What's Yours is Mine (4 page)

Where was he, anyway? Her pulse quickened at the thought of the coming battle. Was he even still here? Maybe he’d seen the light of reason and left last night. Or he’d headed to work early this morning, and she could lock him out. The possibilities were intriguing.
 

She grabbed last night’s clothes, fumbling with zippers and buttons. Bra. Pencil skirt. Badly wrinkled shirt. She picked up her undies, but in the end couldn’t bring herself to put them back on. It didn’t feel right to take a shower either, not until she was sure he was gone. Then she could head off to the gym for a much-needed workout and shower, then on into work for the department’s weekly meeting.
 

In the meantime, she was hungry.
 

The kitchen was stocked with healthy food. Granola, the kind that was all wood shavings and sticks. Rice milk (ugh). Piles and piles of fresh fruit. No Pop-Tarts to be found. Nothing sugary and unhealthy at all. It was like Will was punishing himself. Had he always been like this?
 

She set the bowl on the counter and picked up the cereal box; the movement stirred a memory. She’d been in Dubai for a series of meetings with the area distributors and local stores. One morning, she’d woken up early, an image in her mind of a slender hourglass shape for the Slippery Elm lotion container. She texted Will, grabbed a bowl of cereal from the hotel dining room, then hurried back to her room and hopped on Skype. It was six a.m. in the United Arab Emirates, six p.m. in California. She could see streaks of pink and orange out the window. When Will logged on and saw her gulping down her cereal, he laughed, telling her she should take her time, not eat so fast, or she might choke on her Lucky Charms. And then where would they be? Would the bell desk send someone to do the Heimlich?
 

He went on, embroidering a tale that got taller by the minute and involved the ruler of Dubai coming to her rescue and ultimately taking her camel racing and making her his fifth wife. By then, Darcy was snorting with laughter, trying hard to avoid spitting milk through her nose.

Will had ended his recitation with a severe look. “And to think, all of this could be avoided by switching to something actually digestible. I suggest oatmeal.”

Maybe he had been weird about food then after all, and she just hadn’t picked up on it. She hadn’t picked up on a lot of things about him, it seemed.
 

Her stomach growled, bringing her back to the present. She still held the box of twig granola but hesitated before pouring. Was it ethical to eat someone else’s food if they’d stocked your own pantry?
 

Contemplating the issue, Darcy poured rice milk (again, ugh) into the pathetic excuse for cereal and started munching as she gazed across the room. It sure was a pretty room, with pale wood floors and light pouring in from the skylight and windows. His furniture was several cuts above Ikea: clean, hand-carved lines, with inlaid stonework on the coffee table.
 

And there he was, the man himself. Stretched out on the couch, asleep; his arm over his eyes to block the sunlight. He’d donned a T-shirt and boxers sometime in the night. She’d been sleeping so soundly she hadn’t heard him rummage through his dresser. She, the lightest sleeper in the West. Astonishing.
 

Damn, but he was good-looking. His arms all muscle and sinew, dusted with fine, sun-bleached hair, his face like a goddamned angel carved from soft marble, Raphael or Gabriel, one of them. Ha, no, Lucifer, the fallen angel. An ironically beautiful exterior for such a self-serving, dark soul.
 

A dark soul she’d had mind-blowing hate sex with. Not her finest hour. Well, he’d be gone before the day was out, and maybe if she promised to be a really good girl, this would be the last time she’d have to deal with him.
 

Except… What if he was right and she didn’t really own the place after all?
 

Panic welled up, and she almost spit out her bite of tree bark and nuts.
 

No. It was her home. She’d signed the paperwork; the bank had her mortgage. It would be fine.
 

She put the bowl down and crossed over to the pile of stuff she’d dumped by the door last night. Her cell phone still had a charge, thankfully, and she still had Janet the Enthusiastic Realtor’s number in her favorites.
 

“Gillooly speaking.”

“Janet. It’s Darcy Jennings.” Darcy crouched by the door, half sitting. She spoke softly to avoid disturbing her slumbering opponent.
 

“Darcy! How do you like your new home? Isn’t it wonderful? Everyone in the complex is saying how much they love it. The sound of the ocean, the skylights, the exposed wood, the arched ceilings…”

“Yeah, it’s great. But there’s a problem. You know Will Dougherty?”

Janet sounded puzzled. “Will’s a sweetie. Surely you can’t have any gripes with him. He’s a perfect gentleman.”
 

Would Janet still think so if she’d seen them going at it last night? Darcy flushed. “Um, yeah. Can you look up the exact address of his condo? The unit number, I mean?”

“I’m not sure I should give out that information. Maybe you should ask him.”

Darcy rocked back on her heels. “Yeah. Well. I know what he thinks. He, uh, seems to think this is his condo.”

“Come again?”

“My place. Number fourteen. He thinks he bought it. Can you look it up?”

“Just a sec.”
 

Darcy could hear the shuffle of papers, the ringing of a phone in the background, the clacking of fingertips on a computer keyboard. Finally, Janet came back. “Um.”

“What?” A jolt of panic rose in her chest. “It’s not his. It can’t be. I signed the paperwork by proxy. You said it was completely legal.”
 

“Yeah. Um.” Janet sighed, her breath whistling down the phone receiver. “Let me call you back.”

And she hung up.
 

Darcy pulled the phone away from her ear, staring at it.
 

“It’s mine, isn’t it?” Will’s deep voice was redolent with satisfaction.
 

Darcy whirled around.
 

He was sitting up on the couch, running his hands through his unruly hair. “That was Janet, right? Telling you that you have to vacate because the place is mine. You made a mistake; you belong in number five or seven or one of those.” He gestured toward the far end of the U-shaped set of condos.
 

“She’s going to check into it, that’s all.”
 

He just looked at her. And with that look, last night came rushing back. Dammit. She never, ever should have had sex with him.
 

“I helped myself to breakfast. I’d ask if you minded, but I think I did you a favor cleaning that crap out of your kitchen.” She belatedly realized what she’d implied. “I mean, your food. Which doesn’t belong in my kitchen.”

The man had the temerity to grin. “You don’t like healthy food? Why am I not surprised?” He disappeared into the bedroom and came back a moment later, clad in sweatpants and a clean T-shirt. She watched as he padded to the kitchen. At least he was wearing clothes, but the graceful way he walked, the play of muscles under his shirt was—oh God, she had to stop looking.
 

“Food? Is that what you call it? I thought you gathered up a few sticks and leaves and stuck them in a box.” Wow, that was kind of mean. What was wrong with her? She knew how to play the game, how to be polite no matter the provocation. Negotiating with suspicious businessmen around the world had taught her that much, surely. Will brought out the worst in her.
 

He seemed unfazed, simply raising one eyebrow, irritatingly supercilious. “You want to eat junk? Fine. Not in my home.”

“Mine.”

“You don’t know that.” He scooped blueberries onto his twig granola, then cut up a whole banana and threw that on top. Ah, so that was how he managed to eat the stuff. He buried it.
 

“You don’t
know
that it’s yours. Maybe Janet made a mistake with your paperwork, not mine. By the way, what did you do with my sleeping bag? It was here when you moved in, wasn’t it?”

“That was yours? I stuck it in the closet. I can give it back to you. When you move into your real place.” He started eating the food with gusto. Darcy’s stomach rumbled in response.
 

Will glanced up, smirking.
 

Darcy made a face and grabbed her cereal bowl, choking down a few bites. “Where do you keep your coffee? I couldn’t find any.”

He wrinkled his nose. “I don’t rely on artificial stimulants.”

“You don’t…” She stared at him. “Okay, then. I’ll just pick some up on my way to the gym.”
 

Will took another bite. “You really don’t believe in the principles of Golden Organics, do you? ‘Beauty is more than skin deep.’ Just words to you. Coffee and toxins for breakfast, whatever gets you going.” He looked like he’d just bitten into something disgusting. Which of course, he had, but she didn’t think he was reacting to the food. What was he really talking about?
 

Darcy frowned. “Last night, you said I was—”
 

The doorbell rang. Darcy stood up, ready to head to the door, but Will rose more quickly. She sat back down as he went to open the door.
 

It was Janet Gillooly. “Ah, here you both are. Good, good.” She was accompanied by a familiar, tall, thin man with bushy eyebrows and a slight limp. “Darcy, you’ve met Tim Farrow, the developer.” He gave her a solemn nod and winked at Will as he followed Janet inside.
 

Will grinned back. “Hi, Tim.”
 

This was not looking good.
 

Janet plopped down on the couch, organizing a pile of papers in her lap. Tim sat down beside her and turned into a statue, utterly motionless. Darcy perched on the edge of the armchair, legs tightly closed so as not to reveal her lack of underwear.
 

Will stayed standing, arms folded. “So what’s the deal here? Who owns the place?”

Janet pulled out a sheet of paper. “Well, that’s just it. Here’s a copy of your contract. You signed right here.” She pointed to the spot. “Taking on the mortgage for number fourteen, this unit.”
 

Even though Darcy had braced herself for it, disappointment clogged her throat.

Will shot her a triumphant look. “Karma. Richly deserved.”
 

Karma? What did he think she’d done? Why did he hate her so much? She was the one with a grievance, not him.

Janet pulled out another sheet from her sheaf. “And here is Darcy’s contract. Signed and witnessed here.” She pointed at the signature lines. “For this very unit.”
 

Darcy blinked, dismayed. “I don’t understand.”

Will rocked back on his heels. “So we both own it? How in hell…?”

Janet looked uncomfortable. “Computer glitch. As a showcase, this unit had a name and a number. I sold you the Sea View. Tim sold Will number fourteen. The computer should have flagged it, but…” She shrugged, but it looked forced. Her feet tapped an anxious, unconscious Morse code message on the bamboo floor:
I screwed up.
 

Only one key on the hook in the real estate office. Janet saying,
“Sea View, is that unit fourteen or seventeen?”
The inspector:
“I’ve seen them all.”
And maybe he had, at that.
 

 
“So what now? Do we flip a coin, and the loser moves into another unit?”

“Um.” Janet exchanged glances with the developer.
 

He took over. “We’ve sold out the entire complex. Which is excellent. Astounding in this economy. The development did better than projected.” He nodded warmly at Will. “We’ll have to start talking about another site soon, Dougherty. There’s clearly a hunger for green living and quality workmanship, even in this climate.”

Darcy coughed to get his attention.
 

Tim swiveled toward her. “I’ll refund your money.”
 

“
My
money? Why does he get dibs? I bought this place fair and square. I told Janet I specifically wanted the model unit, the one shown in the virtual tour. I think I was the first one to buy in the whole complex. I bought it in good faith. It’s mine. You can’t just take it away from me.”
 

And give it to him, of all people.
But she didn’t say that part.
 

“But Will helped build—” Tim sputtered to a stop, maybe because of the glare she was aiming his way. “Naturally, I’ll refund the money to whichever one of you chooses to relinquish the property. We’ll even throw in moving expenses and temporary lodging. Within reason, of course.”
 

Whichever one of you chooses to relinquish this property.
So it was up to the two of them? She turned toward Will. He was gazing at her, his eyes dark and narrowed. He’d never give it to her. Illegal and immoral, that was how he thought of her.
 

For her part, she was damned if she’d let him have it. Another thing he could steal out from under her? Not if she had to nail the windows and doors shut.
 

She walked toward the glass door that led to the back deck. The ocean glinted and danced under the sunlight beyond the cliff edge. There wasn’t anything like this complex, not for miles and maybe not anywhere. Not for double the price. When she’d seen the model condo online, with its clean, wide-open spaces, the light, the clear sense of peace, she’d known this was it. Home.
 

She turned back around. “What if neither of us chooses to leave?”

Janet tittered nervously.
 

Will smirked. “Why do you want it so badly? It’s not like you’ll ever be home except to sleep. You could live in a hotel room just as comfortably.”
 

That stung. He knew damned well how much she hated living out of suitcases. “Not that it’s any of your business, but I sometimes even get out of work early. I have plans for this place. Barbecues. A little window-box garden…”