Chapter 2My Ex Was My Best Investment

I went back to him. Still no ring, no title, no "Mrs."

At first, the novelty of the reunion gave him a high. He took me everywhere. He introduced me to his inner circle as "the one he was going to spend his life with."

Everyone laughed. I laughed, too.

Later that night, I stepped out to use the restroom, and as I walked back toward the private lounge, I heard the muffled voices of his friends through the heavy oak door.

"So, is the king finally retiring his jersey? I don’t buy it," someone joked.

Ewan let out a sharp, dismissive laugh. "Give me a break. I’ve cycled through enough of them to know that Jo is just... easier. She’s intuitive. She’s smart. She knows what I need before I even have to say it."

There was a pause, the sound of a lighter clicking. "If I actually have to get married one day, she’s the logical choice. Even if her little tantrums are getting a bit exhausting."

See? There’s no such thing as a reformed playboy. There’s just a tired runner looking for a place to sit down.

The room went quiet for a beat before another friend spoke up. "I’ll put money on it. Ewan won't last a month this time."

Suddenly, the room turned into a sportsbook. One month. One week. Six months. Ewan told them all to go to hell, but he didn't stop them. He even threw a stack of bills on the table himself. "One year," he declared.

I felt a laugh bubbling up in my chest. I couldn't help it.

The door opened, and a server nearly bumped into me. "Oh! Ma'am, are you going in?"

The room went dead silent. I pushed the door open and scanned the faces of the men sitting there. They were looking at me with that pathetic kind of pity, waiting for the explosion, waiting for me to scream at Ewan and make a scene.

Instead, I walked straight to the table. I took the black card Ewan had given me as a "welcome home" gift and tossed it onto the pile of cash.

"I’ll bet two weeks," I said.

A playboy might never change his spots, but a dog will always return to his vomit. It’s the law of nature.

The shock in the room was palpable. Ewan sat there, his face darkening into a mask of cold confusion. I leaned down and pressed a light kiss to the corner of his mouth.

"Don't look so serious, darling," I whispered. "We’re all just having a bit of fun, aren't we?"

His brow furrowed. I knew exactly why he was unsettled. I was using his own lines on him. Whenever I used to get upset about the rotating cast of women in his life, he’d kiss me just like that and tell me not to be so sensitive—that it was all just a joke.

Now, I had learned the script. It’s hard work making a living off a man like him, and it’s even harder to swallow the pride that comes with it. But as long as the lights are off and the checks clear, you can learn to tolerate almost anything.

Ewan wasn't happy, though. That night, he wrapped his arms around me from behind in the dark. "You don't believe a word I say anymore, do you? Jo, this time... it’s real."

I didn't tell him if I believed him or not. I just turned in his arms and kissed him again. "I know."

There are a lot of ways to "spend a life" with someone. Being a quiet ghost in his bed was just one of them.