What's Yours is Mine (6 page)

“We
don’t
share ownership. As I explained on the phone. I thought all good lawyers took copious notes. I own this place.”

Will crossed his arms. “She thinks.”

Rafael sat down on the deck chair. “Yes, you said something about how you own it and he owns it, but really you do, but that’s, well, I thought… You were never a couple? Are you sure?”
 

Darcy avoided Will’s gaze. “I’m sure.”

Will’s voice was soft but unmistakably bitter. “I would never get entangled with someone like her if I had any choice in the matter.”

Ouch.
 

Rafael put his elbows on the rough wood patio table. “So what exactly happened?”

Darcy glanced at Will. “I bought this condo the very first day it went on the market. I was in Shanghai, so I faxed the paperwork and then had the rest done by proxy. Janet told me I was the first buyer in the whole complex.”
 

Will jumped in. “I bought the condo before it went on the market. My down payment was my work on the complex. Services offered in lieu of cash. You’ll find it spelled out in my contract.”

“Well, I slept here the night of the inspection. Before the closing. That gives me prior possession or something, doesn’t it?”

“You did that without Tim’s permission, didn’t you? I’m not sure that was legal. But I guess you only care about the law when it’s on your side.” Will smirked at her.
 

Darcy realized her hands were curling into fists. She’d moved so close they stood nose to nose. She took a deep breath and stepped back. Will’s eyes glinted.
 

Rafael was watching the two of them avidly. “You didn’t meet for the first time when you moved here, did you?”
 

“That’s not important.” Will’s voice was curt. “If you’re keeping tabs, you should note that all this furniture is mine. She might have slept here that night, but in a sleeping bag on the floor. Like a squatter. I’m the one who moved in. She still doesn’t have any furniture.”

Darcy narrowed her eyes. “Yeah, why is that? I remember ordering some online. It was supposed to be delivered by yesterday.”

Will’s cheek twitched, a dead giveaway. “Not relevant.”

“Very relevant. I would have had furniture in place, but
you
sent it away.” She turned to Rafael, whose lips were pursed like he was trying not to laugh. Her father had said this guy was good, but come on. Smirking at the client? “So what’s the verdict, Mr. Lawyer Man? Are you going to write up a writ or affidavit or something to kick this guy out of my condo?”

Rafael shoved the notepad into his satchel and stood up. “It’s a nice home. I can understand why you both want to live here.” He gazed through the glass door into the great room beyond. “Why don’t you just, I don’t know, put a curtain up as a divider, like in that Cary Grant movie?”

Darcy blinked. “You’re not actually charging for this advice, are you?”

He shrugged, nonchalant. “Don’t worry, it’s a freebie, a favor for your dad. You can take this dispute to court, of course, but neither of you has very strong grounds. You both do own it right now. A judge might well say to cut the condo in half, like Solomon and that baby.”

Darcy sensed Will moving to stand beside her on the deck, making the hairs on her arms feel prickly and electric with his nearness. When he spoke, his voice rumbled near her ear. “So Tim was right. It’s up to us to decide who stays and who goes.”

“That’s about the size of it. Or hand the place back to the developer, recover your down payments, and both go condo shopping.” Rafael squeezed past him, heading back into the condo.
 

Will stepped aside, moving closer to Darcy, his bicep brushing hers. She jumped, and he hastily stepped back, away. Which felt bizarrely like a loss. A loss of what? The man was a skunk. With a great body and a sharp mind, but a home-stealing skunk. She’d do well to remember what he’d done to her career.
 

Darcy fled through the condo toward the front door, opening it to usher Mr. Useless Lawyer out. He handed her his card. “Call me if you need anything else.”

“What about suing the real estate agents? They screwed up, after all. They put us in this situation.” Maybe her father was right. Sue everyone.
 

“Sure, there you might have a case. If you want to follow up with that, let me know. But I thought you were hoping to claim sole ownership. I’m not sure how suing them will get your friend here to relinquish his rights over this place.” He glanced toward the back, where Will stood silhouetted by the glass door. “Honestly? I’d work out your differences with him. It’s just a condo.”

Darcy slammed the door behind him. Just a condo!
 

She slumped into the armchair, closing her eyes. Just
the
condo, more like. He should try looking at the options in her price range within a one-hour commute. Sure, there were some down in Santa Barbara, 1940s-era dumps with earthquake cracks and insulation so bad you could hear the neighbors scrambling eggs. Or sterile high-rises with world-class gyms, but the units smelled like chemicals and carpet mites. Or minuscule but lavish condos in the hills, equipped with mirrored walls and ’70s-style avocado-green kitchenettes that would cost a fortune to remodel.
 

She opened her eyes the moment she heard an unmistakable sound: the glass door in back sliding open.
 

Will was stepping back outside, onto the patio. Now was her chance.
 

Darcy nearly flew across the room, grabbed hold of the door, ready to yank it shut.
 

Will turned, oh so casual, the sunlight lighting up the gold streaks in his hair—and smiled at her. “I wouldn’t bother. I’ve jimmied it. It won’t lock.”

“You what?”
 

Darcy yanked the door shut anyway, just to spite him. She fumbled with the lock. Sure enough, it was now nonfunctional. She slid it back open and stepped outside, blinking at the sudden brightness. “Why?”

“Isn’t that obvious?” He slid his hands in his pockets, leaning back against the rail, looking like an outdoorsy jeans ad. “I’d go crazy cooped up in there. It’s unhealthy. Now you can’t lock me out if I come back here for some sun and air. I’m still on the premises. I’m still keeping to the parameters of the deal.”
 

“But anyone can break in. Hell, they won’t even have to break in, just saunter inside and steal all our stuff. My laptop. Everything.”

“Good point. Maybe you should find a safer place to live.”

She thinned her lips. “Tell me you’ll fix it before bedtime.”

“Say please.”
 

She curled her fists behind her back to avoid smacking the smirk off his face. Inside the living room, her phone was singing a ringtone she’d set up for the office. Oh crap, how late was it?
 

Darcy gave Will a withering look—at least, she hoped it was withering—and raced back inside. Work took precedence.

Chapter Five

It had been half an hour and Darcy was still ensconced in the bedroom. At first, Will convinced himself he liked it this way. He could pretend she had never invaded his home, laying siege with that overentitled, self-righteous, crazed-woman vibe. But her things were still in a pile by the front door, her dishes on the kitchen counter, and her scent in his nostrils: floral mixed with something sharp and citrusy. He couldn’t ignore her presence. He also couldn’t leave, not beyond the confines of the property. So it wasn’t like he could go hammer some boards together or ride his bike until he was sweaty and exhausted, his mind a blessed blank.
 

Will paced. He called a prospective client, then sat down at his laptop and emailed them some blueprints. He made a follow-up phone call to a recent client to see how they liked the work. He tweaked a design he was considering implementing. And periodically he got up to pace some more. The length of the living room to the kitchen and back again. Out onto the patio and back inside. Down the tiny hallway to the bedroom, where he could hear the murmur of Darcy’s voice on the phone beyond the closed door.
 

 
He opened the door. He needed that architecture magazine he’d left on his nightstand. He wasn’t being nosy.
 

Darcy looked up, startled, and urgently motioned him away.
 

But he saw.
 

She sat on his bed, her back propped against a pile of pillows, her computer raised on another pillow. He could see a slice of the laptop screen; it looked like she was participating in a video conference. She leaned forward, talking to the screen. “That process doesn’t make for the most efficient delivery system. If we use the supply chain we set up…”

Any tiny sliver of goodwill he might have felt toward Darcy dried up. The conference room pictured on screen was far too familiar. There was Richard Danbury; he’d lost some hair in the past four years. Mathias Lerner had an unfortunate new beard. And Grace McGowan had lost weight.
 

“You’re still working there?” He could hear his voice cracking with the strain.
 

Everyone peered out from the screen. Mathias, always the quick one, asked, “Who is that? Where are you, Darcy? I thought you said you were delayed in China.”

She’d lied to them about her absence from work. Of course she had. At least she had the decency to look uncomfortable. “I seem to have run into a bit of a snafu.”
 

Will’s hands clenched into fists at his sides. “A snafu? Is that what you call it? You’re working for Golden Organics? After everything? You’re still working there?”

Turning the screen away from him, Darcy leaned in close to the built-in mic, but he could still hear her. “Sorry guys, have to go. I’ll try to come in tomorrow.”
 

She closed her computer and stood up, facing him. “Don’t ever do that to me again. You made me look bad to my colleagues.”

“Your
colleagues
?” His tongue felt thick, his brain thicker. “Stan fired you. He was supposed to fire you. That was the only justice in this whole mess. He was shutting down the product line and kicking you out of the company.”

She was staring at him like he was speaking in tongues. “For what? What the hell did I do? I’ve had enough of this. Tell me what you mean.”

Just like last night, she’d hopped up off the bed and come right up to him, nose to nose. And just like last night, he was perversely, horribly turned on. From the avid gleam in her eyes, she felt it too.
 

He hastily backed away. Someone had to stay sane here, and it obviously wasn’t going to be her. “You know what you did. I shouldn’t have to spell it out.”

“Humor me.”

“You adulterated the soap base with triclosate and didn’t disclose it on the label. The label which said 100% Organic, if you remember. We had a long talk about how to word that.”
 

He’d never known what it meant when they said someone turned white. But Darcy’s face drained of blood, leaving her pale and sickly. With her motionless, unblinking expression, she might be stone-dead too.
 

Then, as she started hyperventilating, the blood flooded back, leaving her cheeks and forehead looking more purple than pink. She clenched her hands into fists. For a moment, he thought she might hit him again, but she restrained herself.
 

They stared at each other for a long, frozen moment. Her intense brown eyes were lit from within with fierce emotion and her jaw was set so hard he thought she might break a tooth.
 

Will warily eyed her. “I hope you’re not planning to kiss me again.”

She grabbed her laptop off the bed, and held it against her chest. “Wouldn’t dream of it.” She was clearly trying for dignified, but her ragged breathing gave away her agitation.
 

After Darcy left the room, Will sat down heavily on the bed. Was it possible he’d misread the situation four years ago? Was it possible she hadn’t known about the triclosate? Or was she just angry now because he’d discovered her perfidy?
 

She was angry, though. So angry. A pang shot through his chest like a heartache. He’d let himself get angry as well. Again.
 

He went over to the little bedroom stereo and hit the Play button on the CD player. The soft sounds of flute and guitar filled the room. He sat on the bed, legs crossed in the lotus position, and closed his eyes. Breathe in, breathe out. Calm breaths. Let go of anger. Let go of passion. Passion leads to dangerous waters. Breathe. Let go. Survive.

~*~

Darcy marched out to the back deck, computer under her arm. She had to get as far away from that deceitful, paranoid—ugh. Her brain was white noise and horrified gurgles.
 

She stepped onto the path leading down to the little beach, still clutching her computer, an electronic security blanket. Standing under the shade of a tall palm tree, feeling damp grass underfoot, and smelling the mix of salt and vegetation, she started to calm down. This spot was performing its magic once again.
 

Will had sounded genuinely appalled. Rightfully so, if he believed what he was saying. If she’d put triclosate in her body cream, Stan the old eco-hippie would have fired her ass so fast she wouldn’t have had time to scoop up her collection of colored pencils. But she wouldn’t do that. Stan clearly knew it too. It hadn’t even come up. He hadn’t mentioned a word of it. He trusted her.
 

Why did Will think she’d done such a thing? Had he found evidence of triclosate? And if he had, what did it indicate? A mix-up at the factory? A coworker purposefully sabotaging her new product line?
 

She headed back inside. She needed more data. Needed to sort this out. But she paused just outside the bedroom door. Unexpected music seeped out from under the doorjamb. New age music.
 

She opened the door just a crack and peeked inside. Will was sitting in the middle of the bed, his eyes closed, his legs in a yoga lotus pretzel (the guy was limber), his hands palms up on his knees. Oddly, his forehead was creased like he was in pain.