CHAPTER ONE
KATE
I could really use a margarita right now. Big one, shoved to the top with limes that have been marinating in tequila for three days, pink salt. Extra tip for one of those tiny umbrellas in the glass and a bartender who replaces the empty glass with a full one before I notice. Once I get out of here, I am going to have at least three. Bare minimum.
“I don’t think what we’re asking for is beyond the realm of reason.” This from the attorney in an expensive suit and tie. Although he is working for my ex, I can’t help but think about what the attorney looks like without his shirt. I have a feeling, deep, deep down, that he is very fuckable.
“It’s quite respectable,” he says with a hint of a smirk.
“Bullshit.” I mutter and innocently examine my nails. Vivian kicks me under the table but I don’t acknowledge it. That would require me to look like I give a shit and shatter the illusion I’m concocting.
“We both know that isn’t true.” Vivian bares her teeth in an unfriendly grin. She looks like a shark in pinstripes, which is precisely why I hired her. “There is a long-documented relationship and partnership between my client and yours. What you are offering is laughable at best.”
“Documented how, exactly?” the lawyer smirks again. “The internet? We both know a few tabloid photos aren’t admissible in court.”
“We’re not in court, Mr. Stevens. We’re in mediation. Surely you remember there is a difference?” Vivian turns to cock an eyebrow at our mediator, a staunch older woman with a severe librarian bun and laser beams for eyeballs.
The woman doesn’t say anything and scratches a few notes in her notepad. If I was footing the bill for this nonsense, I’d be livid. It’s my ex’s money, David’s bank account, the one under lock and key, that was responsible though, which means I don’t mind wasting as many hours as margaritas I am waiting to drink.
“This all comes back down to your client’s insistence,” the sexy asshole lawyer says, “that there be no prenuptial agreement. My client recommended it for protection of all parties and your client declined it. By law, she isn’t entitled to anything beyond what we are offering. You won’t find better with a judge.”
“Bullshit.” Vivian and I say in tandem. She comes off less bitter than I do.
“A marriage isn’t a business contract, Mr. Stevens.”
“Quite the contrary, Mrs. West. That’s exactly what it is.”
Repeat. Ad nauseam. Every day until I fall over dead. The sexy asshole in the suit sits across an over-glossed table and rattles off reasons why I should be thankful they are offering pennies left in the corners of a cavernous bank account. My shark lawyer calls him an asshat and tells him to try again. Robolibrarian glares at everyone and sighs heavily because no one listens to her.
And then there’s David, my ex. I don’t look at him because I don’t want to ruin my shoes. At this rate, who knows when I’d be able to afford a new pair. He’s staring, though. Intently. Like a lion on the savanna who can’t quite determine if he’s hungry or horny.
Knowing David, it’s both. He’s a terrible lion, among other things.
We’ve been separated for over a year and unhappy for much, much longer. The divorce papers have been long drawn up. But David never signed. And now here he is, dragging me into mediation and demanding a rewrite before he’ll sign. Because in a vulnerable, drunken low point of my life a few weeks ago, David showed up on my doorstep and I was dumb enough to sleep with him.
Now he’s using that mistake to reopen the settlement. Claiming that we shouldn’t be divorced at all, and that our marriage is active and loving and something to be cherished.
“Kate is instrumental to the McArthur brand and you’ve been unable to provide any reasonable proof she isn’t.” Vivian taps her pen cap against the yellow legal pad resting between her lap and the table’s edge. Instead of notes about the mediation session, she scribbles pictures of David losing his head in a variety of ways.
David is abnormally silent. His eyes drag across my skin, leaving me prickling and uncomfortable. Once, it was exquisitely sexy. He was enraptured by my presence and I felt confident, strong, wild. Now I feel like a bug under a large magnifying glass.
Eric Stevens, bane of my existence, leans his elbows on the table so his well-tailored sleeves strain against his muscles. This, despite all the raging bullshit erupting at the table, where allegedly apathetic third parties argue over my livelihood like it was a toddler soccer match, is my favorite part of the whole thing.
“What do you want, Kate?” David interrupts my spiraling daydreams. “Why is nothing ever good enough?”
For the tiniest moment, I falter. We didn’t talk anymore. Words dried up between us the day I found him cavorting through my office naked with the maid.
“David.” His name sours my tongue but my features remain smooth as silk. “I want you to jump off a cliff and eat shit, you miserable motherfu—”
“Okay.” Robolibrarian claps her hands. “This is going nowhere.”
The suits go back to arguing and I go back to fantasizing. It’s the only way I’ve been able to get through these sessions without being drunk or high. Eric Stevens, smarmy asshole, is an obnoxiously sexy smarmy asshole: high cheekbones, square jaw, eyes brown like chocolate, and a toothpaste smile half of our town paid handsomely for. If he wasn’t so bloodthirsty, he would have made a great actor. Instead, he gets his jollies off by harassing me in this stuffy office twice a week.
My daydreams evolved from make-out sessions on his desk to crawling across the table, Whitesnake-style, and ripping off his jacket. All while David watched. His stupid face would freeze in terror while I hiked up my skirt and mounted his jackass lawyer. Nothing sweet, just a good old-fashioned fucking as we smeared sweat and body fluids all over the lacquered table.
“The whole point of these meetings is to avoid a trial over assets.” Robolibrarian’s voice cuts through. “If you aren’t willing to compromise, why the fuck are you at my office?”
“Good question.” David and I say together.
I bet if David watched me fuck his lawyer, he’d like it. He sucks, so of course he’d like to watch someone else plow me. From what I’ve learned in our previous counseling sessions, it’s what he really wanted anyway. Maybe I should have taken him up on those offers so I could have had a good lay for once in my freaking life.
My daydreams resume. Each time smarmy lawyer Eric opens his mouth, I slap it shut. I make him obey my every whim and tell him I’ll only stop if he says the safe word.
“What’s the safe word?” He gasps, so turned on by my feminine wiles he can barely breathe.
“I’m not telling.” I laugh coyly and rip off his pants.
Vivian nudges me to signal this blood bath is finished, for now. Sitting in a chair while someone who doesn’t even know me paints me as a trampy gold digger after my asshat husband cheated and lied and stole everything away from me is unbearable. Mentally banging the opposition was all that got me through it. Vivian knew it and did her best to lead the conversation while I mentally fucked Eric Stevens into a corpse.
Or probably something less gross, if I weren’t so desperate for him to die in a fire, David burning next to him.
We take a separate bank of elevators on the other side of the floor even though David hangs back with his attorney to suck up to a mediator who isn’t going to sway me into settling. Vivian slides out of her heels as soon as the door closes and sighs.
“He’s a dick.”
“Limp as the one in his pants.”
“My condolences. What happened today?”
“Whitesnake. It was amazing.”
“Whitesnake? That is some serious white people shit.” Vivian coughs through a laugh. “Next time, wear a low-cut shirt. Maybe he’ll only screw you mentally from now on.”
I grin. “Oh, it will be my pleasure.”