Lexi was certain. Just like she was certain that until the divorce was official, Abby would conduct herself like a married woman.
“I’m serious, Abs. We both go big, and we both win our lives back. Together.”
Abby shrugged noncommittally.
Lexi picked up two chocolate éclairs, one for each of them. “Swear on the éclair.”
“What are we, in middle school?”
Lexi, eyes never leaving her friend’s, kissed both éclairs before offering them up.
“Fine.” Abby finally leaned in, kissing both pastries before grabbing one and cramming the entire thing in her mouth. “I’ll call Hard-Hammer Tanner tomorrow.” She forced the words through a half cup of cream filling and chocolate glaze. Lexi froze, éclair halfway in her mouth. “To set a new start date for Monday. Jeez, just because I’ll soon be divorced doesn’t mean I’m going to start dating. And if I did, it would not be with a guy like him.”
Lexi was too busy licking her fingers to point out that every time her friend mentioned Hard-Hammer Tanner she got agitated—and really pissed.
CHAPTER 6
Marc was in his office, staring out the window and wondering how he’d managed to get himself in the middle of this fucked-up situation. His celebrity judge, Bo Brock, wasn’t returning his calls, Natasha was still trying to nail him down—catering job or otherwise—and Abby was finally divorcing the jerkwad. A great step for his sister but terrible timing for him, since her full-page “Have You Seen This Dick?” announcement, complete with a picture of Richard, ran concurrently with his Summer Wine Showdown ad.
Now he had to deal with the fact that his best friend was suing his sexy new neighbor because Jeff had made promises he shouldn’t have. And if Jeff didn’t deliver on those promises, Marc’s brothers were going to rip him a new one, because it would cost everyone involved a ton of cash.
“Do you really need her recipes?” Marc asked, angling his chair so that he would be forced to stare at his computer rather than watching the window, hoping to see a construction crew hard at work, or catch a glimpse of Lexi in her apartment cooking in something other than pj’s, anything to reassure him that she was okay.
“Christ, Marc, how many times do I have to explain this?” Jeff’s voice came through the speaker on the phone. “They aren’t her recipes. They belong to the restaurant, always have, and I own the restaurant. She got the house. I got the restaurant.”
They’d been arguing about this on and off for days. Ever since Marc had gotten up the balls to call his friend.
“Yeah, well, this is a small town, and people here don’t give a rat’s ass what some New York judge said or about a house she no longer lives in.”
There was a tense pause. Marc closed his eyes and leaned back in the chair. He hated fighting with—well, anyone. It was easier to just stay detached.
“How is she doing?” Jeff asked, and for the first time in an hour his old friend was on the phone. Jeff wasn’t a bad guy; he was just always so focused on newer and shinier things that he had a hard time noticing other people’s shoes, let alone walking in them. “I’ve tried calling her, checking in, but she doesn’t seem receptive to me right now.”
Marc knew the feeling. And telling Jeff about how devastated Lexi had been felt like a betrayal, but he had to tell his friend something to make him see what this was doing to her. “She’s stopped construction.”
Jeff was quiet for a long moment. When he finally spoke, his voice was low, confused. “I don’t understand. That’s all she ever talked about. Hell, there were a couple times over the past few years she threatened to bail on the marriage so she could move home and open that bistro.” The admission surprised Marc. Jeff had alluded to Lexi being unhappy in the marriage, but he’d never been so blunt about it before. “When she decided to sell the house, I didn’t even ask for any of the proceeds because I knew she’d need the money for renovations.”
“According to Abby”—who had threatened to fly to New York and kill Jeffery, very slowly, with a pizza slicer—“Lexi doesn’t want to sink all of her money into a bistro when she doesn’t have a winning menu.”
Wingman’s ears perked up at the sound of Lexi’s name. So did Marc’s pulse.
“So, I ask again, is there any way you can do this without her recipes?”
“I wish,