Page 4

I’d seen a lot of him lately. Not so much about cases and clients. No, he’d been snarking about how I should’ve seen Thea’s infidelity a mile away. How I should’ve anticipated the demise of my marriage much sooner. How I should’ve prepared better for this eventuality.

Not all marriages end in divorce.

Case in point—my siblings. Not a divorce among them. Nor with my parents or either set of grandparents. When a Chamberlain mated, they did so for life.

Except me.

A shiver wracked through me.

I angled myself to search the cabinets under the sink, and I located a hairdryer. The rest was simple. Well, sort of. I used one arm to grip the counter while the other held the hairdryer. After an inordinate amount of time, most of my hair was dry. Back to that shiny-blond color people paid hairdressers a lot of money to replicate.

My wife had always resented me for that. Perhaps that was why I grew it long—to spite her.

That’s not nice.

Neither was she. But I’d push that aside and work harder to be a worthier person. I wasn’t going to let this unamicable parting make me bitter. Hell, I was better off without her. Knowing now, while I still had some good years left on me, was a blessing.

Or so you tell yourself.

I tucked the hairdryer back under the sink. I grabbed a fresh towel to drape over my pillow, turned off the light, and headed for bed. Although I was a little thirsty, I wasn’t going to head back to the bathroom for a glass of water, and the stocked mini-fridge was just too far away. Plus, anything caffeinated or alcoholic likely wouldn’t be good for me at this point.

As planned, after I laid the towel across the pillow, I slid between the sheets.

Should’ve brushed your hair. It’ll be tangled in the morning.

I sighed. Yes, my snarky inner voice was right. Still, the thought of rising and making my way across the room was too much to contemplate. I’d be fine. My hair would survive. So I turned off the light and told myself to sleep.

Only sleep was slow in coming. My heart rate was back to normal, and the chest pain was gone—

Chest pain? And you didn’t call an ambulance because…?

Because I’m in perfect health. Because I’m in peak fitness. Because I’m not going to die in a hospital.

Right. Better to say I wasn’t going to die at all.

Because you haven’t changed your will, and Thea will get everything.

Fucking hell.

With some effort, I turned onto my side so I could grab my phone. When the screen illuminated, I entered my password. Then I tapped until I was at my to-do list. I entered change will at the top and pushed everything down. Nothing else mattered.

Nothing.

Sure, you tell yourself you’re not bitter —

Because I wasn’t. Just…if someone was going to inherit my share of my wealth upon my death, I wanted it to be my nieces and nephews. Life was tough enough these days for kids starting out. My family had the means to help each child, but a little extra from their favorite uncle Archer would go a long way to giving them a head start. Part of me railed against this—felt they needed to make their own way in the world.

The rest of me understood that Vancouver’s real estate market was vicious, and if any or all of them wanted to stay in the Lower Mainland, they’d need help to get started.

I could give them that help. Planned to anyway, even if I lived.

You’re going to live. That’s just an end of the discussion.

Except, flashing back to the episode in the shower, I wasn’t as convinced as I would’ve been, say, when I’d arrived here.

At least you didn’t…whatever…before you kicked douchebag out. He’d have freaked. Might’ve even called a doctor. Hey, when was the last time you saw a doctor? Aside from the pneumonia last year when you overworked yourself and —

Shut up. Seriously. Please shut up.

Yet I dutifully added call Doctor Yeardley to my to-do list. Just, farther down. I had a ton of stuff to do that was way too critical. That couldn’t wait.

What if this is a sign you need to slow down?

Nope. Wasn’t going there either. Construction of the second home was well underway, and I was headed out to see the place soon.

I would. I swore.

You’re always too busy. You’re just leaving it up to the professionals and getting regular updates.

True. But I planned to go out soon. I even planned to spend some time poking around Mission City. I’d been more concerned about the plot of land than the town it was closest to. An escape from Vancouver but only an hour’s drive away. A place with most amenities I might want while still having the small-town charm I craved.

What do you know about small-town charm?

Well, nothing. But I could learn. Hell, I wanted to learn. I was tired of the anonymity of city life. Would it be so bad to know the grocer’s name? To have a server greet me when I went into my favorite dining establishment? To have the dry cleaner know how I liked my suits pressed?

Wait. I wasn’t going to need my suits. I planned on changing into jeans and a chambray shirt before heading out of the city. No tailor-made jackets. No fitted pants. No starched shirts. Nope. Just clothes I could wear while chasing bears off my property and chopping wood.

Do you even own an axe, let alone know how to wield one?

Uh…no. But I could learn. I could accomplish anything I put my mind to.

Well, maybe not bear chasing. There were people for that.

Right?

My phone rang.

Jesus Fucking Christ.

Riley’s ringtone.

With some effort, I snagged the phone and then, despite my strong desire to sleep, I swiped to accept the call. “Archer.”

“Hey, Mr. Chamberlain—”

“Archer. Please, Riley, just Archer.”

She chuckled. “Years of habit. Many of my clients are more comfortable with formality.”

“Riley?”

“Yes?”

“You’re installing the crapper in my new home. We discussed a bidet along with pros and cons.”

“That’s true.” Another chuckle. “Okay, Archer.” She sighed. “I have some news.”

My chest tightened. I’d been working with the woman long enough to know she didn’t just call for the fun of it. We had our regular check-ins. “What’s happened?”

“Nothing too serious. Knight was out last week, and he’s happy with how we’ve implemented the design. Orlando came with him, and they consulted about some of the accoutrements—his word, not mine.”

Knight was my architect, and Orlando, his husband, was my interior decorator. Best in Mission City. I could have chosen someone from Vancouver, but I wanted a team who knew the surroundings, the town, and—most importantly—the mountain I was building my retreat on.

“They had a problem?” Hadn’t she just said they were happy ?

“None. Everything’s on track. We did, however, get a visit from the city inspector.”

“That’s to be expected. He has to sign off on everything, right?”

“She does.”

Ouch. You know what they saying about assuming —

“But that wasn’t why she was out.”

“This doesn’t sound good.”

“She’s received a couple of noise complaints.”

“Seriously? Who’s complaining? The deer?”

Knight’s sketches of the house included some of the local wildlife. He’d omitted the racoons, but had included a herd of deer.

“Well, no. Yes, your property is isolated. Your neighbor to the south, though, is much closer than anyone else. He’s a great guy—”

“But he complained.”

A pause. Then, “He has the right to. This is on me. We were racing to get ahead of some bad weather moving in, and we put in some extra-long days.”

“How long?” I didn’t like hearing the crew was wearing themselves ragged for my sake.

“We showed up on a Sunday morning and started at seven instead of nine. This is on me. I know the rules, but we had good weather and a bit of daylight, so we got to work. We stayed after five as well.”

Her wince, although I couldn’t see it, was pretty clear.