25. Sully
Sully
“ W e need you to find a person we can both have sex with.”
I blink at the women in front of me. The couple walked in ten minutes ago, explaining that there was a complication with their divorce.
I’ve heard so many absurd things from clients over the years.
Enough that by now, I’m mostly immune to the crazy shit that comes out of my clients’ mouths.
Yet here I am, at a loss for words as I replay the conversation in my head.
In the fifteen-plus years that I’ve been practicing, I can’t say I’ve ever been asked to arrange for a client to have an affair.
I must be wrong about what they want.
I clear my throat. “I’m sorry. Can you repeat that?”
“We want to get divorced under the grounds of infidelity.”
I nod automatically, though my mind still spins. Typically, when a client comes in and mentions infidelity, they’re either spitting mad or sobbing, not smiling and batting their lashes at me and their spouse.
I glance from one woman to the other, confounded by how calm they are .
“We aren’t comfortable lying about infidelity on the certification,” one woman says. “We’d feel more comfortable using it if it were true.”
“Right,” I agree. Because perjury is never a good idea.
The other woman leans forward. “But we’ve realized that our marriage isn’t working, and we want to separate on good terms.”
Another nod. I’m still with them at this point.
“So we need you to find a man we can both sleep with.”
My lips turn down without my permission. They lost me again.
The one on the left puts a hand on the desk and rushes through an explanation. “We wouldn’t be jealous, because neither of us would enjoy it. And if we slept with the same person, then we’d each understand the other’s experience.” Her expression brightens. “And then we wouldn’t have to lie.”
I blink down at the yellow legal pad in front of me. I’ve taken no notes because I don’t have the first clue what I’d jot down. Find a male prostitute? Bloody hell. I take a breath. As I exhale, an idea comes to me.
I push to my feet, my chair rolling back several inches. “This sounds like something our paralegal can assist you with. It’s more of a support staff thing.”
“Of course,” the one on the right agrees.
“Great.” I rush out of my office and close the door behind me. This isn’t the time for the walkie-talkie Jersey intercom system. I need to get out of that room. “Lo!”
She peeks her head out of her office.
“These two need your help with a…” How do I phrase this? “Situation?”
She narrows her green eyes at me as she steps out into the hall completely. “I swear to God, Sully, if they’re crying?—”
“No.” I shake my head.
Tears have always made me uncomfortable.
For my wife, I’m willing to endure them.
I can take any emotion she throws at me, but with anyone else, I run at the sight of moist eyes.
And when I run, Lo is the one who has to step in and handle the issue.
On multiple occasions, she’s threatened to toss me out a window.
At least while we’re in Jersey, our office is on the first floor.
I plaster on a smile. “I promise it’s not tears.”
She exhales loudly, the tight line of her lips telling me she’s still suspicious. Bloody hell, she has no idea. But she stomps to my office. The moment she steps inside, I dart out of the building.
Yes, I’m avoiding Lo’s impending wrath, but I also need to run an errand before Sloane gets home. Today has been a quiet day, and Lo and I are the only people in the office, so now is the perfect time. Even my nosy brother is in the city picking the boys up from school.
I stride quickly around the side of the building, heading for my car. The box is tucked carefully in the trunk, but I’ve got to get it across the street without being spotted by Lo.
Package in hand, I slam the lid and spin. The sight that greets me makes me jump a foot off the ground.
“Sullivan.” Madame E’s jet-black hair waves gently in the cold breeze, that white streak as unnerving as ever.
“Up to no good?” She laughs, her purple eyes scrutinizing me with an intensity that makes me shiver.
“Hmm, maybe the opposite. Though it’s important to know that the burn of fire and action might seem easy, it’s not always the answer. ”
I run my hand over my face, deciphering—unsuccessfully—her words. She got the incubator right, and she even knew Sloane and I would dance in the kitchen with the teakettle bubbling nearby. But fire? I haven’t made any plans that utilize a fireplace or a firepit or even candles.
Clutching the box tighter, I take a step toward her. “Can I ask a follow-up question?”
She chuckles and floats toward her Mini Cooper. “You boys need to remember that I only see what I see.” With that, she climbs inside and peels out of the parking lot, cutting off a car on the road. The blare of its horn is ear-piercing, making me wince.
I shake my head. One day she’s going to crash.
Once she’s out of sight, I scan the parking lot, ensuring I’m alone. Then I stride across the street to the Grasshopper. Inside, I make a beeline for the bartender, ignoring the way the hostess side-eyes me.
“Is the owner here?” I ask as I set the massive box on the bar top.
“What’s up?” The guy, who looks to be in his twenties, tosses a rag over his shoulder and rests his forearms on the lacquered surface between us.
I give the box a tap. “I’m hoping to convince him to host a karaoke night this Saturday. I’ve got the machine here and will gladly pay for any other equipment you don’t already have on hand.”
He rubs at his jaw, giving me a thoughtful look. “This has winning back a woman written all over it.”
I’d say he’s perceptive, but when is any wild idea a man comes up with not because of a woman? We’re always either chasing after or running from them.
“Help a bloke out?” I ask.
He straightens, lifting his chin. “I’ll see what I can do.” With a chuckle, he turns and pushes through a door I assume leads to the kitchen.
“Did you really buy that thing to impress your girl?” the man two stools down asks. He picks up a mug of dark beer and sips it, watching me over the rim.
I nod simply. “I’d do pretty much anything to make my wife happy.”
He snorts. “Newlyweds.”
Not even close. “Married over fifteen years.”
The door behind the bar swings open before the man, whose eyes have gone wide, can respond, and the bartender steps out. “You’ve got yourself a deal…”
“Sully.” I hold out a hand to the man who just made my day. If it were up to me, I’d pass on listening to strangers sing crappy songs all night, but what makes my wife happy makes me happy.
“Deal.” He shakes my hand. “Saturday, it is. Gunner said he’ll get a sign out tomorrow and will post about it on the bar’s socials tonight. ”
“Perfect.” I step back and stick my hands in the pockets of my trousers. “Thanks.”
I hustle back across the street, preparing myself for Lo’s wrath.
The front door to the office hasn’t even closed behind me when Lo hisses my name.
“ Sully .” Bollocks. She looks really pissed.
She’s leaning against the folding table where Amy works with her arms crossed like she’s been waiting for me to walk back in so she can pounce.
“Lo.” I dip my chin, going for casual.
“Since when does my job entail being a pimp?”
“What?” My stomach sinks. “That’s not what I’m asking you to do. Bloody hell.” Though I guess I didn’t make that clear before I bolted out of here.
She taps the toe of her ridiculously expensive shoe against the ugly gold carpet.
“What did you tell them?” I ask as I move slowly toward the stairwell that leads to the apartment.
“That I would love to find someone for them to sleep with since, apparently, cheating is the only grounds for divorce their parents will accept. Because clearly, the only sane answer to this problem is for them both to cheat.” Sarcasm drips from her lips.
“Well done, then. Jolly good.” I pull the door open and escape.
“ Sully ,” she shrieks after me.
I allow her to yell, and nod along that of course I’m a ridiculous sod and absolutely she’s deserving of a new pair of fancy shoes.
Honestly, I’d give the woman anything she wants.
There’s not a thing that can’t kill my good mood knowing how excited my wife will be when she realizes she’s getting her karaoke night.