so sweet.”

  “What?” His voice faded into a cacophony of blaring horns and rumbling bus engines. “I just stepped out of the cab and I’m on my way into a meeting, so—”

  “I’ll call you when I get home,” Jen yelled into her phone. “And, hey! Happy early anniv—”

  Click. His end of the connection went dead.

  Okay. So maybe they had a little work to do in the communication department. But Jen was nothing if not focused. She would redirect some of her energy and drive toward resurrecting her marriage. By this time next year, they’d be past this rough patch and happier than ever. And in the meantime, she had a lavish gift waiting for her at home. What a guy.

  “What the hell?” she muttered as she dug a plastic-encased baseball out of the express delivery box. Jen squinted at the signature scribbled under the ball’s red stitching.

  Then she spied the note nestled underneath a layer of white packing peanuts:

  J—

  Finally found a genuine Reggie Jackson for my collection. Please put in my office. See you soon.

  —E

  And that was it. She sifted through the layers of packaging at the bottom of the box, but there was no anniversary card, and definitely no jewelry.

  No “love” on the note, even.

  She warned herself not to jump to conclusions. Maybe a little blue box would be arriving tomorrow. Maybe Eric didn’t want to ruin the surprise.

  Or maybe your marriage just went from life support to flatline.

  As she stood motionless in her big, empty kitchen, staring down at the grimy old baseball, she’d never felt more alone. Talking about this with anyone, even Ellie or Mara, would make it too real. She wouldn’t be able to stave off the fear and the failure anymore.

  So she let the silence linger. This was what her life would be without the constant distraction of work: nothing. She and Eric had nothing left.

  Then her cell phone rang, jolting her back into action, and she snatched it up without even checking caller ID.

  “This is Jen.”

  “I can’t believe you’re still talking about that camping trip to Sedona,” teased a low, sexy voice.

  Her breath caught. “How did you get this number?”

  Patrick ignored the question. “And on TV, no less. For commercial gain. I can’t believe you’d exploit me like that.” He laughed. “I feel so cheap and dirty.”

  Jen dissolved into a flurry of inarticulate denials.

  “But you left out all the best parts. If I’m remembering correctly, caffeine withdrawal made you do some crazy things. Ah, the good old days.”

  Jen tried to block out the memories, but it was too late. Hearing Patrick talk like this was opening doors in her psyche that she had slammed shut and locked.

  And Eric was on the other side of the country.

  “I’m married,” she blurted out.

  “So I hear.”

  “I have to go.”

  “Then I won’t keep you.” He sounded drolly amused. Damn him. “Good talking to you, kid.”

  He hung up before she did. Damn him!

  She pulled her frequent flier card out of her wallet and scanned the fine print on the back for a customer service number. “Hello?” she said briskly when the airlines representative picked up. “I’d like to book a flight from Phoenix to JFK, please. As soon as possible. Tonight, if you have anything available.”

  Ellie Chapter 10

  Sweetheart, I promise: This is just a boring, run-of-the-mill business trip.” Michael re
ached across the BMW’s front seat and cupped Ellie’s cheek in his hand. “Bunch of potential investors abusing my expense account at a steakhouse. Maybe a few cigars if things get really wild. Nothing to worry about. Okay?”

  Ellie tucked her chin down and watched the traffic speeding by their car at the departures curb at the airport. “I’m not worried. Well, maybe just a little.”

  “I can’t blame you for that.” He sounded sad, but not sullen. “Re-earning your trust is going to be a long process. But I can handle it; I thrive on challenge.”

  She finally cracked a smile. “Spoken like a man who just left a therapist’s office.”

  “Hey, nothing wrong with that. I think Dr. Kline is really helping, don’t you?”

  Ellie mulled this over for a moment. “I guess. But, I mean, she’s just so…At the end of every session, no matter what, she always says we’re making excellent progress.”

  “Give the good doctor a chance,” he said. “We’ve only had two sessions.”

  “That’s my point. We barely got the backstory out. How can we already be making excellent progress? She probably says the same thing to everybody who comes through her office. Even the no-hopers.”

  “Well, for what she charges per hour, she better suck up to her patients,” Michael said, and they both laughed. “And FYI, we are not no-hopers. We are going to come back from this thing stronger than ever.”

  This thing. Like they’d survived a natural disaster or a life-threatening disease. Her distaste must have shown on her face because Michael immediately sobered into sincerity.

  “I know this is hard for you, El. I know I deserve to be drop-kicked from here to Shanghai. And I appreciate your trying.”

  “I am trying,” she said. “But it’s hard. I can’t just erase—”

  “I know.” He gathered her up in his arms and squeezed. “I know. And I appreciate it. Even if you’re only hanging in there for Hannah’s sake.”