Mixed Match Page 9

  Chapter Eight

  "Damn, Zo. I'm not doing anything shady. I just want to know if she's like them or not. Can’t you understand where I’m coming from? I don't want to be the one who helps a Harman wrong anyone else. I've been looking over the documents, and I'm pretty sure the only thing she got out of the divorce was the house. Austin knew we were in the right and we'd get the house, so he set her up and let her think she'd won."

  Zora closed her eyes and exhaled, deflating against the counter. "That’s just so fucked up. I’ve always known he’s an asshole, but how do you screw someone you once promised to love forever? That’s low, even for a Harman."

  She got lost in her thoughts, staring off into nothing. But then she squinted her eyes at Everett. "Man, I can't believe this is the reason you've been stuck in your head. I thought you were probably still reeling about the email from Joe."

  "Wait, you know about the email?"

  "Yes, fool. He sent me an email too. I just don't let it ruin my whole world like you do. He said most of the stuff has your name on it, but I know Babs's recipes are there. They’re all I really want, but you better figure out if you're going to get her box. I'm pretty sure it has some papers she wanted you to have and her ring."

  Everett rested his face into his steepled fingers. Zora was right, but it didn't change anything about his feelings toward Joseph and his family. Or the house. He couldn't just go there and act like everything was all right. As if for most of his life the unwelcome mat hadn’t been left out, and aimed specifically at him.

  From the island, they watched while Mike talked to Sophia, but he and Zora stayed in the kitchen. Everett couldn't wrap his mind around Sophia's situation. And now the prospect of setting foot on Joseph's property left him feeling uneasy. He couldn't make out what Sophia and Mike were saying, but she looked uncomfortable. Her posture was rigid, and she was fidgeting.

  Everett moved to go back in the living room, but Zora grabbed his arm.

  "There's just one thing I don't get." She narrowed her eyes at him. "The Harmans are loaded. Why is the house the only thing she got in the divorce? Did she ask for anything else, or was it all he let her have?"

  The same question had nagged at Everett since they met on the porch at Patton Place. What was in the house she couldn't let go of—what was so complicated?

  "No." The sound of Sophia's voice jolted Everett from his thoughts.

  He slowly moved toward the living room, Zora on his heels. Mike was leaned back in the chair, angled away from the television. Every point on his body faced Sophia, his breathing deep, slow, and measured. His sharp chin lifted as he stared at her with narrowed eyes, appearing to size her up, read her.

  Everett knew Mike’s guards were up when it came to Sophia. To him, she was the enemy, a willfully blind outsider who couldn't begin to understand family, loyalty, and what it meant to own property in the Pacific Northwest as a person of color. She was an interloper, and he was treating her as one.

  But what did he say to upset her?

  Sophia clasped her hands together and shot Everett a nervous smile while Blue stood guard beside her. Mike's face was blank, but something in his eyes seemed off, the way he blinked slowly, holding Everett's stare before turning back to Sophia.

  Dammit. Don't mess this up, Mike.

  "You're here with us, in my friend's house, but we don't know anything about you," he said. It was blatantly aggressive and unapologetic. As he leaned in toward Sophia, with his elbows on his knees and his hands clasped beneath his chin, while she rubbed Blue's fur and shifted in the seat. Worry glazed her eyes.

  Everett should have stopped it. Wanted to stop it, but he needed to know. These were his own questions being fired by Mike's lethal lawyer’s tongue.

  "What I want to know. What we all need to know"—he gestured toward Everett and Zora, his jaw muscles rippling—"is what brings a woman to Portland alone? You don't know anyone. You have no ties here, and the house is all you've got."

  Sophia clutched her purse and stood. Everett knew she was justified, but his feet were cemented in place. He wanted to hear her answers. Maybe if she met him halfway. If she would just tell them the truth, they could get past it. Maybe she was tied to the house, or it was dream or something. Whatever it was, he hoped it wasn't about the money. Because it if wasn't, maybe...just maybe...they’d be free to get to know each other on a deeper level.

  Sophia's eyes met his, begging him to rescue her. Be in her corner. Tell Mike he was wrong.

  But Everett didn't move. He stood at the entrance to the living room, on the cold, hard kitchen tiles, watching. Heart pounding. Mind racing. Blood storming through his veins. His muscles like lead. He was stuck in panic's grip while those dark, deep, luminous eyes blinked, giving way to a stream of tears as she ran for the front door.

  "Ev? What the fuck?" Zora cursed him as she ran after Sophia. She grabbed her coat and followed Sophia through the door, leaving it ajar.

  Everett ran his hands over his face and through his hair. "Fuck." He clenched his fists. What did he just do?

  Through the open door, a cool whisper of air whipped through the curtains and the sound of rain tapped against the windows. He could see his sister outside on the porch with Sophia. He could hear her sobs, but he couldn't see her.

  The strangest feeling overcame him. It was as if everything would somehow be all right if he could just see her face. Surely he'd get lost in her eyes, but the truth would be there.

  "I shouldn't have come," she said. "I don't know why I came." The sound of muffled cries between shallow, hitched breaths came through the door.

  "Mike is an asshole." Zo consoled her. "Don't worry about him. And my brother? He really is a good guy. He just has a hard time showing it sometimes."

  Lightning cracked, loud and sharp, and the dark sky behind Zora lit up briefly. "I'm so sorry. You came here to make some friends, and we made you feel unwelcome." Zo drew Sophia into a hug. "Please don't leave."

  The side of Sophia's face lay on Zo's shoulder, but her red-rimmed eyes found Everett's through the door. As he walked toward her, he focused on her and only her.

  His voice obscured by the rain, he muttered, "I'm sorry. Please stay."

  Zora released Sophia from their embrace and eyed Everett with warning in her glare.

  "Please stay," he said again, once his sister was gone.

  Sophia's chin dropped to her chest. "Is it true what he said? Do you feel the same way about me?" she asked. It was a simple and honest question, but pain smeared her face into a blur of fear and anxious anticipation.

  She was waiting.

  When she lifted her eyes, he knew there was nothing else he could do. He slipped his hand behind her, to rest on the small of her back, guiding her back inside. He still didn't have the answers, but deep down, as he met her gaze, Everett already knew what he needed to do. Straight-faced, he lied.

  "No."

  * * *

  The next morning, Sophia shimmied on a pair of jeans and a T-shirt and whipped her hair into a messy bun. After gliding on some pink gloss and adding mascara, she dropped her shades over her heavy lids and dragged herself to her appointment with Bornstein. Her bedhead look better be good enough, because she could barely keep her eyes open.

  She'd stayed up practically all night trying to make sense of what happened the night before. Why was Mike being such a dick to her?

  He'd been aggressive and his questions were straight-up rude. The only reason she stayed as long as she did was because he was Everett's friend. But even friendship only got him so far.

  'What brings a woman to Portland alone? The house is all you've got.'

  Ugh.

  Thinking about it, she got pissed all over again. Where did this random guy get off interrogating her? Seriously, we don't know anything about you? Obviously. It was the whole reason she went there in the first place, to get to know new people. It took a lot of talking, raised voices, and firm “no’s” to talk Julie down from flying bac
k to rip Mike a new one when Sophia told her about it this morning on the phone. Heck, even Everett was at risk of Julie's wrath until Sophia mentioned the ride home.

  Everett refused to let it go. He apologized for the way both he and Mike acted, insisting he and Sophia try hanging out again. This time it would be just the two of them over coffee. And soon. He didn't want to wait, so they settled on noon at Revolución off Sixth.

  She couldn't deny the thought of seeing him again, of a do-over, made her giddy. She bit back a grin and pressed her hand to her cheek. Her skin still blazed where his lips brushed lightly over it.

  "Something you want to tell the class?" Bornstein asked, a cold splash to startle Sophia out of the warm memory.

  "Uh...I was just thinking about the restaurant I'm going to after this meeting."

  The amusement in his eyes said he didn't believe her either. Although now Sophia was thinking about funny stuff she didn’t plan to share with the class, she gave him a once-over. His suit was still pristine, but gray this time. And while she should have been squarely focused on whatever updates Bornstein reported about the petition, at the moment all she wanted was a glimpse of today’s socks.

  Before it threw her off, but today for some reason his crazy sense of style soothed her nerves. Like he was going to fly his freak flag as high—or as low—as he wanted because he had zero F's to give about what other people thought of him. The last pair were neon stripes. And this was Monday. Something told her starting a new week was just the occasion he needed to go hog wild with his foot accessories.

  She cleared her throat, inhaling before she slouched against the hard wooden chair, tilting her head to the side to get a glimpse beneath the desk. A little lower. Bam!

  Sure enough, dad sneakers and purple socks dotted with mini red and yellow pizza slices.

  She barely managed to stifle a giggle. "I love your socks."

  Sophia guessed the deadpan expression was supposed to make her think he didn't care one way or the other, but the little lift of his chin was all she needed to know he was pleased. This was the Portland she was slowly falling in love with—the teensy details and quirks.

  Bornstein flipped through the pages stacked in front of him and stopped a quarter of the way down, adjusting himself in the chair. "This isn't going to be easy." He scratched the back of his neck and straightened his posture. His chin was high, but it put her further on edge.

  Her stomach was all tied up in knots and she felt dizzy for a moment. "Should I be worried?" She uncrossed her legs and re-crossed them, trying get more comfortable, but it was useless. There was no way she'd find comfort in any of this. If anything, the only solace would be to gather as many details about this Monroe character as possible and see if she could reason with him herself.

  Chapter Nine

  In so many words, Bornstein said this was mostly about reclaiming ownership, loyalty, and family for the guy. All things she could get behind. After all, weren’t they the same things she wanted? At least that was what Sophia thought she was trying to do—for her, and for everything Ainsley meant to her.

  It's not like she was trying to deprive anyone else. The house meant those same things to Sophia.

  "It doesn't look good," he said, again. "There's no point in sugarcoating this. We have a case, but he has all the cards."

  "But the house is listed in the divorce decree." Even to her own ears, Sophia sounded breathless and desperate.

  "I'm not saying a quitclaim deed is worthless, but we need to be realistic here. He has the original deed to the property, and our motion to dismiss has been denied. Monroe's got an edge going for him, if only because he's got time on his side, but he hasn't won—"

  "Yet," Sophia snapped back and immediately felt like an asshole. "I'm sorry." She wasn't mad at Bornstein. He was on her side—her only hope, really. But the whole situation felt hopeless. She knew nothing about real estate and deeds and petitions. They were all foreign to her because Austin usually took care of the paperwork and told her where to sign.

  Bornstein leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms. "Denial of a motion to dismiss doesn't mean he's been awarded anything," he said soothingly, seemingly catching on to her tendency to jump to conclusions.

  "We've got our work cut out for us on this. The deed is important, but it's not what worries me most," he said, slow and measured.

  "There's more." It wasn't a question. It was acceptance. What she expected all along. She ran her hands along the nape of her neck and turned away, waiting for him to just say what he had to say.

  The window, spattered in raindrops, gave only a blurred view of the sun covered in a blanket of clouds and mist. Sophia listened for the most worrisome part, as one after another, the drops streamed down like tears.

  "Barbara Monroe was seventy-three and showing signs of middle-stage dementia," he said.

  Sophia sighed and closed her eyes. She didn’t have any idea where this was going, or how it related to her, but Bornstein was right. At the mention of the word dementia, her worries expanded exponentially. Nothing about this felt like it was going to be easy.

  "Before she died, as her power of attorney and guardian ad litem, John Monroe was in the process of having her clinically diagnosed. He has letters from physicians signed prior to the date of the deed transfer." He spoke softly and carefully, the way people do when they explain grave situations to children.

  Although he couldn't have known just how fragile the situation was for Sophia. She could still remember hearing her mother in the other room talking to a friend, unaware Sophia was listening. They were drinking wine and playing Pokeno, when Mom laughed. "Lord, it's like Charlie has dementia," she'd said. "He doesn't remember a damn thing about where he came from. Old fool. Up and leaves his wife and daughter, and to do what? Find himself out in the great big world? No, nothing. That's what. Can't remember a damn thing. No clue where he's going, either. We're better off without him."

  But they weren't. Nothing was better without him.

  He erased himself from their lives, took everything with him, and Sophia learned to rely on herself.

  The silence enveloped her as she blinked back tears, never saying a word as she allowed Bornstein to continue.

  "The time limit for Action to Recover Real Property in Oregon is ten years." He let the words sink in for the faintest moment. "This is bigger than claims of rightful ownership. We're talking about mortgage fraud and elder abuse. These are criminal implications."

  "What?" She gasped. "Against me?" She felt life a knife had been rammed into her back. "I had nothing to do with my ex’s business affairs. I mean, I just got the house in the divorce settlement. This is fucking crazy."

  Her heart pounded at the thundering of her own voice, and her blood raced with a mixture of anger and defeat. What was she even doing? Did this house mean enough to her for her to be willing to jump through so many hoops?

  She hadn’t signed up for this.

  If Sophia wasn't certain before, she was now, more than ever, sure Austin was behind everything.

  Fraud? Elder abuse?

  Her mind didn't work the same way, but Austin was definitely a by any means necessary kind of guy. Easily, and without an ounce of remorse, he would take down anything or anyone standing in the way of what he wanted. He was spelling it out for her. Whenever it came to a head between Austin and Sophia, she always came in second. He made sure she knew she would never make it anywhere worthwhile without him—and would never get anything from him.

  Tears continued to burn her eyes as she stifled a sob, heat rushing to her neck and cheeks.

  A stark white blur crossed her line of vision as Bornstein handed her a box of tissues. She yanked one out and dabbed at the corners of her eyes, swiping beneath the lower lids for any traces of smeared makeup.

  "Listen, Sophia. Right now this is a civil suit. We've still got three weeks until the hearing. I've requested closing documents from the mortgage company and the health records for Barbara Monroe.
We're at a disadvantage at this juncture, but don't write us off just yet." Bornstein's tone was even and matter-of-fact, but gentle.

  Sophia's eyes were still lowered while she absorbed his comments. The fight ahead of her suddenly felt real, tangible—its grip tightening around her. She swallowed hard, gulping back the catch in her throat. She sat taller despite her insides sinking. "What should I do?" she asked. "I can't just sit back and do nothing while this guy takes the only thing I've got left."

  A severe expression smoothed the lines of his face. "We have to prove there was no fraud. Either we come up with an original deed, or show beyond a reasonable doubt that Barbara Monroe was of sound mind at the time of the transfer."

  Just the thought of it made her feel tired to the bones.

  He sighed loudly, lost somewhere in his head. "Might as well be the Hatfields and McCoys all over again. The Harmans and Monroes have been at each other's throats for generations, competing and stealing. Land, houses, women." He leaned back in his chair and pressed a finger to his top lip, staring at Sophia. "This all started over a woman. Maybe we can end it with one."

  Wait a second. Bornstein also mentioned the family feud at the last appointment. He could work on getting the documents his way, but she'd rely on her own instincts. Maybe what she'd been missing in her search was what started the grudge.

  First she'd do a little more digging about Barbara Monroe.

  Next, if John Monroe was anything like Austin Harman, she'd follow the money and the inflated ego.

  Shouldn't be too hard to miss.

  * * *

  Everett sat in the far corner of the coffee house. He'd managed to nab two seats at the bar facing the street and already ordered one large black coffee, no sugar, no cream. It was still an hour and a half before he expected Sophia.

  "You've got thirty minutes. What was so important it couldn't wait until later?" Everett swiveled on his stool and leaned his back against the bar. "And what happened last night?"