Page 17 of Scoring Eden

On the desk, my coffee is going cold, cream curdling on the surface. My computer screen glares at me, open on the list of tasks I need to complete before the next appointment, and I get the terrible urge to throw my fist through it. That, or straight into my boss’s nose.

Anderson’s eyes narrow as he stands back to his full height—an unimpressive five foot eight. “I’ll check with her. But if she hasn’t, then you can compensate me for the loss through your paychecks.”

I wouldn’t expect anything less.

“Roger that.”

The reception door cracks open behind him, and Anderson turns to face the newcomer, plastering on an easy smile as if he hasn’t spent the last ten minutes spraying spittle at my face.

“Oh, Sebastian. How nice to see you.”

What?

Oh, hell no.

The very last person I want to see right now steps out from behind him, strutting to the desk like he owns the fucking company.

My ex-husband is dressed in a navy suit—Versace, probably; it was always his favorite—and brown loafers, with a briefcase dangling from one hand. His hair is perfect as always, dark and combed over, his deceivingly handsome face bare-shaven. He looks every inch the successful corporate lawyer he’s fortunate enough to be.

“Sebastian.” I don’t attempt to conceal the loathing in my voice. I’d rather spend the next three hours covered in Anderson’s saliva than have a single conversation with him.

His brown eyes darken to almost black as he fixes them on me. “Eden.”

He says my name like he’s admonishing a child. As if I’m in trouble for having the audacity to exist.

“Why are you here?”

He blesses my boss with a charming smile—the one he used to give me when he would come home after a night drinking with his friends while I stayed home with Macon. As if that one shiny grin could make everything better. As if it could erase the injustice of our situation and the resentment harboring in my heart.

“Andy, could you give us a moment?”

My boss doesn’t even correct him. There is no harshly spoken “Doctor Anderson” or even a flicker of annoyance on his face at the error. Sebastian has that effect on people. He is a master at bending others to his will, at manipulating people to such a degree that they don’t realize they’ve fallen on his knife until their soul has already left their body.

It’s the reason I stayed for so long.

Anderson nods, rambling some gushy bullshit I don’t care to hear before leaving us alone.

Silence stretches between us, fraught with the peril of our history. All the while, I force myself to hold his gaze, determined not to wither beneath the brutality of it.

He sucks in a long breath. “I’m getting married.”

I gape back at him with confusion. “Congratulations?”

We’ve been divorced for years. I couldn’t give less of a shit about his relationship status. Macon’s already told me he’s in a relationship with some girl in her freshman year of college, and I’ve caught glimpses of her through the window, waiting in the car when Sebastain comes to pick him up.

Macon likes her, says she’s fun and watches musicals with him on the big TV while his dad’s out, so I have no reason to hate her. I trust my son’s judgment. Besides, if anything, I feel bad for her. She’s inherited a twenty-eight-year-old manchild who can’t wash his own laundry.

“That’s all you have to say?”

I almost laugh. “What? Are you expecting a hug?”

He shakes his head, raising his gaze to the ceiling as if praying to a higher power. “God, you really haven’t changed, have you?”

“Thank you?” I say, though something tells me it wasn’t a compliment.

His frown deepens, his eyes alight with so much hostility I almost wish Anderson was still yelling at me instead.

“Would it kill you to act your age for once in your life? To show some semblance of maturity and respect?”