Seated at the grand sofa in the waiting room of Black Enterprises, I glanced down at my watch for the zillionth time since morning. Mic was in a meeting according to his secretary, so I had been waiting for almost twenty minutes now.

Leaning back, I huffed out a sigh, trying to hold my mind back from wandering off too far. I needed to think straight if I had to talk to Mic. But despite myself, and the urge to think positive, the worst of scenarios rose in my head. One of which was a raven-haired Maeve, sprawled in the middle of the bathroom floor, slicing her wrist open.

I winced, head jerking sideways in barely suppressed dread.

Why?

There was just something odd about the whole Maeve Adams situation. Within one day the case went from a general counselling, to her being a self-harm victim. And I couldn't help but blame myself for not studying her case file in advance. The whole session would have been so different if I had known what she had gone through.

And now that I thought of it, asking her to show me what her problem was, made me just an insensitive asshole considering her situation. And the fact that she even tried to show me...

I can't think of anyone who could help her as you can.

Dean's appreciative acknowledgement rang unbidden in my ears. I didn't even want to think what he would say if he knew how 'well' I handled the situation.

You are the worst Doctor. My own subconscious pointed out and I snorted in approval.

The only door to the waiting room opened, and Mic stepped in with his secretary muttering something to her with such a deep frown that she looked petrified at the file. He took a brief glance at me and handed her the file he was holding, before dismissing her from the room. She scurried away with a somewhat relieved smile.

I unhurriedly rose to my feet, as he walked in, the door shutting behind him. He looked as calm and collected as ever and then there was me, sweating in the tight air-conditioned room.

Stay calm, Cole.

"Ian, what is it? What happened?" Mic stopped beside me, setting a firm hand on my shoulder. I was momentarily taken aback by the concern in his voice. Was my situation that obvious on my face?

First, it wasn't even about me.

"Man," I chuckled —despite the bead of sweat gliding down my nape— and noisily patted his shoulder. "Nothing serious. Just thought I'd visit my long-lost friend."

His concerned look disappeared almost immediately and was replaced by an oh-so-familiar frown. The usual Michael-the-stone-face was back.

I didn't know why that made me feel better.

"There is something. Come, sit. Let's talk." He gestured to the couch and I sat back, unbuttoning the blazer to breathe properly. Michael walked to the corner table and spoke into the intercom. "Two coffees. In the waiting room."

No thanks. No please. I had never been able to push those two words into his thick skull since school, and I genuinely didn't know what or who could.

"Tell me, did you get in trouble with one of those ladies?" Mic asked, casually taking off his blazer, leaving it on the couch, and rolling up his sleeves.

"What ladies?" I frowned.

"The ones that are always hovering in and around your clinic."

Oh.

I chuckled. "No, I didn't. And I won't. They're just...my clients, or patients. Nothing more, nothing less."

When did the topic change on me?

"I hope you know it's not the same for them. I've seen those flocks of eagles flattering around you like you're a piece of meat." He said, with not a hint of humor in his voice or face.

Involuntarily, a flush crept up my face. He wasn't totally wrong, but damn, hearing it from someone was embarrassing. But again, I'd strived to protect this face, so the attention wasn't all that bad.

"Well," He leaned back, crossing his ankle over his other knee. "I still don't believe you dropped in, in the middle of the day just to visit me." A little furrow knitted his brows together. "Tell me."

Once again, my conscious was knocked off by the sudden change of topic. But I was grateful this time.

"Right," I nodded. "There is something you can help me with." Or at least I hoped he could.

"Go on."

I leaned forward, settling my elbows on my knees and locked my eyes on the ground, trying to catch a thread of events to start with.

I wasn't sure where to begin.

"The other day..." I cautiously pushed out the next words. "On the day of your divorce hearing, I remember you talking to a woman." I said, eyes still casted on the ground.

Michael moved in my peripheral view. "Woman?"

"Maeve Adams."

I looked up and at the same time, Mic stiffened, trying very hard to mask it up. But it didn't go unnoticed. The reaction confused me but when he didn't interrupt, I continued.

"Well, it's a big coincidence that your friend is one of my clients now." My thumb traced the wrist of my other hand, feeling the racing pulse below the skin. "I needed to know a few things about her, that is, if you are willing to help." I cleared my throat.

Damn, why was I so nervous? And why did this talk feel so wrong? Maybe because going behind her back and digging for information —even if to help her— felt like a wrong thing to do. But Michael was my one and only link to Maeve and I wasn't going to give up without trying.

"Maeve is under therapy?" The disbelief in his voice urged my eyes up again. The frown had deepened on his face. So much, that it almost looked like he was...angry?

He was angry. And there was that word again.

Why?

"Could you help me with it? I just want to clear out a few doubts and need a few answers. That is, if you can help me." I gauged his expression, carefully catching the fleeting emotions behind that stone face.

Anger, concern, confusion.

He leaned back with a huff. "She didn't tell me." His narrowed eyes met mine, and reluctantly asked. "What do you want to know?"

Okay, here we go...

Before I could open my mouth, there was a knock at the door and Mic's secretary, Arianna, walked in. A young beautiful brunette, but as to my observation, an incurable flirt.

I consciously shifted away as she brushed past my knees, heading with the coffee to her boss first. Michael blinked absentmindedly as she set the cup down on the coffee table before him, then turned toward me. And as much as I tried to prohibit myself, I returned her smile gently.

As I said, I was used to the attention.

She bended, handing me the coffee, and flashing me her cleavage through the top of her unbuttoned shirt, all at the same time. I quickly locked my eyes on the cup but when I tried to take it, she didn't let go of it. When I glanced up, she stole a look at her boss, who was deep in thoughts, then turned to me, her teeth digging into her bottom lip, and winked.

I had no time to react as she straightened and intentionally brushed past my knees again. I blinked.

What the heck? Man, that woman was dangerous.

As the door clicked shut, Michael broke out of his reverie, and turned to me. "What is wrong with Maeve?"

"I'm yet to find that out." I sighed. "That's the reason I'm here today."

There was a pause, as I recalled my question list and Mic battled some silent inner conflict with his brows furrowing and fingers continuously tapping on the hand rest.

"How do you know Maeve?" I asked, squaring my shoulders and fixing him in place with my gaze.

Mic didn't answer.

I had known him long enough to tell when he was uncomfortable and when he was unwilling. But that was not what I was seeing in his eyes right now. It was hesitancy, confusion, and —if I was not over-analyzing— fear.

But I couldn't persuade him to speak either. Forcing Michael to speak and teaching a snail to run was almost the same concept. It may or may not happen, but would take a hell lot of time.

"She..." Mic started, voice low and passive, as if testing the weight of the words on his tongue, and then—

"She's, my ex-wife."

My face blanched and the beating organ dropped from my chest, onto my feet. A ringing went off in my ear, and I felt all the blood draining from my face. I contemplated asking him to repeat what he had just said, because as much as I had heard it clearly, it didn't sound right.

Ex-wife...

In a flash, like a retro slow-motion movie, a number of events ran a slideshow on the wall of my mind. Memories and images started rearranging themselves, like pieces of a puzzle were coming together, one by one. Sitting so perfectly in place that I hated it.

Maeve and Michael, at the court. Her name in Dean's email, Maeve Adams 'Black'(which I had leisurely ignored). Niall picking her up from the bar, all drunk and passed out. Of course, she was drinking her heart out over her disrupted married life. That was the day of their divorce hearing.

Of course she was his ex-wife.

"Oh." Was all that came out from my mouth.

I was dumbfounded. My brain was frozen. I no more felt the overflowing motivation to study that case. Because fuck, was I flirting and daydreaming about my best friend's ex-wife.

How did I never hear her name from Michael? How did I never see her around him? How did I fail to connect the dots when I saw them together at the court?

Why did Maeve...why didn't she mention him either?

I suppressed the cringe that rippled through the skin on my neck, haunting to make me sick. I needed to get out.

"I know. You've never met her. She wasn't so out going, you know. Always inside. Keeping to herself. Reading or blasting music or dancing alone in the hall." He said, shaking his head at the —probably bitter— memory of his ex-wife.

Ex-wife.

The word blasted into my ears, stinging at my nerves and I suppressed the urge to close them with my hands.

"We met at Blue Heaven. Five years ago. She used to work there and I..."

My ears perked up at the mentioned name.

Blue Heaven. I had heard that name before. That was—

"Christ, honestly..." He suddenly rose from the couch, breaking my silent trail of thoughts. "I don't...I am not ready to talk about it. Yet." He looked defeated as he ran a hand through his hair, pushing it back.

My heart constricted painfully as if someone had just squeezed it empty of life, and I followed up after Mic. Actually, I was grateful he didn't continue, because I had no idea till where I could've managed to listen.

"It's fine. I...er, I just have one last question." I said, and he looked at me, expectantly. "Did she know me before the day of the hearing?"

Mic blinked, looking confused. And an ache built in my chest.

Say no. Please say no.

"Of course, she did. She'd gone through all our photo albums more times than I could count."

My eyes briefly closed. Those words drilled a hole into my subconscious, as all my thoughts seeped down into that black hole and left my head blank.

Empty. Just a single question barking at me.

Why did she hide it from me? I was oblivious. Stupid. Foolish for being unable to notice the obvious. But why did she never mention him? Why did I not hear a single thing about a divorce or an ex-husband? As if, she was mindfully avoiding that topic.

Why did you not tell me, Maeve? Why?

I quickly bid farewell to Mic after that and left his office with a heavy head and heavier feet that dragged me to the door. The ride back home was filled with a deafening silence, as I willed and failed to not replay the conversation with Mic in my head.

Mrs. Kennedy sounded really concerned when I called her to cancel all the appointments for the day. But I ignored her concern. Ignored my growing agitation. I felt sick.

As soon as I stepped into the house, still pretty much caught up in my own head, a pair of arms wrapped around my waist and dragged me towards the living room.

"Jeez, I thought I'd not see you today at all." Chloe pulled me toward the couch and shoved me down on it. Somewhere a knotted joint in my body made a sound of disapproval and I scowled at her.

"Chloe please. I'm not in the mood—"

"Oh, shut up. You're never in the mood for anything." She picked up a shopping bag from the many stacked beside the coffee table, and flung it at me. I caught it just before it could hit my face and some clothes tumbled out of it, falling into my lap.

"What is this?" I took out the white dress shirt from the bag.

"What do you think it is, stupid?" She stooped down and picked up another two bags, shoving all of them into my lap. "That's your outfit for the party." She shrugged and casually sauntered with her phone towards the open window, away from me, probably wanting to ignore my response.

"What party?" I frowned at the many bags and all the black and white piece of clothing peeking out of them.

Is that a tux?

"The ball? Masquerade? Did you forget already?" She scowled, rolling her eyes right after.

Damn. That totally did slip my mind. I slumped back, not sure if I wanted to go.

"There's still time for that." I closed my eyes, suddenly feeling all the more tired. There was nothing more exhausting than being forced to socialize when you didn't want to.

"Ay, why are you stressed? I selected all the suits for the men of our family, and I picked the best one for you. Did you forget you've to get a date?" I opened my eyes, and Chloe was staring down at me, hands set on her hips with her brows brushing her hairline.

"No." I said, settling the goods off my lap and onto the couch.

"No, you forgot about the date or no you didn't forget?"

"No, I think I'll pass." I stood to leave.

"Oh, No you won't." Chloe set a hand on my shoulder and pushed me back down on the couch. I groaned when another knot pulled at my muscles.

"Chloe please—"

"Don't worry. I've already found a date for myself, and you."

I frowned, and quickly sat up straight. On no, that could not be good news. "Who?"

"Katelyn." She grinned.

My eyes rolled to the back of my head. As if. "No chance."

That girl was insane. She would eat me up alive if she got the opportunity. And if Mic's secretary was evil, Katlyn was Satan, straight from the depths of hell.

I shuddered at the thought.

Chloe frowned. "Why not?"

"Because I said so."

"Do you have a better option?" She crossed her arms across her chest.

"Yes, I'd stay at home."

"Like hell I'll let you." She set the bags aside and plopped down beside me. A soft sigh left her lips as her head fell against my shoulder. "You've got to engage with other people, Ian. Move on. Don't dwell in the past."

"It's not about the past. I'm doing pretty good right now and I pretty much engage with people on a day-to-day basis." And that wasn't a lie.

She rolled her eyes, again. "I mean mentally and emotionally stable people. Not your psycho friends."

"Hey, don't be mean." I scolded her but she brushed it off with a wave of her hand.

"You. Are. Going. And you're going with Katlyn. I already promised her and I'm not breaking my word. Plus, I have to persuade my date too."

I sighed. She had Mom's genes. Beautiful blonde hair, and a stubborn head. There was no way she was backing down. "Who's your date?" I asked, in hopes to stir the topic away from me.

Chloe peeked at me with what I thought was a pout and then shrugged. "Michael."

God gracious. "Good luck with that." I rubbed my throbbing temple, now trying to push the topic off the two M's. "What about Niall?"

"He already has a date." She chimed.

My eyes narrowed. He got a date before me? That's a first.

"Who?"

Chloe shot me a pointed look then said. "I've never met her. A..." Her lips moved inaudibly, trying to recall the name. Then snapped her fingers. "Ah! Maeve Adams."

My fingers froze over my forehead, feeling a nerve or two just snap inside my skull.

What the—

Fuck.

"And I invited her to join us for the evening dinner tomorrow at Mom's." She clapped her hands together, seeming way too excited. "I'd really like to meet her. She sounded so sweet over the phone."

Double fuck.

"And?" There was no way she would agree to it. Maeve wasn't the outgoing type, as per Michael's description and my own observation. She won't agree.

Chloe shrugged again. "Of course, she's coming."