Real Regrets (Kensingtons Book 2)

I’m expecting my office to be empty when I walk in, like it is every morning. There weren’t lights on in a single office I just passed.

But my office is not empty.

“Finally.” Scarlett rolls her eyes, crossing her legs. She’s tilted one of the chairs that normally faces my desk so it’s aimed at the window instead, turned toward the sunrise.

I blink at her, wondering if I walked into the wrong office somehow. Last night was the worst sleep I’ve had in a while, so it’s possible I turned right instead of left. But a quick glance at my desk confirms I’m in the right place.

I walk over to my chair and set my briefcase on the desk.

“What are you doing here?”

She ignores my question, standing and walking over to my bookcase. Her nails are painted the same crimson shade as her lips, contrasted against the black leather spines as she skims them. “I couldn’t find any legal pads. Do you have a secret office supplies stash somewhere?”

“I—”

There’s a knock on the door. Scarlett turns away from the books and walks right over to it like she’s expecting someone. “Morning, Jeremy.”

“Morning, Scarlett.” Jeremy Brennan walks into the office, and Scarlett closes the door behind him. “Hi, Oliver.”

I nod at Jeremy. “What is going on, Scarlett?”

“You need a lawyer.” She points at Jeremy. “Lawyer.”

“Kensington Consolidated lawyer. No offense to Jeremy, but this has nothing to do with the company.”

“He’s the only attorney we should trust to keep this quiet.”

“There’s something called attorney-client privilege, Scarlett.”

She shakes her head. “All it would take is a legal secretary whispering to a friend about a new client, and every journalist in this city will be combing through the Nevada marriage certificates, Oliver.”

Another knock on the door. This time Asher enters, holding two cups of coffee. “Morning, gang.” He hands one cup to Scarlett. “Boss.”

Jeremy laughs as I sink down into my desk chair.

“Scarlett didn’t mention you guys would be here, or I would have grabbed you all coffee,” Asher says.

“Scarlett didn’t mention any of you would be here. I came in early to work on the Cushings report.”

Asher takes a seat on the couch and spreads an arm across the back of the cushions. “Have to say, I didn’t see you telling Scarlett about this.”

“Anyone feel like cluing me in on what this is?” Jeremy asks.

Scarlett sips her coffee. “Oliver’s a newlywed. He married a woman in Vegas last weekend. No prenup.”

Something about the matter-of-fact way she summarizes the situation makes it sound way worse. I adjusted to the state of things in my head, I guess. Spoken out loud sounds dire.

Asher’s expression doesn’t change since it’s not news to him. But a flash of shock crosses Jeremy’s face before he shuts it down and glances at me. “You’re wanting to end the marriage, I presume?”

I nod. “Yes.”

“And she feels the same way?”

“She is Hannah Garner,” Asher tells Jeremy, emphasizing the name in a way that makes it obvious it should mean something to him.

Crew and Jeremy are good friends, so I probably shouldn’t be surprised. But I am. I had no idea who she was, and that emphasizes how wide the chasm between me and my brother is.

It’s also strange to realize everyone in this room has met Hannah. Since I returned from Vegas, it’s felt like the short amount of time I spent with her was a mirage, almost. Being here, in my familiar office, discussing her, a wife I barely know, is an unexpected collision of worlds.

“I don’t need to ask if she’s aware of your net worth, then,” Jeremy states.

Asher snorts. I start to question why Scarlett invited him.

“How long will a divorce take?” I ask Jeremy.

“I can’t give you an exact answer. Aside from one seminar when I was a 2L and studying for the bar, I don’t know much about family law. But marriage is a legal commitment, not just a romantic notion. Until a judge signs the divorce decree, you’re married in the eyes of the law. And every state is different. Some have separation waiting periods. Ideally, the petition will be for a no-fault divorce on the grounds of irreconcilable differences. Once it’s filed, your spouse is served with the papers. She’ll have a set amount of time to respond. If she raises no objections, there’s just the divorce settlement. Ideally, you’d present one to the court to sign off on.”

“Is there a way to keep it quiet? Out of the press?”

To my relief, Jeremy nods. “If the divorce is uncontested and you settle without going to trial, no one besides you, Hannah, and any attorneys involved will have any details. If you can’t agree on the terms of the divorce, it will go to trial. Family court trials are public, so court reporters are allowed in the proceedings. That could get very messy, very fast. You can also add a confidentiality clause, which would bar Hannah from discussing the divorce with anyone—even family. If she violated it, she would owe you punitive damages. In this circumstance, she could make millions off talking, so we could set that number high as a deterrent.”

I nod. “What about an annulment? That means the marriage never happened, right?”

“Technically, yes. But I wouldn’t recommend an annulment. Grounds for annulment are very specific, and you have to prove they apply.”

“What are the grounds?” Scarlett asks.

“Fraud or misrepresentation, coercion, under the age of consent, incest, bigamy or polygamy, force or threat of force, mental incapacity—”

“He was so drunk he doesn’t remember marrying her,” Scarlett says. “Doesn’t that count as mental incapacity?”

“It’s better for Oliver if he’s the one petitioning. If he is, that means to file for an annulment on the grounds of mental incapacity because of alcohol, he’ll have to prove she meets the definition of mental incapacity set by state law in the jurisdiction where he files.”

Asher lets out a long, overdone snore.

Jeremy rolls his eyes. “That will most likely require a hearing. And frankly, it’s hard to prove. Divorce will be quicker and easier, in my estimation.” He glances at me. “If you want me to represent you, I’m happy to. And you have my word it’ll stay private on our side. I don’t even have to involve a paralegal. But you could have any attorney you want. There are plenty of sharks out there who have decades of experience with high-profile divorces. You might be better off with one of them. Especially if Hannah decides to make anything difficult.”

“Which she probably will,” Asher comments.

I don’t realize I’m glaring until he shrugs and grabs his coffee cup from the table next to the couch. Of course, he’s not using one of the coasters.

“Fine.” Asher sighs. “I’ll be optimistic. She probably won’t try to get a few hundred million out of this, knowing you’re worth ten times that, and she has a good chance of getting half if she puts any effort into it.”

I’m not annoyed with Asher’s pessimism. I’m irritated he’s insulting Hannah. If she has a devious, underhanded side, I’ve never seen it.

And it feels wrong, listening to someone disparage the woman I’m married to. It doesn’t feel like we’re on adverse sides. It’s felt like we’re figuring this out together.

“The marriage was never…consummated,” I tell Jeremy. “Does that make any difference?”

“Legally, no. Not unless we wade into certain grounds or canon law, and it will be much cleaner to just file for divorce. You have the marriage license?”

I nod. “Not on me,” I lie.

It’s in my wallet, but revealing I’ve carried it around with me feels personal, somehow.

“You really don’t remember the wedding?” Jeremy asks.

“The whole night is hazy.”

“Probably drugs,” Asher says. “Vegas is wild. People put all sorts of shit in drinks.”

I’m not sure if the possibility should make me feel better or worse. It’s not a comforting explanation, but at least it’s one.

Asher’s phone buzzes. “It’s Crew,” he says, squinting at the screen. Then he laughs. “He wants to know if I’ll get him coffee on the way into work. His fridge is full of plant liquid.”

Scarlett shrugs. “If he forgot to put cow milk on the grocery list, that’s his fault.”

“Where does he think you are?” Asher asks, typing a response to Crew.

“A textiles meeting in SoHo. It’s his morning with Lili.”

Jeremy stands. “I’ve got to go finish drafting a contract.” He glances at me. “Think it over and let me know how I can help, Oliver.”

“I will.” I stand too, walking over and shaking his hand. “Thanks, Jeremy. I really appreciate it.”

Jeremy nods and leaves. Asher heads out right after him, still on his phone, tossing a “Good luck” over one shoulder. Scarlett picks up her handbag and prepares to leave as well.

“Have you spoken to Hannah since you left Vegas?”

“Just once, about our attorneys.”

I lie again, and I’m not sure why.

Maybe because I know Scarlett wouldn’t be nodding approvingly if I’d told her we talked last night, and I proceeded to lie in bed for hours after she hung up, replaying our short conversation over and over again.

This is more interest than Scarlett has ever shown in my life. I thought she would want Crew to become CEO. Instead, she’s encouraging—helping—me possibly take the role.

Or maybe this has nothing to do with me and everything to do with Hannah. If I’d married someone who has no history with Crew, she probably wouldn’t care this much.

“Once you decide who’s representing you, you should cut off all contact. Have everything go through the lawyers.”

I nod as Scarlett strides toward the door, not bothering to mention Hannah already suggested that. Because while that’s what we both agreed to, she hasn’t given me an attorney’s name. I haven’t given her an attorney’s name.

And now her family knows, which shouldn’t matter. Unless they’re planning to contact the Los Angeles Gazette and offer up an exclusive, it’ll have no impact on our divorce. But it feels…odd, knowing they know. Wondering what they think of it. Of me.

“Oh, and don’t tell her about Arthur’s offer. If she knows you have a reason to hasten the divorce, she might try to drag it out.”

I nod again.

She nods back, grabbing the door handle.

“Thank you, Scarlett.”

Whatever her motivations, this is more than I expected. And even if she’s focused on helping because she’s worried about the Kensington fortune or hates Hannah, it deserves acknowledgment.

Scarlett nods. “Family is supposed to support you no matter what, right?”

I raise a brow. “Not mine.”

She laughs. “Yeah. Not mine, either.”

“Change is good.”

“It is. Bye, Oliver.”

“Bye, Scarlett.”

I stare at the closed door for a minute after she’s gone, then shake my head and sit down at my desk. I get through the Cushings report that I came in to finish, send it, and then start sifting through unread emails.

Once I’m caught up, I decide I need another cup of coffee.

When I open my office door, my father is standing next to Alicia’s desk. She glances at me nervously as I stand in the doorway, studying my dad.

I could count on one hand the number of times he’s come to my office. He always summons me to his, the largest on the floor, with its own conference room and eating area. It even has a private bathroom. I think it used to be aspirational, a Look what could be yours if you work hard enough enticement. Now, I see it as a taunt. Look what will never be yours, no matter how hard you work.

But never is no longer as solid as I thought. I’m sure he’s here for an update regarding Quinn, and I don’t have an answer for him.

My father follows Alicia’s gaze over to me.

“Dad,” I greet.

“Oliver.” He mirrors my blank tone. “Do you have a minute?”

I nod and step to the side, letting him walk in first and then closing the door behind him.

“You’re in early.”

I nod again, not mentioning I’ve been here for hours, same as most mornings.

“We haven’t had a chance to speak since dinner. Leonardo is anxious to know—”

“We both know you’re the one impatient for an answer, Dad. And I don’t have one for you. Not yet.”

“Did you find Quinn objectionable?”

He knows as well as I do that Quinn is a perfect candidate to become a Kensington. Wealthy, educated, beautiful. Well-mannered but not boring. We didn’t spend any time alone together all night. But unless it’s an impeccable act, she’s exactly what is expected for a CEO’s wife.

If this conversation was taking place before I left for Las Vegas, I probably would have already agreed to propose.

“Quinn seems wonderful. But it’s a big decision to make, and I’m not ready to make it.”

A vein throbs in my father’s forehead. He wants me to take his deal; that much is obvious.

But I’m not sure why. Because he’s second-guessing Crew’s commitment? Because he regrets not leaving it to me all along, like Scarlett suggested?

“Fine,” he says, in a tone that suggests the opposite. Because my father hates nothing more than being in a situation where he’s not making the decisions. “But I’ll need an answer soon, Oliver.”

I don’t miss the vague deadline. He wants me to be constantly on edge, waiting for soon to become now. Knowing at any moment the offer could expire, and I’ll be left with no chance.

“Understood.”

He studies me for a minute before he eventually nods. “I was hoping for an update on the Cushings—”

“Already in your inbox.”

Something that almost looks like pride appears on his face. But he says nothing else before leaving my office.

I exhale once the door shuts behind him, sitting back down at my desk and staring out the window.

A couple of minutes later, there’s a knock on the door.

“Come in,” I call.

Alicia pokes her head in, a mug of steaming coffee in one hand. “I figured you were headed toward the kitchen earlier.”

“Thank you,” I tell her, as she sets the coffee down and then heads back toward the door.

“Hi, Mr. Kensington.”

I glance up as Crew returns the greeting. I usually have one visitor in my office a day. Sometimes two. Today, it feels like I’m working in the middle of Grand Central.

Alicia closes the door behind her, leaving the two of us alone.

I start to stand, but Crew waves me back down as he takes the seat across from me. Ironically, it’s the same spot Scarlett was sitting in earlier. It’s still tipped toward the windows. “Passed Dad on the way here.”

“Yeah. He wanted a report on dinner.”

“And an answer?”

“Yes.” I already knew Crew was aware of the potential deal, thanks to Scarlett. But discussing it with Crew directly is different. More awkward.

“Is that the one you gave him?”

I shake my head. “I haven’t decided.”

“Why not?” There’s no judgment in Crew’s voice, just curiosity.

“I don’t know what to do.”

“You take the damn deal, Oliver, and become the next CEO of Kensington Consolidated.”

I look out the windows. “I’m sick of Dad pulling the strings. He told you marriage came with CEO and look how that’s turned out.”

“I would have married Scarlett even if it meant I’d never became CEO,” Crew tells me. “And that’s why I think you should give Quinn a chance. Allow yourself to have more than work. I promise you Candace isn’t sitting around punishing herself.”

“You can’t just shove two people together and expect they’ll fall in love, Crew.”

He shrugs. Grins. “It worked for me.”

I roll my eyes. “And I’m happy for you and Scarlett. It’s just not the reality for most people.”

“Are you going to ask Quinn out?”

I exhale. “Yes. It’d be nice to have a conversation without both of our families within earshot.”

Crew smirks. “So…you got her number?”

“No,” I admit. I spent most of dinner worrying whether Scarlett was going to tell Crew about Hannah, and what his response might be if she did. Aside from some basic questions, I barely spoke to Quinn.

Crew reaches into his pocket and pulls out a piece of paper. When he unfolds it, I realize it’s a cocktail napkin. He balls it up and tosses it to me. “There you go.”

“You asked for her number?”

He nods. “It was Scarlett’s idea. I told Quinn you asked me to get it discreetly, so you guys could set up a meeting without the pressure from your parents. Quinn called it a ‘brilliant idea,’ then gave me that.” Crew grins, and it’s a boyish one. He looks less like a work colleague and a lot more like my little brother, for the first time in a while.

I flatten the napkin, staring at the neat digits. “Thanks.”

I’m surprised—touched—he made the effort. And I feel extra guilty for keeping Hannah from him, especially as the list of people who know about our marriage grows.

“Well, I’ll get out of here. Unless you need help with how to ask her out?”

I probably do, but there’s no way I’m asking my younger brother for dating tips. “I’m good, thanks.”

He smiles and stands. “Assuming you came in early and already finished the Cushings report?”

“Yeah. I sent it to Dad. You were on the email too.”

“This company would be fine without me, Oliver. You? Not so much.”

Before I can formulate a response—or really register his words—my phone rings.

“See you later,” Crew says, then leaves.

“Bye,” I call after him, then answer the call. “Hello?”

“Hey, Oliver! How are you?” Garrett’s baritone booms across the line. I haven’t talked to him since we parted ways in the New York airport after returning from Vegas.

“I’m good, thanks.” Not entirely accurate, but the expected response. “How are you?”

He sighs, some of the cheerfulness leaving his voice. “Wedding is still on, if that’s what you’re asking. I told Sienna about Vegas. She threw my phone at a wall, which is why I’m calling you on your work line. Some of my contacts got erased when they transferred the data to my new phone.”

“Oh.” I’m not sure how else to respond to that.

Garrett chuckles. “Sorry. Too much information. Anyway, I wanted to see if you might want to grab a drink this weekend. Or dinner. All the craziness in Vegas, we hardly got to catch up.”

I look at the napkin Crew left on my desk. “You want to double?”

It’s been a while since I went on a proper date. I’m apprehensive about the prospect for a whole host of reasons. Going out with another couple sounds like lower stakes. And if Quinn and I do enter an arrangement, it will be a common occurrence.

“Double? You’re seeing someone?”

“Sort of. It’s new.”

“Yeah, that sounds fun. I’d like for you to get to know Sienna better. Setting aside…everything.”

“None of my business, Garrett.”

“I appreciate it. Hey, give me your cell and I’ll get a reservation, then text you the details. Sound good?”

After I’ve rattled off my cell number, we say our goodbyes and hang up.

By the time I’ve reviewed everything that’s urgent in my inbox, it’s almost one. Lunch is always catered in the executive floor’s eating area. That’s the worst part of working on the weekends, honestly. It’s hard to beat the convenience of quickly grabbing a hot meal right down the hall instead of having to pack something or order it to the lobby.

Instead of sitting down at one of the tables, I carry a plate of roasted chicken and vegetables back to my office. Despite coming in early, this morning’s distractions mean I’m running behind on what I’d planned to accomplish today.

Right as I’ve sat down at my desk with lunch, my phone rings. My personal cell, not my work line.

I glance at the screen, an unexpected jolt of excitement immediately affecting me. There’s no dread or annoyance when I see her name.

I rub my palms together and clear my throat twice before I answer Hannah’s call.

“Good afternoon,” she greets.

I smile, then glance at the clock. “Good morning.”

“Thought you might be at lunch.”

“It’s a working one today,” I answer. “You were hoping for my voicemail?”

“Honestly…yes.”

I make a beeping sound and instantly feel like an idiot.

Hannah’s laughter catches me off guard. It’s bright and warm and ends too soon. “I called to ask you this last night, then chickened out,” she admits.

My mind begins racing with different possibilities. What could she possibly be nervous about asking me? Were Asher and Scarlett right? Is this going to become about money?

“My parents are hosting a family dinner on Saturday night. And they wanted me to invite you. They…want to meet you.”

“Why?”

She mumbles something unintelligible. Then exhales. “They met other guys I’ve dated, and I didn’t marry any of them. They’re curious. Overbearing. I don’t know. I tried to talk my mom out of it, but she insisted I ask you. So I’m just…asking.”

My work phone starts ringing. It’s an extension few people have, so it’s probably important.

I ignore it. “They know we’re getting divorced, right?”

“Yes. But they also think our marriage means you’re important to me, so you’re important to them.”

“I can’t this weekend, Hannah.” I pinch the bridge of my nose. Surprisingly, I’m not having to feign the note of regret in my voice. I’m curious about her family. And part of me wants to see her again, away from the neon lights of Vegas. “We just closed a deal with a pharmaceutical company, and I—”

“Yeah, I saw. Thompson & Thompson. Congrats.”

“Right.” I’m surprised she knows the details, and it resonates in my response. It was a nice deal, but not exactly front-page news. The only people I’d expect to take note are those ensconced in the business world.

There’s a knock on the door.

“Not now!” I call out, right as the phone on my desk begins ringing again. “I’m sorry, Hannah.” I’m not even sure what I’m apologizing for. I hate apologizing. Usually avoid it at all costs.

“It’s fine, Oliver.” There’s not even the barest hint of anger or disappointment in her voice.

No is the answer she was expecting, I realize. She was reluctant to ask and fully expecting me not to accept. Neither of those sit well with me.

“I settled on an attorney this morning,” Hannah says. “I’ll send you her information.”

“Okay.”

“Okay. Have a good day, Oliver.”

She doesn’t continue with our time zone game and wish me a good afternoon.

That bothers me just as much as the way she immediately sends me the name and number of her attorney once we’ve hung up. She’s selected representation, and I still haven’t. Of the two of us, I’m the one holding up our divorce.

I don’t know what to make of that. Of any of this.