The Day I Stopped Waiting Was the Day He Started Begging novel Chapter 17

Leaving the house, Madeline took the kittens straight to Fiona's place. Because Felicity was sick, Madeline avoided returning to the Yates Manor for several days.

She also avoided their marital home.

Just looking at York gave her a headache, so out of sight meant out of mind.

The magazine was also swamped. Every day after work, she went straight to Fiona's to cuddle the cats and spend time with her daughter.

After coaxing Evie to sleep, Madeline would sit at the desk to review her files. Upper management was treating Hunter Holt's interview like a top priority, forcing her to burn the midnight oil preparing the talking points.

Sitting for too long left her shoulders and neck stiff.

Just then, another message from York lit up her screen: "Where did you put that French designer tie?"

This wasn't the first time.

Ever since she had locked him out, York had been randomly texting her to maintain a presence in her life. Either he was asking where a specific shirt was, or claiming he couldn't find something.

Something in his brain had clearly short-circuited.

They had spoken more in the last two days than they had in the previous two years combined.

Feeling utterly irritated, her gaze randomly landed on the sleek fountain pen resting beside her notes.

It was the hiring gift York had given her when she got her job.

A limited-edition Caran d'Ache, worth over a million dollars.

York had bought it without blinking.

Even Caleb had been speechless at the time.

"There are a million better things to do with that kind of cash. You bought a pen? If I dropped that much on a pen, my old man would chase me ten blocks with a baseball bat."

Their circle of trust-fund kids had money, but for someone like Caleb who held no real corporate power, his liquid cash flow was limited. Why not buy a car, a house, or invest? Why a fountain pen?

York had just held a cigarette between his lips, looking utterly nonchalant.

"Maddy likes it. The money doesn't matter."

Madeline took a sip of water, washing away the memories, and stared back at the chat window on her phone.

Fine, that tie was worth a few thousand dollars at least.

"Dad."

His father's stern voice came through the speaker. "York, your mother told me about the situation between you and Madeline. Come home for dinner tomorrow. The two of you have been separated for two years, and now you're dragging Felicity into your mess. As far as I'm concerned, if you two can't make this marriage work, just get a divorce."

"Felicity's situation had nothing to do with Madeline," York stated firmly. "And I have no intention of getting a divorce."

"That's not up to you. Bring Madeline tomorrow. I want to hear what she has to say."

The call ended, and the warmth vanished from York's face.

He stared at the bedroom that had originally belonged solely to Madeline, suddenly recalling the grueling nights he had spent in San Francisco.

During their long cold war, she hadn't called him even once.

On those unbearable nights, he had lain awake until dawn, his mind consumed entirely by her face and voice.

Divorce? She would probably throw a party.

Thinking of Hunter Holt, his expression turned glacial as he threw himself onto Madeline's side of the bed.

Did she want a divorce so she could immediately make room for that bastard?