I groan and spin. "You can't keep your nose in your own business, can you?"

She smirks. "I'm not the one chasing a woman who wants nothing to do with me."

I scowl. "Mind your own business, bat."

"In ten seconds, I'm calling the police," she threatens. This time, she holds out her phone, punching her finger on the screen, stating, "Nine. One. One." She shoots me a challenging glare. "Should I push the green button?"

"You're a horrible person," I mutter and leave the building.

I get into my truck, and my phone vibrates in the cup holder. I pick it up and glance at the screen, hopeful it's Georgia, but it's a work contact. I pull up my inbox to see if she messaged me, and my stomach churns.

There's a missed appointment reminder from Huck's office.

Bile rises in my throat. I text him.

Me: Cancel the annulment meeting. We can't attend.

Huck: Your wife's already confirmed.

Georgia confirmed?

No. No. No.

"Damnit!" I shout, hitting the steering wheel so hard, my hand stings.

Huck: This isn't the time for second-guessing yourself, Sebastian.

Me: Stay out of it.

Huck: I'm your attorney. This is why you pay me the big bucks—to get you out of your messes.

Defeated, I turn on the engine and drive home. I don't sleep at all. The next day, the closer it gets to that ten o'clock appointment, the more I know there's no way I'm signing those papers.

I debate about going to Huck's office to convince Georgia not to sign, but something holds me back.

A little after ten a.m., Huck calls me. He asks, "Sebastian, are you on your way?"

"I'm not coming."

"What do you mean you're not coming? This is a done deal," he booms.

My heart sinks. I close my eyes and utter, "Did she sign?"

"On the dotted line," he confirms.

I feel sick. I take several deep breaths, trying to control the bile rising in my throat.

He adds, "You made out well. She didn't want her million."

My heart feels like it might explode out of my chest. I demand, "What are you talking about?"

"She would only sign annulment forms that stated you didn't owe her anything," he informs me.

Once again, Georgia surprises me. I stare at the Dallas skyline, repeating, "She didn't want anything?"

"That's correct."

More confusion fills me. Georgia earned every penny of what she negotiated. Why didn't she want it?

Huck continues, "She said she got enough. She didn't need anything else from you."

She doesn't need anything from me.

Something about that makes me feel sicker. I order him, "Put the million dollars in her account anyway. I'm sending you an address to one of my condos. Retitle it in her name."

He blurts out, "Are you crazy?"