The Billionaire’s Ex-Wife
His favorite suit was wrinkled. It didn’t matter if there was only one: the wrinkle was there, leering up at him like a lopsided, mocking smile.
Sam Jameson shook out his sleeve, but the minor imperfection remained. Minor, he thought to himself in consolation. A wrinkle that wouldn’t smooth was the least of his problems today; still, it lingered in the back of his mind as much as it lingered on the otherwise crisp fabric of his suit.
Sam distracted himself by gazing about the familiar waiting room of the New York office. He missed the East Coast more than he could express, and he wasn’t an expressive man by nature—but even he could appreciate the familiar, sanitized smell of the office, the classic wooden furnishings, and the precision of the New York City skyline just outside the high window. The L.A. office always smelled like someone was secretly giving manicures in the staff kitchen, and the West Coast skyline was…quirky. Slipshod. Obscured by a permanent haze and decidedly not up to code.
L.A. was to blame for Sam’s current predicament, of that he had no doubt. Who the hell lodged a complaint about “annoying perfectionism” and took their business elsewhere? Apparently L.A. clients did. Sam blamed the strange holistic culture that had seized the West Coast—the culture of “mistakes are successes that haven’t happened yet”, or whatever inane philosophy Californians liked to paste on the bumpers of their hybridized cars—but his older brother William didn’t see things the way he did. That was partly why Willian was CEO, and Sam was COO, of Jameson Advertising Agency: it wasn’t just a matter of age, but perspective…or so their father had once explained it.
If only Sam could give William a momentary demotion and make him see things from his point of view. This move to onboard Eddie was a mistake. More than that, it was far below Sam’s paygrade—but even he wasn’t so callous as to say as much out loud. He had learned early that when it came to family, talking in strictly business terms wasn’t exactly smiled upon.
But surely even William could see, from his lofty vantage as CEO, that bringing Eddie any closer in the family business was a mistake. Their father had certainly thought so. The youngest Jameson simply wasn’t cut out for more than wining and dining clients.
Inviting the family screw-up back into the fold didn’t seem like a wise move to Sam—but who was he to protest it? He would get in, do the job to a more than acceptable degree, and get out, the same as he always did. William wouldn’t be able to argue with the results, and then Sam could get the hell back to L.A. and move onto better things.
The door opened and Sam rose, applying one last swipe to the wrinkle. He raised his gaze, expecting to find Eddie’s lopsided grin and ridiculous eyebrows waggling a greeting.
Instead, it was his own ex-wife he found staring back at him.
“Trinity.” He hated how out of practice he suddenly sounded saying her name out loud. Not a day had passed since their separation that it didn’t enter his head on a repeating loop, always in threes: Trinity. Trinity. Trinity. “What are you doing here?”
His ex-wife blinked her gorgeous doe eyes like he had her caught in a crosshairs. Obviously his presence in the room wasn’t a surprise to her, but maybe seeing an estranged spouse in the flesh shook her as much as it shook him.