Marrying Mr. Wrong (Dirty Martini Running Club #3) - Claire Kingsley Page 0,91
banks and credit card companies. All when I’d been in Houston and Sophie had been here, staying at my house. Since then, there were random withdrawals of cash that I knew weren’t mine, and one of my debit cards was missing.
Everything pointed to Sophie. And I was sick over it.
Had I really been such a fool?
My phone buzzed with a text from Oliver, asking me—again—if everything was okay. I’d left the office abruptly without a word to him, and I’d been ignoring everyone’s messages ever since. I sent a quick reply this time, just so he wouldn’t decide to come over here and fix me a pot of tea or something.
I heard the faint sound of the garage door opening and took a long swallow of my whiskey. Sophie was home. With a deep breath, I braced myself for her to breeze through the door and step out of her shoes. To set her things down and cheerfully ask about my day.
To run her hands up my chest and pull my mouth to hers for a kiss, whispering that she’d missed me today.
Fuck.
The door flew open and she called my name. “Cox?”
I set my drink down, surprised at the urgency in her voice.
“Cox? Where are you?” Her shoes clicked on the wood floor as she marched into the kitchen.
The fury in her eyes almost made me flinch away. What the fuck was she so angry about?
“What the hell is this?” She held up a thick envelope. “Are you kidding me? I thought we would at least have a conversation, you know, like grown-ups. Grown-ups who have been sleeping together.”
“What are you talking about?”
“There are other ways to do this. You didn’t have to serve me at work. I looked it up when we first got back from Vegas. We could have just filed together. You didn’t have to blindside me with it.”
“Sophie, what the fuck are you talking about?”
“The divorce paperwork. I knew we’d have to deal with it soon, so maybe I shouldn’t be so surprised. But I didn’t think it would be like this. It’s so cold and impersonal.” Her lower lip trembled and she swiped a tear from beneath her eye. “I thought we’d at least talk about it first.”
The divorce paperwork? What was she… Oh, shit. Althea. She’d said she’d take care of everything. After what she’d told me about Sophie, she must have assumed I’d want this over with as quickly as possible.
Well, it had been inevitable anyway. Maybe it was best that it was done.
“There’s not much to talk about, is there?”
“So that’s it? Just like that, it’s over?”
I glanced down. It was hard to meet her eyes. I didn’t want to have to say this to her. “Sophie, I know about the money.”
“What money?”
“Let’s not do this, okay? I know.”
“Cox, I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“I know that you took money to pay off your debts when I was in Houston. And I know you’ve been withdrawing from my account ever since.”
“What?”
“Look, I don’t want to make this worse for you. You shouldn’t have done it, but I won’t turn you in. I’ll let it go. Just get your shit out of my house.”
“But I didn’t. I didn’t take any of your money. I swear.”
“Then how is all your debt magically paid off?”
“It’s not. In fact, I think I’m late on most of my payments because I keep forgetting to get the mail at my apartment.”
Something in her voice made me snap. I fucking loved this girl, and she was going to stand here and keep lying to me? I grabbed my whiskey and smashed the glass on the floor. “Goddammit, Sophie. Why the fuck didn’t you just ask me? I would have given it to you. If you were so far in debt, why didn’t you just tell me?”
She stared at me, her eyes wide, still flashing with anger. “Because I couldn’t. It’s humiliating enough that I can’t afford to help my dad find a better house. You saw my horrible apartment. You saw how I live. You think I want to talk about that? You think I want to tell a man like you, who’s swimming in money, how even though I have a great job, I basically have nothing? How I have to ration every dollar so I can afford to go out with my friends or take my dad out to eat once in a while? How the only reason I could afford that trip to Vegas