Hate The One You’re With (Happily Ever Mishaps #4)

Chapter 5

Chapter Five

Caleb

I pace back and forth across the polished hardwood floors of the executive apartment, my footsteps echoing in the quiet space. The view of Boston’s skyline is spectacular, but I can’t focus on it—or anything else, for that matter. My mind is spinning in a dozen different directions, all of them leading back to one question: does she want the divorce or not?

This is the problem with Em. She just acts, charging ahead without a plan, leaving chaos in her wake, and then she has the nerve to be surprised when everything blows up in her face. She dives into situations, screws them up, and then looks around, wide-eyed, wondering how to fix the mess she’s made.

It’s always been her way—reckless, impulsive, and infuriatingly stubborn. And now, here we are, tangled up in what might be her latest disaster, and . . . maybe I should’ve signed the divorce papers when I decided to leave her.

This time, I need to be strong and not fall for those green, pleading eyes and that damn puppy pout. Nope. Langley is synonymous with disaster, mayhem, chaos, and utter turmoil.

Yet, here you are, waiting for her. I glance at my phone again, but there’s still no word from Emmersyn. She said she’d be here in less than an hour, but that was . . . I check the time . . . nearly forty-five minutes ago. I assume she’s flying from New York since that’s where she lives and manages her company—the only thing she’s ever cared about in her entire life.

After she ended the call, I asked Ethan to search for any private planes departing from there or landing here. Other than saying, “on it,” I haven’t heard from him.

I rub the back of my neck, tension knotting my muscles. Should I have my assistant mail the divorce papers? Would that make this whole thing easier, or just complicate it more? The last thing I need is another surprise from Emmersyn.

Finally, I make a decision. I grab my phone and fire off a text to Jacob, Max’s brother. He knows the best lawyers in New York, and if anyone can handle this mess, it’s someone who’s used to working on Emmersyn’s turf. I’d rather have someone on the ground there, someone who won’t be caught off guard .

Send the divorce papers to Jacob, I text my assistant. I’ll let him handle it from there. He’ll probably message me later, reminding me that he’s not my employee, but . . . he’s one of the few people I trust to get things done. If he can do it for his important clients, he can do it for me, right?

After all, I’ve bailed him and his clients out a few times. He owes me.

Putting this into motion feels like a small step toward regaining some control, but it’s not enough to stop the questions swirling in my mind. Why now? What does she really want? And why can’t I shake the feeling that I’m about to walk into something I’m not prepared for?

The uncertainty gnaws at me, a feeling I despise. My world has always been meticulously planned, every move calculated to perfection. I’ve only ever let myself slip a couple of times. It was all her fault. Those fucking green eyes, the innocent pout, and her unpredictable nature. But this time, I need to stay one step ahead. I can’t afford to let her derail everything I’ve built, not again.

I steal a glance at the clock. Any minute now, she’ll text me. But will she show up? She doesn’t even know where I am, does she? Then it hits me—she’s the one who’s been digging into my life. What the fuck?

Is this why she doesn’t want the divorce anymore? She’s figured out that I’m successful and now she wants my money to bail out her company. That’s why it’s urgent, isn’t it? Her company is in trouble. She needs me to swoop in and save her from whatever mess she’s gotten herself into.

Typical Emmersyn—always playing her cards close to the chest, always expecting people to bend to her will. Not this time. If she thinks she can just waltz back into my life and use me, she’s in for a rude awakening. I have a life. I’ve built something solid, something that’s mine—and she’ll never be a part of it.

I clench my fists, the anger simmering beneath the surface. She wants to play games? Fine. I’ll play. But I’ll be the one calling the shots now. If she thinks she can string me along like before, she’s got another thing coming. I’ll make her regret ever leaving me hanging, make her realize that walking away from me was the worst mistake she ever made.

Okay, I was the one who walked away first, but . . . it’s all so fucking complicated. The thing is, everything that happened between us was just a means to an end for her, nothing more. She uses people the same way her family used her. She learned early on that the one with the power is the one with the money.

Well, this time, we’re on the same level. I’m going to take everything—every ounce of control she thought she had. Let’s see how she likes being on the other end of the power play. I’ll make sure she submits to my will. I’m going to destroy her, but I’ll do it slowly, so by the time I’m finished, Emmersyn will learn not to play games with people.

Just as my thoughts start spiraling into darker territory, my phone buzzes, snapping me out of it. Her name flashes on the screen, and for a split second, all the anger and frustration collide in my chest.

I take a deep breath, steeling myself before I answer. “Emmersyn,” I say, my voice colder than I intended. “I hope you’re ready to explain yourself.”

“Yes, just one little problem,” she responds, sounding hesitant but also sweet. It’s that sweetness that traps people, holding them prisoner before she uses it to manipulate them. But this time, I won’t let it happen.

“I’m not bailing you out of whatever fucked-up mess you’ve landed yourself in,” I warn, my tone hardening. I can feel the frustration bubbling up again, threatening to spill over.

“Well, it’s just . . . I forgot to ask where we’re meeting,” she says with a soft chuckle, her voice taking on that sweet, disarming tone. “It’s going to be a little hard to have a face-to-face conversation, right?”

“Wait, what’s the problem?” I ask, genuinely confused now.

“Where do we meet?” she repeats, a hint of frustration creeping in, her voice shifting to a more professional tone.

And that’s when it hits me—I’m so fucking angry at her and this whole situation that I’m not thinking straight. Normally, I’m the one who keeps a cool head, the one who uses logic and strategy to navigate through the missions. It’s essential in my line of work; keeping emotions in check can be the difference between life and death. But right now? I’m letting my anger get the best of me, and that’s a problem.

“There’s a coffee shop—” I start.

“This is a private matter that I’d prefer we handle away from prying ears,” she interrupts, her voice edged with caution. “If anyone recognizes me and finds out?—”

“So you’re in trouble?” I cut in, my suspicion flaring.

“Not necessarily. It’s something that can be fixed within the next week,” she replies, her tone carefully measured. “Well, and with a six-month sacrifice. ”

“Why are you being so fucking cryptic?” I snap, my patience fraying.

“Moderate your tone,” she counters, her voice firm.

“You’re so fucking infuriating,” I growl, barely holding back my frustration.

“Yeah, yeah, but this is for the greater good,” she says, brushing off my anger like it’s nothing. “Why don’t I book us a room at the?—”

“No, I’ll send my driver to where you are. He’ll bring you to me,” I insist, cutting her off before she can suggest something ridiculous.

“There’s no need to?—”

“Emmersyn, you do as I say, or I won’t even listen to you,” I warn, my voice low and threatening.

“Fine. Do you need me to tell you where I am?”

“No need,” I reply, glancing at my phone. Ethan is late with the information, but at least he’s offering to help me. “I just got a text from a friend that your plane has landed. Wait for the driver, and just know that the answer to whatever you came to request is most likely no.”