“Anyone here know a man named Frank Cardinale?”
Next to her, Frankie gasped. “What the eff?”
And suddenly, it was all clear. The name Cardinale was familiar because she’d heard it at the party—the owner of the land they wanted to purchase for the baseball team. No Prince Charming had blown in on his chopper to sweep her away. He’d stayed away from a woman who’d lied and hurt him so bad...and sent someone else to do his work.
That didn’t stop her from peering around the crowd and the tall cowboy to see into the helicopter on the off chance...
No. Elliott had come alone.
The only thing worse than the disappointment that crushed her chest was the fact that Tori was right there, witnessing Amanda’s defeat.
“I’m looking for Frank Cardinale,” Elliott called out.
Still staring at him, still wishing to God he was someone else, Amanda whispered to the woman next to her. “I think he wants to buy your land.”
When she didn’t answer, Amanda glanced to her left, but Frankie was gone. She turned, looking at the crowd behind her, but the other woman was darting away, headed in the other direction down the beach.
“Excuse me, miss.” A man tapped Amanda’s shoulder, and she whipped around, thinking...
Oh, she had to stop this right now. She smiled at the older man. “Yes?”
“Could you clean up our table over here? We had a martini spill.”
Amanda had to remember why she was here, and it wasn’t to entertain fairy tales that did not come true. “Of course.”
One more time, Tori jabbed her. “Give ’em hell, Mrs. Lockhart. I got some drinking to do.”
On an exhale that caught in her too-tight throat, Amanda turned from the scene and headed back to her tables. The senior citizens were definitely getting rowdy, and someone had clocked two glasses and spilled gin over the table.
She reached for her rag, but she’d left it at the bar...where Tori now stood. Damn it, she didn’t want to go back there. She glanced around again, tapping her pocket and wishing a dishrag would magically appear.
“Here, hon,” that same older man said, holding his hand out. “Use this.”
She gave him a grateful smile and took the paper towel, opening it to—
See words. Words written on the paper towel. She blinked at them, not able to read anything but seeing dark ink that had bled into the soft paper. A slow, agonizing trickle of awareness tiptoed up her spine, stealing her breath and making her head light.
Using two fingers, she spread the paper.
...do agree to pay...
She dropped the tray on the sand with a thud.
...imaginary girlfriend...
She squeezed her eyes shut. Was this a trick of the fading light? Tori’s idea of a joke?
...activities that require the removal of...
“Where did you get this?” she whispered, tearing her gaze from the paper towel to the man next to her.
Silently, he pointed over her shoulder. Very slowly, as if in a dream, she turned around, and there he was. His hands in his pockets, his linen shirt loose in the breeze, his smile as sweet and warm and stunning as the sunset behind him.
For the time it took her heart to stop then speed into overtime, they stared at each other.
Zeke took a few steps closer, his blue eyes intent...and on her. Everything around them fell away, the laughter, the music, the world. When he was right in front of her, he dipped down on one knee, and then she heard the collective gasp from people around them.
What was he doing? “Zeke...” His name came out in a croak.
Looking down, he reached for the tray she’d dropped and lifted it to her. Oh, God, what a fool she was. She’d thought—
And he placed a folded piece of paper on top of it.
Still on one knee, he hoisted the tray higher, the paper on it fluttering in the breeze.
“All this needs is your signature.”
* * *
The look on Mandy’s face was all Zeke needed to be absolutely certain he’d done the right thing.
Not contacting her for a week had been one of the hardest things he’d ever done. But those achy nights—and all the effort to get back here—were worth the pure happiness he could see in her eyes.
She reached for him, closing her fingers around his forearm and tugging him up to her with enough strength in her touch for him to know she wanted him right where he wanted to be...closer.
“Is that what I think it is?” she whispered.
He nodded, keeping his vow not to say a word until her signature was on the divorce decree he’d paid a lot of money to some of the lowest people on Hong Kong’s food chain to get signed by her ex. It hadn’t been that hard, based on what he was able to find out about Doug Lockhart. Not hard for a man like Zeke, who had connections all over the world.
Information and location and access were all easily bought with a few million dollars.
The job had been expensive, yes. But he’d have paid six times that much if he’d had to. Ten. A hundred. Whatever it took for this moment and Mandy to be his.
As he stood, she held his gaze, a gorgeous glisten in her green eyes, the tears the kind he’d hoped she’d shed.
“How?” she asked.
He angled his head as if to say, Do you really need to ask? Next to him, Paul Jameson, one of Zeke’s longtime top managers, produced a pen.
“I will witness and notarize the second signature,” Paul said.
“The second...” Mandy looked from one to the other, letting out a soft laugh. “You are relentless.”
Zeke didn’t answer, but Paul nodded to the document. “Go ahead, ma’am,” Jameson said. “It is one hundred percent official.”
Her hands trembled as she opened the paper and then let out an audible sigh as she read the words Zeke had memorized already.
Final decree of dissolution of marriage.
Paul had only included the last page, the important one that required her signature. Right next to Douglas B. Lockhart’s. B for bastard.
The bastard who was already in the hands of federal authorities. But not, Zeke had made sure, until he’d signed his divorce decree.
Once again, Mandy looked up at him. “Thank you.”
He mouthed one word. “Sign.”
Without hesitation, she put the pen to the paper and scribbled her name. Still looking down, she set the pen on the tray and took a slow, deep breath.
“That doesn’t make anything legal.” Tori muscled her way closer, her face pink with anger and jealousy. “She’s still married!”