My Ex Husband Wants My Number

I was wiping down the espresso machine behind the counter when a man walked up, a faint flush creeping up his neck, and asked for my number.

I just stood there, the damp rag frozen in my hand, staring at him. Because the man standing in front of me was Wayne Croft.

Technically speaking, we were bound by a massive, multi-million-dollar corporate marriage. Only, he hadnt bothered to show up on our wedding day. After that, wed indefinitely postponed signing the actual legal marriage certificate, leaving us as nothing more than strangers sharing a footnote in a press release.

Just yesterday, he had called me out of the blue to tell me he had found the absolute love of his life and needed to end our arrangement. I had agreed instantly. Why would I care about severing a tie that existed only on paper?

But now, less than twenty-four hours later, he was standing in my cafe, acting like a lovestruck teenager. What kind of twisted script was he playing at?

In the two years since our wedding, I hadnt seen Wayne Croft once.

Honestly, you couldnt even call it a marriage. We had the lavish ceremony, the flowers, the society photographers, but we never signed the legal paperwork. He was a very busy man. He simply didn't have the time.

For the past two years, he had been stationed overseas, ruthlessly expanding Croft Enterprises' global market share. But rumor had it he was flying back stateside this week.

Id been on edge ever since I heard. My life was finally peaceful, comfortable, and entirely my own. The absolute last thing I wanted was for him to drag me down to City Hall to make this farce legal.

"Noelle, I heard Wayne is coming back. You need to pin him down and get that certificate signed, otherwise..."

My mother called to nag me about it almost every single week. Before, I could use his geographical distance as a shield. This time, I could only offer a weak, noncommittal hum of agreement.

The second I hung up on her, a string of unknown digits lit up my screen.

I answered, bracing myself. "Hello? Who is this?"

The voice on the other end hesitated, sounding slightly formal. "Is this Ms. Noelle Stratton?"

It was a devastatingly good voice. Deep, resonant, the kind of voice that commanded boardrooms.

"Speaking. What can I do for you?"

"This is Wayne Croft."

My in-name-only husband?

I pulled the phone away from my ear and stared at the screen. It really was him. Two years without a single phone call, I had honestly forgotten what it felt like to interact with him.

Wait. Why was he calling me now? Was he actually going to demand I go to City Hall with him? My mind raced, trying to formulate an airtight excuse to get out of it.

Then, his cool, detached voice filtered through the speaker. "Ms. Stratton, I am currently back in the States. If you have the time..."

My heart lodged in my throat.

"...I would like you to meet with my assistant to discuss the terms of our separation. Name your price. I will do everything in my power to accommodate it."

"I don't have the time to"

The words died on my tongue. I blinked. Wait. Did he just say separation?

Oh, thank God.

"Ms. Stratton, my assistant can unconditionally work around your schedule," he pressed, clearly mistaking my shock for resistance.

"I have time! I absolutely have time!" I practically chirped. "I just double-checked my calendar. How about tomorrow afternoon?"

Wayne didn't question my sudden enthusiasm, mostly because he seemed in an even bigger rush than I was.

"If possible, I'd prefer this afternoon. Just give me an address, and I'll send my team to you."

He really wanted out.

But when I took a second to think about it, it didn't make any sense. Wayne Croft was notorious for being married to his work. He didn't have time for feelings, let alone a messy personal life. He had agreed to our marriage purely for the corporate synergy between our families' companies. Back then, I had purposely submitted the most unflattering photo of myself to the matchmakers, and he had still agreed.

The merger was currently running flawlessly. Why sever the tie now? My curiosity won out.

"Mr. Croft, forgive me for asking, but why the sudden rush to separate?"

Silence stretched over the line for a fraction of a second. When he finally spoke, that icy boardroom detachment had completely melted.

"Because I've met her."

He let out a breath. "It was love at first sight."

A bizarre shiver ran down my spine. I honestly couldn't imagine what poor, unfortunate girl had become the fixation of this ruthless workaholic.

"Got it, got it. Just asking. No ulterior motives here," I assured him quickly. "But Mr. Croft, what about the partnership between our families?"

His tone snapped right back to strictly business. "You don't need to worry about that. The corporate partnership will remain entirely unaffected."

Perfect. That meant my parents couldn't use the company as an excuse to lecture me anymore.

"Fantastic. Have your assistant contact me, Mr. Croft."

"Ms. Stratton, here are the contracts. Please take your time to review them."

Waynes assistant was the picture of elite professionalism. I had my own lawyer look everything over, and once I got the green light, I signed on the dotted line.

A profound, weightless relief washed over me.

By the time I got back to my apartment, I was hugging the folder to my chest, unable to stop smiling. Say what you want about Wayne Croft, but the man was extraordinarily generous.

Not only did he sign over the deed to the downtown skyline penthouse I was currently living in, but he threw in a beachfront estate as well. Fifty million in liquid cash. And two percent of Croft Enterprises' voting shares, which meant my annual dividends were going to be astronomical.

I was in the middle of a private celebratory dance when my mother called again.

"Noelle, I was talking to Mrs. Chen, and she said her husband saw Wayne at a tech summit yesterday. He's back in the country early. Has he come home yet?"

I froze, guilt pooling in my stomach. I absolutely could not tell her that I had just signed away my marriage to him without even looking him in the eye.

"Uh, no. Not yet."

"Well, call him! Ask him how his flight was. Or better yet, go to his office. You two haven't seen each other in years, you can't afford to let"

Always the same song. Pin him down. Hold onto him. As if my very existence would cease to have meaning if I wasn't attached to Wayne Croft. It was exhausting.

"Right, right, I know. I've got to go, Mom. We'll talk later."

I hung up, the joy instantly draining out of me.

Growing up, I was always the smart one. My grades were flawless. But my parents poured every ounce of their ambition, their resources, and their pride into my older brother. They forced me into an art degree, refusing to let me study finance. Even when I built something successful on my own, they chalked it up to luck. Meanwhile, my brother could successfully tie his shoes and theyd throw a parade to celebrate his genius.

I never understood it. Where was I lacking?

In the end, they decided my only real value was acting as a pretty bargaining chip for a corporate merger. I had fought back, but it was like screaming into a void. That was the era of my life where I learned a hard truth: some people are simply incapable of changing. They didn't abuse me; they provided for me. They just fundamentally, inherently believed a daughter was worth less than a son.

And that realization was a splinter permanently lodged in my heart.

I didn't hate them enough to cut them off entirely, but I wasn't going to let them control me anymore, either. I had treated the marriage to Wayne as a final repayment for raising me. Once I walked down that aisle, my debt was cleared. I wouldn't be their pawn ever again.

When I first married him, I had naive plans of setting ground rules, maybe making the best of a bad situation. But he was perpetually unreachable. Which turned out to be a blessing. It saved me the emotional labor.

And now, he had given me a clean break and enough money to secure my freedom forever.

Wayne Croft, you truly are a saint.

After graduating, I used my own savings to open a cafe. I was good at baking, and I loved experimenting. The artisan coffees and pastries I developed were constantly selling out. By year two, my shop had become one of the city's trendiest spots.

At nine-thirty in the morning, I rode my bicycle up to the back entrance. It was early, so the rush hadn't started yet. A few regulars waved as I walked in. I ducked straight into the kitchen to test a new cake recipe.

Gia, one of my shift leads, slid up next to me, her voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. "Boss, did you see that Bentley parked out front?"

I pulled on my disposable gloves, glancing toward the dining room. "What Bentley?"

"Its been idling there since I unlocked the doors. The guy in the driver's seat has come in to buy coffee twice already."

That was odd. Usually, people got their caffeine and left.

"I thought it was just the driver," Gia continued, practically vibrating with excitement. "But when you pulled up on your bike, the tinted window in the back rolled down." She forgot to whisper, her voice squeaking upward. "Oh my god. Total smoke show."

"A smoke show?"

"Like, high-level corporate god. The guy buying the coffee is definitely his chauffeur." Gia gripped my arm. "The face, the nose, the eyes, a jawline that could legitimately cut glass... Ahhh, I'm dying!"

I snapped a hairnet over my head, unimpressed. "Wow. Thrilling."

Gia clicked her tongue. "You're immune because guys hit on you all day long, but I'm not. I officially declare Bentley Guy the hottest man of the month."

Gia lived for two things: pastries and men. We got a lot of influencers and models in the shop, and she meticulously ranked them. For her to declare a winner before noon was rare.

"Oh my god, he's coming in."

I peaked out from the kitchen, mildly curious. Toby, the barista on register, saw Gia staring and stepped aside with an amused smirk.

"Good morning, sir! What can we get started for you?" Gia asked, beaming like a lottery winner.

The man in the tailored suit didn't look at the menu. He looked directly at the kitchen door. "I'm looking for her."

Gia blinked, confused. "I'm sorry, who?"

"The woman you were just talking to in the back."

Realization dawned on Gia's face. "One moment, please."

She ducked into the back, grabbing my arm and yanking me out from where I had crouched behind the prep table. "Why are you hiding? Confess right now. Is he one of your stalkers?"

I felt like I had been struck by lightning.

It was Wayne Croft. Standing in the middle of my cafe.

Had he waited outside all morning just to ambush me? A wave of panic hit me. Did he regret the settlement? Was he here to demand the fifty million back? No way, the ink was dry!

"Seriously, if you knew a guy who looked like this, why didn't you tell me..." Gia was still rambling.

"I don't know him. We're not close," I hissed, pushing her aside. I stepped out to the counter, keeping my guard up. "Can I help you?"

The shop was getting crowded. Surely, a CEO of his caliber wouldn't make a scene demanding his money back in front of a dozen college students, right?

Wayne stared at me for two solid seconds. Then, he pulled out his phone, the tips of his ears turning a bright, violent shade of pink.

"I... I would like to ask for your number."

I just stared at him. Is he insane?

Beside me, Gia was practically vibrating, shooting me wide-eyed looks that clearly said, Give it to him, you idiot!

It took my brain three full seconds to process what was happening.

He didn't know who I was. He had no idea I was the wife he had abandoned for two years and divorced yesterday. He had just seen me riding my bike and... experienced love at first sight. The exact love at first sight he had used as an excuse to divorce me.

And now, he was trying to pick me up.

You literally couldn't script this.

"Is this... making you uncomfortable? Perhaps I'm being too forward," Wayne stammered, his cheeks darkening.

"It's very forward. Which is why I'm not giving you my number," I said flatly.

He looked genuinely pained. "I apologize."

But he didn't move toward the door.

"Then... I'll just order," he said quietly. "An Americano. For here."

Gia snapped out of her trance and rang him up. I frowned, retreating to the kitchen.

Was he planning to just camp out in my lobby?

He absolutely camped out.

He ordered his coffee, had his chauffeur bring in a stack of leather-bound dossiers, and turned a corner table into his personal C-suite. I couldn't exactly kick a paying customer out, so I spent the entire shift hiding in the back room.

By mid-afternoon, the cafe was packed, and seating was scarce. I flagged Gia down and told her to go casually suggest to Wayne that he might be more comfortable elsewhere.

She returned five minutes later, shaking her head. "Bentley Guy just bought three more coffees, a dozen pastries, and said he wants to rent out the private room upstairs for the next two weeks. Says he's setting up a remote office."

I glared at her. "Please tell me you quoted him an extortionate rate."

Gia sighed. "I threw out a ridiculous number. A thousand dollars a day. Do you know what he countered with?"

I had a very bad feeling about this.

"Six thousand, six hundred and sixty-six dollars a day. Pastries and coffee billed separately."

Wayne Croft. Still tossing money around like it was confetti.

As much as I wanted to accept that kind of absurd cash, I couldn't run a business like that. I untied my apron and sighed. "I'll deal with him."

He must have anticipated I'd come out eventually. As I approached the table, he took a delicate bite of a lemon tart. "This is exceptional. The coffee is perfect, too."

"I am not interested in you. Stop wasting your time on me." I didn't bother with pleasantries.

Wayne didn't flinch. "I gathered that. But I have to at least try."

The sheer audacity of the man. I was momentarily speechless.

He took advantage of my silence. "I didn't ask to rent the room just to harass you. I genuinely need the space. The coffee, the food, the atmosphereit's exactly what I need right now. I want to work from here." He paused. "If you feel my offer wasn't high enough, I can double it."

Good lord. Does he think money grows on trees?

It was obvious he wasn't going to give up easily. I briefly debated just dropping the bomb on him. Hey, I'm the ex-wife you dumped yesterday. But I quickly scrapped the idea. Knowing him, the guilt would just make him pursue me harder as some twisted form of compensation.

My eyes narrowed as a better idea formed.

"You don't need to pay thousands. Standard rates apply," I said coldly. "Two hundred dollars a day for the private room. Food and drink are extra. Deal?"

Wayne let out a breath he'd been holding. "Deal."

That night, my mother called again.

"Did Wayne go home? Did you go to his office?"

Wayne, Wayne, Wayne. It was always about him. Sometimes I wondered if she had given birth to him instead of me. Could she really not ask about my day for five seconds before bringing him up?

I gave her a few clipped, dismissive answers and hung up. Given how frantic she was acting, I definitely couldn't tell her about the divorce yet. The fallout would be nuclear. I'd have to drip-feed them the truth eventually.

I crawled under my duvet, exhausted. Every time I closed my eyes, all I saw was Wayne's earnest face staring at me over an Americano.

He was infuriating. But it was fine. By tomorrow, Id make sure he gave up for good.