Eligible Ex-husband - Marie Johnston Page 0,4

assumed I’d move to New York and follow in his exact footsteps.

But I had a hard enough time living in his shadow. I wasn’t going to drag Natalie into a life of constant judgment. She and I needed a place of our own to start our business and our family.

Graham nods, a faraway look in his eyes. “I’ve been following you. Impressive. What you did and from where you did it.”

As if North Dakota is on the moon. “As long as there’s internet and aircraft, I could build Gainesworth Equity anywhere.”

His brows lift. “But you moved from Pennsylvania to North Dakota?”

I give a non-committal shrug. “It was a growing business center then and it’s more so now. We’re a quick flight from Minneapolis and from there we can go anywhere.” But Natalie’s parents moved to Fargo after us, so we didn’t need to travel. For so long, we couldn’t afford to travel.

“And you have kids?”

“Two daughters.” I don’t peg Graham as a get-to-know-you guy. What’s with the questions?

“And you’re divorced?”

I clench my jaw, fed up with his prying. He can ask about my work, but I can’t see why someone like Graham Morgan cares about my personal life.

Before I reply, he sits forward. “You don’t have to answer, of course. But I’ve seen it a lot. Business takes off, personal life crumbles. Maybe you want to think about selling. I thought I could help.”

My personal life is none of his business and a phone call would’ve sufficed. “The company is as much Liam’s as it is mine.”

“He helped you start it?”

“No.” I can’t bring myself to tell him the rest. Being out here, where Liam got his start, talking to his best friend, made it feel like my next stop should be to hang out with my brother.

His eyes narrow slightly before they infuse with understanding. “I see. Well, I’ll reconsider my interest in our mutual clients. But… don’t forget about me if you ever think about selling.”

Not on his life, but I give him a smile. “How old is Chloe now?”

He rises and stretches out his hand. “Oh, you know. Seven going on twenty-seven, but I’m assured that’s normal.”

I shake his hand and chuckle, but my mind conjures that last image of my own daughters. My chest squeezes at the image of Natalie walking away with them. I miss them. Part of me wants to tell her how much, but I don’t care to add to her stress. “It certainly is.”

We leave the boardroom. Helena is bent over her phone. She’s always working. Looking up, her gaze drifts between me and Graham, nothing but professional competence in the blue depths. Her demeanor is half the reason I hired her. The last thing I need to worry about is an assistant who wants in my bed more than behind a desk.

“Looks like we’ll get home in a few hours,” I tell her. I might even get home in time to pick up the girls so we don’t miss our night together. I’ll be less salty about the trip if I get to hang with my kids tonight.

Relief crosses her face, but it’s quickly covered with a neutral expression. “Oh, that’s great.”

Graham calls a driver to take us back to the airport. I mentally run through what I can work on en route and what can wait until I return. We’re crossing the Queensboro bridge when my phone buzzes.

Natalie. I rush to answer.

“Simon.” A sob echoes over the line. “When are you back in town? Mom collapsed and I’m at the hospital with the girls.”

Natalie

My back has a kink in it and despite Aleah—and Simon—reminding me, I never did stretch.

I barely got home and showered when Dad called. Mom fell down in the kitchen and hit her head. He was following the ambulance and I met him at the new hospital on the edge of town. I drove by it a million times while it was being built. I didn’t think that I’d be sitting here one day, in a finished waiting room, worrying about my own loved one.

Mom’s in ICU, and it guts me not to be with her, but an ICU room isn’t where grandkids need to hang out with their grandma. We’ve been in the square waiting area for hours. They’re tired of games on the tablet, the TV’s playing “boring adult shows,” and we’ve already unofficially toured the hospital twice.

“I’m bored,” Maddy whines. This isn’t the first time, but I can’t blame her.

“Me, too,” I sigh. Abby’s